o 
 
Digitized 
 
 by 1 
 
 the Internel 
 
 : Archive 
 
 
 
 in 2014 
 
 
 https://archive.org/details/whitelady01wolt 
 
THE 
 
 m\)\tt &aUp: 
 
 A ROMANCE. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF C. YON WOLTMANN ; 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 JAMES D. HAAS. 
 
 LONDON : 
 JAMES BURNS, 17, PORTMAN STREET. 
 
 M,DCCCXLV. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Ancestral Painting 
 
 The Late Rising 
 
 The Ancient Record 
 
 The Morning Ride 
 
 The Widow 
 
 Chap. I. 
 
 Chap. II. 
 
 Chap. III. 
 
 Chap. IV. 
 
VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Chap. VL 
 
 The Steward 
 
 Chap. VII. 
 
 New Life, new Feelings 
 
 Chap. VIII. 
 
 The Birth of the Son . . 
 
 Chap. IX. 
 
 The Mother's Thanksgiving 
 
 Chap. X. 
 
 The Gift from the Dead 
 
 Chap. XI. 
 
 The Old Man's Legacy 
 
 Chap. XII. 
 
 The Golden Key 
 
 Chap. XIII. 
 
 The Resolution 
 
 Chap. XIV. 
 
 The Manuscript of Centuries 
 
 Chap. XV. 
 The Manuscript of Centuries continued .. 
 
 Chap. XVI. 
 The Manuscript of Centuries concluded.— Bertha 
 
The Ruined Tower 
 
 Completion . . 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 Chap. XVII. 
 
 Chap. XVIII. 
 
Chap. I. 
 
 The Ancestral Painting. 
 
 he sons and daughters of an illustrious family in 
 
 Bohemia were assembled at the Castle of R , 
 
 an ancient possession of their house, which then 
 belonged to the eldest of the daughters. 
 They were collectively youthful and cheerful, happily married, 
 and blessed not only with the enjoyment of rank and wealth at 
 the present moment, but looking forward to the hope of like 
 prosperity in future years. 
 
 On a fine May morning, Bertha, the newly-wedded bride of 
 Otho, the future chief of the family, was going with the sisters 
 of her bridegroom and her other female companions through a 
 saloon, which was in her way from the wing of the castle in 
 which she dwelt to those apartments in which the family were 
 
2 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 accustomed to assemble for their morning repast. The rays of the 
 sun fell brightly on the paintings which adorned its white walls, 
 and brought out more plainly the figures on an ancient, blackened 
 picture, which had often attracted her attention, from its proble- 
 matical composition. While she paused before it, her companions, 
 with passing curiosity, inspected the other paintings, for the most 
 part family pictures, and which shone as if warmed into new life by 
 the morning sun. 
 
 " See, Bertha, what a likeness there is in the countenance of this 
 old lady to that of thine Otho ! " exclaimed one of her cousins, 
 as she pointed to the opposite wall. 
 
 "Yes, but not in look and manner," observed another, who 
 had casually joined them. 
 
 Bertha, at the name of her husband, had turned from the picture 
 which she was attentively examining, and, directing her looks to- 
 wards the likeness in question, was also struck with the similarity 
 which the face of the Matron, before which she stood, presented to 
 her Otho, and not only to him, but to another figure which was de- 
 lineated on that ancient, blackened painting as the chief personage 
 in various scenes. Attired in an antiquated dress of black velvet, 
 trimmed with fur, a white veil, twined in numerous folds 'around 
 her head, sat a lady of about fifty years of age on a kind of bench 
 or seat, the high and pictured back of which stretched across the 
 whole breadth of the painting, forming the back-ground of the 
 figure. As she sat absorbed in contemplative and calm repose, her 
 features wore an expression as if she never desired to rise or move 
 again. Peace and love alone appeared to animate her features and 
 her whole being : she looked as if to her the past and present were 
 combined in the immediate moment, and as if she had neither 
 thought nor feeling for aught beyond it. 
 
 It was with feelings of pleasure, mixed with sad surprise, that 
 Bertha contemplated features resembling so much those of her 
 Otho, conveying as they did at the same time an expression so 
 much the opposite of his usual character. The many moments of 
 anxiety and fear which she had undergone when witnessing that — 
 whilst depicting a degree of ardent affection and benevolence — his 
 entire countenance would too often betray his natural impetuosity 
 and temerity, were here re-awakened in her mind. Her heart was 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 3 
 
 agitated to its very depth, when she indulged in the anticipation of 
 the happiness she must experience were but the wished-for repose, 
 as here represented, permitted to temper and go hand-in-hand with 
 his otherwise manly magnanimity and boldness of heart. Yielding 
 to a chain of thought, which even to herself became less and less 
 explicable, she returned to the old painting, in order to examine it 
 more closely. 
 
 It represented the interior of a church resembling that belong- 
 ing to the castle itself. In the fore-ground, on the right, Bertha 
 plainly recognized the Matron ; but here she was depicted as 
 youthful, attired in a dress of purple hue, a wreath of precious 
 stones around her brow, and a knight, arrayed in splendid garb, 
 clasping her hand, while between her fingers she held a ring. On 
 the left she appeared again, in less rich attire, with an infant on 
 her arm, looking less youthful, and more like the matronly por- 
 traiture in the large painting. Resembling almost exactly the 
 latter, she was depicted here, in the centre of the painting, as 
 kneeling amid many other figures in the same prostrate position ; 
 and, again, more deeply in the back-ground, she was represented 
 as lying on a bed, apparently dead. The surrounding figures, how- 
 ever, originally depicted in this scene were now nearly obliterated, 
 as were equally so a series of representations delineated on a more 
 reduced scale. Farther behind appeared a scene with large figures, 
 altogether at variance with the rules of perspective, and in which a 
 youthful female form, with light, loosely-flowing hair, was flying 
 before the same Matron. In the remote distance was depicted the 
 exterior of the same church, with a funeral procession by torch- 
 light, while a figure in white was standing on the threshold of the 
 widely-opened gate of the church ; but this figure, as well as those 
 of the procession, were so faded by time, that at this moment, even 
 in so bright a sunshine, it was impossible to do more than guess at 
 them. Thus it was quite evident to the observer that the various 
 spaces and scenes of the painting were filled up and represented 
 without any connecting link or distinct design. On the other 
 hand, Bertha was able to discern, by the light of the sun's rays, the 
 date of the year 1520 still faintly visible in a corner of the fore- 
 ground. The entire painting exhibited a comprehensive history 
 of the life of an individual, but of whom no trace was to be dis- 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 covered throughout the composition. The supposition that it 
 might be the life of that Matron whose features had descended to 
 her Otho, increased her interest in this enigma. 
 
 Her companions had already quitted the saloon, and missed her 
 in their progress through the adjacent rooms. One of these, a 
 young and merry creature, ran back, peeped in at the door, and 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " Just as I thought ! Where there is aught comes across her 
 path resembling in the least her Otho, there is no getting her away 
 from it." 
 
 Saying which, the happy chatterer ran up to Bertha, and drew 
 her from the all-absorbing picture to join the company. 
 
 Chap. II. 
 
 The Late Rising. 
 
 The company had long since assembled, and were engaged in 
 varied conversation ; yet Otho still did not appear. 
 
 " When I retired to rest last evening," said Bertha, in reply to 
 his sisters' inquiries, " I left him standing at the window of the 
 corridor which looks into the court, where he wished to enjoy a 
 short time longer the beautiful moonlight of the summer's night. 
 This morning, when I awoke, he was still asleep." 
 
 Just at this moment Otho himself entered the hall, and was 
 immediately rallied on his late appearance. 
 
 " None other is to blame," he retorted, " but the lady of the 
 castle here, who assuredly does not keep her female guests in the 
 best possible discipline, when she allows them to be out at very 
 unseasonable hours." 
 
 " How so ? " exclaimed the princess. 
 
 " Even thus : The night-breeze was breathing so gently, the 
 moon shone so brightly into the old corridor, that I was induced 
 last evening to remain at the window and look down in the court, 
 which, as far as the foot of the ruined tower, lay wrapped in moon- 
 light and in deep silence before me. I had not been long at the 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 window ere I perceived that I was not alone. Opposite to me, 
 seated on a stone on the wall of the battlement, was a lady, dressed 
 in white. I could not distinguish her features, for they were con- 
 cealed at once by the shadow of the wall and the folds of her veil ; 
 but I could nevertheless discern that she fixed her eyes on me with 
 so stedfast and immovable a gaze, that I resolved at length to test 
 her boldness by keeping my eyes fixed steadily upon hers in return 
 as long as she continued thus to make me the object of her con- 
 templations. She was, however, not to be overcome ; and, after 
 gazing until my eyes ached with weariness, I was fain to yield the 
 contest to my fair rival, and, shutting the window in disappoint- 
 ment, I retired to bed." 
 
 The princess was seen now to turn pale. 
 
 " O, say no more ! " she exclaimed. <£ The court of the castle 
 is kept constantly locked; none can find an entrance there, either 
 from within or without ; therefore it cannot possibly have been 
 any one of the castle's inmates. Still I like not to hear of the ap- 
 pearance, for, as often as the apparition of the White Lady has pre- 
 sented itself, it has ever foreboded evil to our house." 
 
 " Nay, you are making out the lady to be a ghost^ and thus 
 think to silence me ; but in that, believe me, you are mistaken. She 
 who stared me out of countenance is neither spectre nor witch, and 
 least of all is she our well-known " 
 
 " Why, what do you refer to ?" interrupted one of the brothers- 
 in-law. " Is there such a legend in the family ? I never heard it 
 mentioned before." 
 
 " Nay, nor is it fitting subject for the spinning-room," replied 
 Otho. 
 
 " Such a legend, however," said the prince, " is nevertheless 
 assuredly in circulation ; and even very recently we have made a 
 discovery which has a relation to it." 
 
 " Hah ! " " How so ? " " men ? " " Where ? " inquired a 
 chorus of voices. 
 
 " If you compare the outer with the inner portion of the 
 church attached to the castle, it will be seen that the two by no 
 means correspond, and that, in the vicinity of the towers, there 
 may exist some place to which there is no longer any door. When, 
 in the present spring, the second principal tower was being repair- 
 
 B 3 
 
6 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 ed, and the pinnacle removed, there were found in it various gold 
 and silver coins of the reign of Wladislaus, together with a parch- 
 ment record, which confirms the aforesaid supposition, and affords 
 information connected with the spot referred to, which, from that, 
 appears to have some relation to the tradition in question." 
 
 Yielding to the earnest entreaties of the greater part of the com- 
 pany, the prince now summoned one of his principal attendants, 
 and despatched him for the ancient document, which he directed 
 him to seek in a particular compartment of his writing table. 
 
 All thronged impatiently around the prince as he received it 
 from the servant and spread it out on the table. The letters were 
 in many places no longer legible, being much blackened and im- 
 paired by moisture. The contents, written in the Latin and Bohe- 
 mian language, as far as could be deciphered, were as follows : 
 
 Chap. III. 
 
 The Ancient Record. 
 
 " In the Year of our Lord 1520, in the time of Wladislaus of 
 Poland, King of Bbhaimb, and on the festival day of the apostles 
 
 St. Phillip and St. James, Gescheck, Lord of N , commanded 
 
 the chapel under this tower, in which the bones of twelve of his 
 ancestors and other kinsmen of his house he interred, to be walled 
 up, and the tower to be erected and completed over them, sacred to 
 
 their memory and honour. Those who repose there are M 
 
 Here followed the names of those interred in the chapel, part of 
 which only was legible. The last name, and which could be read 
 
 more distinctly, was that of " Przibislawa von R , bride of 
 
 Odolenus of Chisch, who died in the year 1157." The record now 
 continued : 
 
 " This was done in consequence of a great cause of alarm which 
 spread among the people ; for when, in the year 1157, the Lord of 
 Markwart of N , with Duke Wladislaus of Bbhaimb, had re- 
 paired to Wiirzburg to attend the espousal of the emperor, Frede- 
 rick Barbarossa of Swabia, with Beatrice, daughter of the Duke 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 7 
 
 of Burgundy, he there fell asleep in the Lord on the day of St. 
 John the Baptist; while his consort, the Lady Juditha, died here 
 at her castle on the same day. 
 
 " Now, when the corpse of the deceased lord was brought here 
 for interment, and was about to be deposited in the vault of this 
 chapel, whilst the chapel doors stood wide open, there was seen 
 under them the Lady Juditha in her shroud, advancing to meet the 
 funeral procession, as if to welcome and receive her lord * * 
 
 " The leaders of the procession were ***** 
 * * * with great terror * * * » 
 
 These blanks were followed by a considerable space, the contents 
 of which was totally illegible. It was only towards the conclusion 
 that the following passage became more easy to be deciphered : 
 
 " * * the sexton * no longer dared to venture 
 in to toll the bell, either at night, early dawn, or even in open day ; 
 neither would any of the congregation stand near the entrance of 
 the chapel during divine service, from great fear * * * * 
 
 " * * the Lord Gescheck commanded the history and 
 fate of his Ancestress to be carefully represented in a large painting. 
 The picture was placed in a costly shrine, before the walled-up en- 
 trance, on this day, * * * , 1520, Peace in God 
 and eternal repose to all departed souls. — Amen." 
 
 Chap. IV. 
 
 The Morning Ride. 
 
 The deciphering the illegible portions of the ancient document, 
 and the shrine in the church, now divided the attention of all pre- 
 sent. They remembered the subject of the former, and the spot as 
 described, and hastened to examine it ; and as no key could be dis- 
 covered, it was broken open ; but all was found to be completely 
 empty, to the great delight of Otho, who took much more in- 
 terest in the morning ride than in any explanation connected with 
 the history and fate of his Ancestress, or the reason why she could 
 not rest quiet in her grave, and who had merely accompanied the 
 
8 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 curious [tarty to the church in order to procure their more speedy 
 return to the castle, in the fore-court of which the steeds, already 
 saddled, were snorting and pawing the ground with impatience. 
 
 The wonted paleness of Bertha's cheek had become still paler 
 and more wan during the reading of the ancient document. Her 
 head, which usually bent a little on one side, as if oppressed by 
 the slight burthen of her light brown hair, sank lower on her 
 heaving and agitated bosom. She had silently followed the rest 
 into the church, and she shuddered on beholding the empty shrine, 
 the dimensions of which she but too plainly saw accorded exactly 
 with those of the old painting in the white hall. She knew the 
 spot to which the vanished picture had been conveyed, and identi- 
 fied it as the enigmatical representation she had gazed on that 
 morning ; but her agitation was such that she was unable to men- 
 tion it. 
 
 A question now rose for consideration, whether they should 
 again break open the chapel. The princess, however, positively 
 forbad this. 
 
 " Leave the dead in peace ! " she exclaimed, " and let not idle 
 curiosity disturb their repose." 
 
 On hearing these words Bertha breathed more freely, and cast a 
 look of gratitude on the princess. 
 
 " Break open the chapel or let it alone ; do either the one thing 
 or the other," observed Otho, hastily ; " but pray do not lose this 
 lovely morning for your ride." 
 
 Saying which he left the church rather hurriedly, his example 
 being followed by the rest. As he stood in the court, and was 
 about to spring into his saddle, Bertha embraced him, and said 
 softly, looking up tenderly in his face — 
 
 " Dear Otho, do not ride too rashly !" 
 
 He regarded her for a moment attentively, saw the tears in her 
 dark blue eyes, and exclaimed, half angrily, half fondly — 
 
 " Why, Bertha dear, they have worried thee into tears with their 
 silly ghost-stories ! Fear nothing, my little snowdrop" (for thus he 
 called her in sport ; nor was there, perhaps, a more fitting image 
 to which to compare her, as she stood there, with drooping head, 
 so white, so fresh, so gentle, pure, and tender). Having said these 
 words, he imprinted his farewell with a kiss upon her sweet lips, 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 9 
 
 and, leaping upon his bay steed, was borne rapidly from her 
 sight. 
 
 " The noble animal has carried him so long in safety ; why, then, 
 should a misfortune befall him to-day ? " thought Bertha, when 
 she beheld him mounted on the steed upon which he had fought 
 through many a battle, and at the thought she raised her mild 
 blue eyes to the distant dark blue sky ; yet even from thence she 
 felt a chilling, gloomy, presentiment descend upon her. 
 
 The cavalcade had scarcely been absent an hour from the castle, 
 and those left behind assembled again together, when the princess 
 was summoned. She immediately quitted the apartment, and re- 
 mained away some time. A second lady was now called away : 
 she quickly returned, with a vain assumption of cheerfulness and 
 serenity, and whispered, after a pause, a few words to a third. 
 There was an evident anxiety and suspense, a coming and going, 
 and a silence more fearful, if possible, than the certainty of the 
 worst. Bertha bore it awhile with continually- growing alarm. 
 
 "What" — she cried, at length, "say — what has happened ? I 
 know, I feel convinced it concerns me. Otho " 
 
 At this moment the princess returned — pale, trembling, and 
 aghast. 
 
 " Say — speak ! Otho ! " the agitated Bertha exclaimed, as 
 
 the princess entered. 
 
 " Compose yourself," said the prince, who had followed close be- 
 hind his consort ; " he has been thrown from his horse, but he has 
 received no injury of consequence ; he will be here almost imme- 
 diately." 
 
 " He has been thrown—he is dead ! " cried Bertha, and sank 
 senseless to the earth. 
 
 No presentiment can prepare us for such agony : it overwhelms 
 and desolates life beyond all foreboding. 
 
10 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 Chap. V. 
 
 The Widow. 
 
 The house of joy had now been suddenly changed into the house 
 of mourning. The whole aspect of things assumed another cha- 
 racter. No one thought of pleasure or social enjoyment. Loud 
 lamentations or deep silence, wild regrets or subdued emotion, 
 filled the apartments. 
 
 Otho could not be restored to life : the fall had proved fatal, 
 and his corpse was placed beside those of his ancestors in the 
 family vault of the chapel. For many weeks did poor Bertha 
 struggle with death, and the utmost care and efforts of her friends 
 were scarcely sufficient to preserve her ; nor would these have 
 proved availing, had not one hope attached her to life : she felt 
 herself in a situation to become a mother. Her soul clung to the 
 child, the anticipation of whose birth had blessed the latter days of 
 her husband's life, but who, alas ! was now doomed never to know 
 a father's affection. 
 
 The summer had succeeded to the spring, when, for the first time, 
 she wandered forth once again amid the charms of nature ; but 
 she felt that its joys and its spirit were flown. To her the moun- 
 tains, the woods, the meadows, and the streams — like herself — 
 were isolated and alone : and yet, except in this place, she felt that 
 there was no spot on earth where she could dwell, and to which 
 her heart was now so enchained by the most fond, yet painful 
 recollections. 
 
 Here, where she had enjoyed the last happiness with her Otho — 
 here, where he lay interred, and where his child was shortly to come 
 into existence — here, she found a home of pain and content, which, 
 at times, proved grateful to her feelings. It was only when her 
 recollection occasionally returned to the mysterious legend of the 
 house, and the White Lady connected with it, that these sensations 
 became somewhat disturbed. 
 
 On the other hand, the prince and his consort wished to quit 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 11 
 
 this residence, and were desirous to take Bertha with them ; but, 
 when it came to be definitively arranged upon this point, they were 
 unable to resist her entreaties to be allowed to remain in the castle. 
 They accordingly yielded to her wishes, persuaded that to tear her 
 away from hence would be as fatal to her as the transplanting 
 some tender blossom from the soil in which it has been nurtured. 
 
 Bertha retained her own numerous suite of attendants, together 
 with several of Otho's, and his stud ; and yet the spacious castle 
 seemed silent as death, now that she alone remained therein as 
 mistress. She had removed already from the old corridor, the 
 white chamber, and indeed altogether from that entire wing, and 
 now inhabited apartments situated some distance therefrom; yet 
 she often shuddered if a door but opened gently, or when she 
 looked around her chamber by the light of her night-lamp, half 
 expecting, yet dreading, the appearance of the vision. She shrunk 
 with awe when she asked herself, at times, whether the apparition 
 betokened evil to her family, or what relation really existed between 
 it and the White Lady. The death of her Otho seemed to be con- 
 nected with two particular circumstances ; namely, that, in the 
 first place, she had seen represented in the old painting a youthful 
 female figure flying before the matron ; and, in the second place, 
 there was the fact, that in the year 1157 Przibislawa, the bride of 
 Odelenus of Chisch, closed the series of the names belonging to 
 those who were interred in the walled-up chapel. Accordingly, 
 shortly after the death of the former, this said Juditha must have 
 
 become the wife of Markwart von R , upon the subject of 
 
 which fact, the old picture, as well as the ancient record, admitted 
 not the least doubt ; whence, she was the individual represented in 
 the youthful figure on its flight. When, however, Bertha then 
 recollected the expression on the countenance of the Matron in the 
 second and more recently completed picture, which likewise ap- 
 peared to represent the aforesaid Juditha, and thought of the 
 resemblance her features bore to those of her Otho, this similarity 
 afforded a sufficient proof of the absence of all that was malevolent 
 or even unkind — a feeling which gained on her so far, that she 
 actually longed to see her ; and while engaged at her work, she 
 could not withhold from often raising her eyes towards the door, 
 expecting to behold the phantom appear — until, suddenly awe- 
 
12 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 struck with the idea that her wish might in reality be brought into 
 fulfilment, she would ring for one of her women to bear her com- 
 pany. They, by degrees, partook of her alarm, and felt more and 
 more overcome with terror ; inasmuch as frequently, on being 
 hastily and loudly summoned by their mistress, they found her in 
 a state of the greatest agitation, and wanting nothing but that some 
 one should remain with her, so that she might not be left alone. 
 But the Matron appeared not, either to Lady Bertha or to any one 
 else in the castle. In the chapel, in the garden, in the courts, and 
 throughout the apartments, were seen nought else but living and 
 earthly subjects ; and the fears of all, in the total absence of every 
 dreaded visit, became gradually allayed. 
 
 The autumn was now far advanced. On a still October morn- 
 ing, Bertha stood one day at the window, and surveyed the pros- 
 pect around. Mists were gathering round the mountains; their 
 summits, and the ancient ruins that o'ertopped them, were now 
 reflected in the brilliant rays of the sun, and light wreaths of 
 vapour were flitting here and there across the scene. Flights of 
 dark rooks, with loud and endless cawing, were floating in the pure 
 air, around the ruins, over the fields impearled with dew, the grass- 
 grown and neglected court, and the lofty battlements and towers of 
 the castle. The steeds of her late lord Otho were pawing the earth 
 in the stables ; his bright bay charger was heard to neigh wildly 
 and impatiently ; and, soon afterwards, the now masterless hunts- 
 man led him forth, and, leaping on his back, galloped through 
 the court, preceded by the barking dogs. But, alas ! there was no 
 full cry of hounds, no jovial companions of the chace, as in the 
 previous year, when her Otho rode forth so gaily on that noble 
 steed, and called those hounds around him, when she fondly 
 looked after him as a bride, and hoped for a long and happy life, 
 rendered blest by his faithful and endearing love. 
 
 Weeping tears of bitter grief, she threw herself, overcome with 
 her emotions, on a seat which stood under the window. It was 
 now she felt a strange and irrepressible desire to behold her Otho 
 before her, were it only once again in his living form. All the 
 ideas which her fancy presented of him were but the more vague 
 and shadowy in proportion as she endeavoured to realize them, 
 and render them the more distinct. She longed for some painting, 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 13 
 
 or some bust, which might assist in and confirm the creations of her 
 mind ; but such was not forthcoming : for Otho never yielded to 
 the wish expressed that he would sit for his portrait, or allow any 
 other delineation of himself to be taken. The increasing earnest- 
 ness of her desire, the real and overpowering state of agony 
 produced within her, combined with the lovely sunbright morning 
 hour, when earth and air were full of life and harmony, impelled 
 her once more to seek the image of the Matron, and therein trace 
 the features of her Otho. 
 
 She sent her orders to the aged steward of the castle to unlock 
 the doors of the white chamber, took with her one of her women 
 as her companion, and repaired thither. 
 
 Chap. VI. 
 The Steward. 
 
 The way to the white chamber, from that part of the castle which 
 she inhabited, did not lead through the apartments, but by the 
 grand-staircase. The lofty, darkly-painted folding-doors of ancient 
 date, richly adorned with carved work and golden ornaments, were 
 thrown widely open at the Lady Bertha's approach. The sun 
 shone through the high windows, gilding in its course the brown 
 and yellow foliage of the trees without. The aged steward stood 
 bareheaded to receive her. As she entered, her eye quickly per- 
 ceived in the distance the object she sought ; and deeply moved, 
 and almost shuddering, she but too clearly recognized in their 
 reality the features of her beloved husband, as they appeared to 
 contemplate her own. She approached close to the picture, to 
 conceal a flood of tears ; the old man and her female attendant 
 stood still and silent at a respectful distance. 
 
 At length, after a long pause, and when he observed that the 
 lady no longer wept so violently, the steward approached her, and 
 said, as she turned her tear-fraught eyes upon him : 
 
 " Alas ! noble lady, too truly must you weep when you look 
 upon that picture. Methinks, had our young and gracious lord 
 
 c 
 
14 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 worn so calm and composed a mien" — and he pointed to the por- 
 trait — " and not one of so bold and warlike a character, as was 
 his wont — and which nevertheless became him — we might at this 
 moment have reason to rejoice and return our thanks to heaven, 
 and not be forced to weep as you, alas ! and so many more are 
 doing for his loss !" 
 
 " For me, my good Francis, there is now no other joy on earth,'' 
 she mournfully replied ; " and, be assured, when you weep with 
 me for your departed lord, you shed your tears for one who truly 
 merits your mourning." 
 
 " But, noble lady," the old man returned, " there will still be 
 cause for joy once more, and which will delight us all around. I 
 ventured not, as yet, to inquire of my noble mistress whether 
 she would perchance wish to see the apartments in the side 
 wing adjacent to her own, and which we considered might be 
 fitted up for the coming heir or heiress. It would only be neces- 
 sary to make a door in your ladyship's sleeping apartment, 
 and you would then step at once from that into the chamber inha- 
 bited by the infant lord or lady ; the next two rooms would serve 
 for the attendants of the child ; the fourth, which is connected with 
 the grand staircase in the wing, might be used as an ante-chamber ; 
 and a long suite of others, which follow, we could shut up alto- 
 gether. I will take care that the fixing of the door shall not disturb 
 your ladyship for a single night." 
 
 "The arrangements you mention, good Francis," she replied, 
 "are highly proper and considerate ; and I willingly sanction them. 
 But, tell me, do you know whom that portrait is intended to repre- 
 sent in this painting?" 
 
 " No, noble lady ; I do not know. The picture has been in the 
 castle from time immemorial." 
 
 Bertha's eye now fell again involuntarily on the mysterious 
 portrait ; but she anxiously turned it aside, as if from a secret 
 over which fate had benevolently thrown a veil ; and she purposely 
 placed herself in such a position, that neither her own looks nor 
 those of the old steward should fall on it, who might otherwise be 
 induced to give her that explanation which she was anxious now to 
 avoid. The venerable man had nevertheless observed the direction 
 her eye had taken, and said : 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 15 
 
 " That picture, so please you, noble lady, was brought from the 
 chapel during the lifetime of his highness the deceased prince, the 
 grandfather of our gracious lady." 
 
 " Tis well ! We will now proceed to view the apartments, good 
 Francis," interrupted the lady, and rather hurriedly quitted the 
 room, fearful he might resume his discourse. He, however, ap- 
 peared to have little or nothing more to say, and followed her 
 instantly. 
 
 The apartments were exactly as the old man had described them. 
 They consisted of a long series of whitened, desolate rooms, form- 
 ing an entire side-wing, with faded paintings on the walls, and 
 scanty and decaying furniture scattered about. The prospect was, 
 however, cheerful, the windows commanding a view of the whole 
 surrounding country. Along the entire length of the wall, in the rear 
 of the chambers, opposite the windows, ran a corridor, the windows 
 of which looked into the court, and which was likewise overlooked 
 by Lady Bertha's apartments. Of the latter, the last of the series 
 opened on the battlements of a half-ruined tower; a rampart thence 
 extended sidewards to the back part of the castle, which once, 
 when it served as the defence of the fortress, was furnished at 
 regular intervals with turrets of similar kind : this dilapidated 
 tower, and its neighbour, the ruined structure in the desolate court 
 below, were all that now remained. The entire scene produced at 
 first an unpleasant and gloomy impression ; still, as the spot was 
 not without its attractions, and as the old steward, maintaining that 
 this was the most convenient wing of the whole castle, so earnestly 
 entreated his noble lady would allow him to make such further 
 alterations as might be found necessary, Bertha conquered her 
 repugnance; besides which, the renewed favourable impression 
 made by the recent view of the Matron's picture triumphed over 
 every dread. 
 
 Already, on the following day, on the third, and on the fourth, 
 she summoned the old steward again to the white chamber, and 
 clung with more and more ardent feeling to the picture. 
 
 " Who knows," thought she, " if this really is the portrait of the 
 White Lady ? or, if one of our ancestors may not perhaps have 
 felt a desire to have a sister, a wife, or a mother, portrayed in this 
 guise ? The painting is evidently of more recent date." 
 
 c 2 
 
16 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 She cherished this idea with much fondness ; for in proportion 
 as this painting attracted her whole feelings, so, on the other hand, 
 was she completely repelled by the other more ancient and myste- 
 rious production, which indeed filled her with so much aversion 
 and dread, that she found herself several times forced in conse- 
 quence to quit the room. 
 
 "Say, good Francis," she inquired of the old man, at length, 
 " could not this picture, which so much resembles my lamented 
 husband, be removed from this chamber, and hung up in my own 
 room?" 
 
 The venerable steward gazed on her curiously and anxiously, 
 looked cautiously around, and observing no one near them, he 
 said : 
 
 " If such be your pleasure, noble lady, it shall assuredly be done ; 
 but ever since this castle has existed, no such change has ever taken 
 place. The deceased line of ancestors, as portrayed upon the can- 
 vas, have ever dwelt together here within the walls of this white 
 chamber, whilst their living descendants have continued in all times 
 to keep themselves distinct, and hold their residence together there 
 below." 
 
 Bertha shuddered at these words and the solemn emphasis with 
 which he pronounced them, so different from his usual calm and 
 kindly tone. She hesitated next morning a considerable time un- 
 resolved whether she should summon his attendance again to the 
 white chamber ; but even whilst she was yet considering, he came 
 himself to solicit a private audience. 
 
 " Illustrious lady," he said, " it becomes not an old servant to 
 speak of the secrets of the family in which he serves. To you, 
 however, I may venture to do so, seeing that you are yourself my 
 mistress, and may possibly know somewhat of those matters, 
 although, as I perceive, not to the extent I do myself. All my 
 forefathers have successively filled the office of steward in this 
 castle, even down to my father. I was born on this spot, and 
 received, and still hold, the hereditary appointment. I know all 
 the public and private history of these walls : such possession, 
 however, brings with it no terror to me ; I am nearly at the end of 
 my journey, and within a few steps of the grave. But of you, 
 noble lady, I would only entreat not to indulge so much in the in- 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 17 
 
 terest you take in that picture ; for such is not suited to your 
 youth." 
 
 "Good Francis," answered his lady, " I know well to what you 
 allude. But dost thou believe that from these his features — features 
 the contemplation of which all my life has conveyed to my heart 
 and whole being all that was dearest and most happy — to me aught 
 of evil could ever flow ?" 
 
 " Evil ! — no, my lady ; I will not say that. Yet, between the 
 living and the dead there is a gulf; such it has been ordained by 
 heaven's decree to nature : thence come many tears, but also much 
 peace. For that lady, yonder, there is no peace; that I well know : 
 it is for that reason that I have arranged for your ladyship's accom- 
 modation here, where she has never been seen since the memory of 
 man. Live here, therefore, my lady, in peace and comfort ; leave 
 the dead to the enjoyment of their repose, and attract them not, 
 even in thought, to yourself. I know nothing of her life ; " and 
 he pointed to the portrait of the Matron ; " the painting which 
 records it has been obscured by time : but such a penalty is 
 awarded only to great guilt." 
 
 " Francis ! My Otho — knowest thou also what occurred to him 
 on the evening before his death ?" cried Bertha, shuddering. 
 
 " I do, my lady; I know many other things as well. But all this 
 we must leave in the hands of God," said the venerable man. " Do 
 this, illustrious lady : be quieted, and trust to me. These ancient 
 walls, all the associations connected with them, and I — all have 
 grown old together. That lady often shews herself to me; her 
 face I have never perfectly seen ; but it is of a deadly pale hue, 
 as far as I could discern beneath her veil. Her hands are 
 bleached and bloodless, like those of a corpse. She nods to me 
 when she sees me ; and I salute her respectfully in return as 
 the ancestress of my lord's family. I then remain standing for 
 a time, with eyes fixed on the ground : I look not after her, and 
 know not whence she comes, or whither she goes. — "Would your 
 ladyship now please to inspect the apartments of the future ruler 
 of the house ?" 
 
 The old man had assumed such a tone of solemnity and gravity 
 while dwelling upon these mysterious things, that Bertha scarcely 
 recognized him, and felt herself so carried away by his manner, 
 
 c 3 
 
18 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 that she placed implicit faith in what he said. As soon as he ad- 
 dressed to his lady the last few words, he laid aside his unusual 
 character, and, looking cheerfully and without further restraint 
 towards her, he opened the folding- doors leading to the chambers, 
 and disclosed to view a scene which was well calculated to dispel 
 the gloom which had seized upon her. 
 
 Chap. VII. 
 
 New Life, new Feelings. 
 
 The chamber of the infant was furnished with new tapestry of 
 light green hue. Silk curtains of a darker tint surrounded the 
 bed destined for the appointed nurse, and close to it, on a wooden 
 frame beautifully carved, stood the cradle of the expected stranger, 
 covered with silk interwoven with artificial ivy, laurel, and myrtle, 
 and intermingled with roses, passion-flowers, heartsease, and pansies; 
 having a coverlet embroidered with a garland of spring flowers, all 
 presenting a store of the most rich and blooming colours. 
 
 From the open windows was presented a wide and sunny land- 
 scape ; and on the opposite side, within the room, arranged in 
 elegantly formed recesses, lay whatever a child might require for 
 its attire, nourishment, and nursing, altogether calculated to cheer 
 the future mother's hopes, to soothe her grief, and to surprise her 
 in the most delightful manner. 
 
 Nor were these effects wanting on the mind of the Lady Bertha; 
 yet, at the same moment, her bosom was pierced as with a sword by 
 the thought that this child, for whom a reception into life was so 
 kindly prepared, would be deprived of the first and most common 
 possession in life — a father's love ; and she wept bitterly over the 
 loss by which even all her joys assumed the aspect of sorrow. 
 But at the sight of all the welcome objects above mentioned, the 
 existence of her child and its future fate presented themselves still 
 more immediately to her mind and heart; the feelings of the 
 mother became more decidedly developed ; and, after the foregoing 
 conversation, she felt herself reassured in those large, yet secure, un- 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 19 
 
 haunted rooms, and in the same serene and cheerful frame of mind 
 as if she had just landed from a raging tempest on some beautiful, 
 peaceful island. She expressed her desire that the apartments 
 might remain constantly thrown open, seated herself at one of the 
 windows, and inhaled the autumnal breeze. 
 
 The thought of the Matron, the doubt connected with her whole 
 being, had so much engrossed her mind, and had so interwoven 
 themselves with the idea of Otho, that both time and effort were 
 necessary to shake them off. All the sensations with which her 
 soul was agitated, whether connected with her wishes and hopes 
 respecting the fate of her child, with her pain for Otho's untimely 
 death, or her grief in her state of early widowhood — all combined to 
 lead her thoughts likewise to the Ancestress. The word guilt, and 
 the suspicion of its existence in connection with her, as well as its 
 very conception, which scarcely had occurred to her before, had 
 alarmed her, and given her much pain. Soon, however, an instinc- 
 tive longing after concord served to bring into peaceful unison all 
 the emotions by which her heart was agitated; and seeking support, 
 and placing reliance in the will of Providence, she felt she had 
 never before experienced such consoling joy and delight. 
 
 She was thus absorbed in these meditations, when the venerable 
 steward entered, laden with a basket full of books, and proceeded 
 to arrange them on a shelf in a case close by. Besides the Bible, 
 they consisted wholly of devotional books, the Lives of the Saints, 
 the Lives of various Hermits, the Confessions and Epistles of St. 
 Augustine, together with the writings of St, Chrysostom, &c. 
 
 Bertha had hitherto reflected but little, and read less. Her 
 heart, so full of love, and her clear judgment, had grown and 
 developed themselves in modest retirement, hand in hand with her 
 outward form. She took the books with a sensation of awe and 
 dread, but was astonished to find them so intelligible ; and as a 
 blind person, when the film is taken off his eyes, at once becomes 
 conscious of the powers of sight and the visible world they disclose* 
 so she at once discovered her faculties of mind, and recognized the 
 world and the position she occupied therein. 
 
 This new employment, in which she often passed her hours for 
 days together, proved the best antidote, the softest and sweetest 
 balsam to the wounds of grief. Her sorrows were gradually as- 
 
20 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 suaged thereby; Otho, her child, and the Matron, remaining, how- 
 ever, still the objects to which her thoughts ever returned. To 
 the white chamber she repaired no more; not so much from any- 
 dread of the appearance of the Matron, as from the wish to avoid 
 approaching, much less searching into, the mysterious secret, the 
 further elucidation of which was embosomed in that particular 
 room. Moreover, she felt that the constant endeavour to recall to 
 her mind the beloved features of her Otho by means of those 
 which, however they resembled his, were still not altogether like 
 him, served only to confuse her idea of him whose image ever shone 
 in the bright mirror of her mind. 
 
 Chap. VIII. 
 
 The Birth of the Son. 
 
 Thus the winter crept on : the period approached when the lady 
 Bertha's confinement must shortly take place, when she dreamed 
 one night that, on looking through the door of the child's room, 
 which she always kept open, she beheld the Matron standing at 
 its cradle, looking exactly as old Francis had described her appear- 
 ance, and like the more recently painted picture, except that the 
 cloth which in the latter was represented as wrapped round her 
 head, was used now as a veil, and fell over her face ; the lower part 
 of which, however, was left visible., and looked pale and death-like. 
 Her hands, likewise, resembled those of a corpse ; and on the fore- 
 finger was the very ring represented in the painting. She gazed 
 stedfastly at the little bed ; then rested her eyes with equal serious- 
 ness upon Bertha, raised her hands over the cradle as if in bles- 
 sing, stretched them out to Bertha in the same attitude, and had 
 already vanished when the waking lady started up, and sought to 
 discover whether what she had seen was merely a dream or reality 
 itself. 
 
 The recollection of the apparition which Otho had witnessed the 
 last night of his existence on earth, agitated Bertha much ; she 
 longed for the dawn of day, in order to communicate to the old 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 21 
 
 steward the vision she had beheld. At this moment she already 
 felt the pains of childbirth, and just then one of her waiting- women 
 entering the room, replied in answer to the question who had 
 summoned her, that the steward had awakened, and sent her to her 
 ladyship. Her increasing sufferings prevented Bertha from 
 thinking further of it. In a few hours she held a son in her arms, 
 and a flow of fresh feelings rushed on her soul, amid which the 
 thoughts of her dream for a time were completely lost. 
 
 Nor was she reminded of it until some days after, when the vene- 
 rable Francis, who had never stirred from the child's room, which 
 in the day time was constantly filled with crowds of peasants and 
 attendants who came to offer their congratulations, entreated his 
 lady's permission to be allowed to approach and wish her joy. 
 
 ™ You have not only gratified the living, my honoured lady," 
 said the old man on being admitted, "but likewise the dead. In 
 the night when the child was born, a whisper breathed over my 
 bed, like a light and cooling breeze wafted through an empty 
 chamber of vast dimensions. It awoke me easily from my slight 
 slumber of old age, when before me stood the White Lady in a guise 
 in which I had never beheld her before. She pointed with out- 
 stretched arm towards the door. I arose quickly, and beheld her 
 quitting the room, looking round to me and floating, as it were, 
 onwards to your apartment, where she disappeared at the door of 
 your attendant's room. I trembled with fear and anxiety to ac- 
 count for the meaning of this appearance of the Matron. But now 
 I have lived to see that she is the messenger of good ; that she 
 loves your ladyship, and is anxious for your welfare, as we all are." 
 
 " My dream then," thought Bertha to herself, " must indeed have 
 been more than a dream ; and if then the dead really watch over 
 me, why does not my Otho appear to me ? for tremble I should not." 
 
22 
 
 THE AVHITE LADY. 
 
 Chap. IX. 
 
 The Mother's Thanksgiving. 
 
 But neither did her Otho appear to her, nor did the Matron pre- 
 sent herself again. The joy of seeing her fair child expanding 
 with every morn like some budding flower, and exhibiting changes 
 which no eye save a mother's could discern, hastened the recovery 
 of Bertha, and induced her to appoint the Christmas-eve for the 
 celebration of thanksgiving for her restoration. The old steward 
 advised that it should take place in the chapel "of the castle ; but 
 his lady preferred that the ceremony should be performed in the 
 church where her husband lay interred, and where her son had 
 been baptized. 
 
 The merry clear-toned Christmas bells chimed forth in the star- 
 lit dawn over the snow-clad fields, when the Lady Bertha awoke 
 her attendants, and ordered them to prepare for the procession. 
 While they were thus employed, their mistress stood at the window, 
 and saw through the morning twilight the dark forms of the in- 
 mates of the castle, as they hastened over the crisp frozen snow of 
 the fore-court to her son's apartments, whilst crowds of peasants 
 trudged past the iron lattice gates, on their way to the church. 
 She felt an uneasy, painful joy at the thought of standing with her 
 child over the grave of his father, as if she was about to behold 
 that loved form once again. It was still somewhat dark, when, 
 warmly clad herself, and with her babe equally well wrapped up 
 and closely pressed to her bosom, she left his nursery. 
 
 The venerable Francis awaited her presence in the ante-chamber 
 at the head of the domestics and retainers of the castle ; his hair 
 of silver white shone in the light of the wax tapers, which half 
 mingled, half contrasted with the approaching beams of day, dif- 
 fused a dubious and uncertain reflection, like hope dawning o'er 
 the grave ; and the minds of all present seemed even thus gloomy 
 and doubtful. 
 
 The church, now lit up with tapers, which brought out some 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 23 
 
 portions of the sacred edifice in strong relief, and threw others 
 again into as deep a shade, looked this morning so like the old 
 picture, that Bertha, when the peasantry knelt down, could scarcely 
 resist indulging in the deception that she heheld before her, as in 
 that painting, the Matron in their midst ; and at each moment did 
 she expect to see her Otho come forth towards her from the narrow 
 door which led to the family vault, and, smiling with pallid coun- 
 tenance upon herself and on their sweet babe, join his voice in 
 those old and sweetly pious harmonies which had for so many 
 centuries been chaunted and echoed forth within those venerable 
 walls, and had ever continued to awaken the same all-powerful, 
 sacred feelings. She wept in deep emotion; and yet she felt elated 
 with joy, as if in this dawning the confines of the world of spirits 
 were gradually opened, and all times dissolved in that one near at 
 hand and brief. 
 
 The service was now ended. The day shone bright without, as 
 they returned through the court of the castle. Here the view of 
 the spot where, coming, as now, from church, she had embraced 
 her Otho for the last time, so increased her emotion that she was 
 compelled to turn away her looks. She raised them sideways on 
 high to the windows of the corridor which ran behind the cham- 
 bers of her son; and above, at one of those same windows, she be- 
 held the White Lady ! No veil covered her face ; but her features 
 were not discernible behind the glass, although Bertha plainly dis- 
 tinguished their death-like paleness. Her first impulse was to look 
 round for old Francis ; his name was already on her lips. She, 
 however, collected herself, looked up again at the window — but 
 nothing was now visible : so that she was herself in doubt whether 
 or not her fancy might have deceived her. 
 
 On the evening of this day the Lady Bertha dismissed her 
 women, for the first time since the birth of her child, from atten- 
 dance in her room at night, and again slept alone. A festival of 
 the servants and dependants of the castle celebrated at this moment 
 the occasion of the thanksgiving ; and the distant sounds of joy 
 reached her chamber and struck upon her ear and heart once more 
 as in times, alas ! now past. Bright recollections, like beams of 
 golden sunshine, contrasted with the present, which lay lonely and 
 sad before her, and yet was cheered and blessed by the gentle 
 
24 
 
 THE WHITE LADV. 
 
 breathing of her boy, listening to which she sat beside his cradle, 
 her eyes now fixed on him, now engaged in the records of the 
 lives of the venerable hermits which lay open before her, and which 
 gradually drew her thoughts from her own fate to a world full of 
 simplicity, inspiration and wonder. 
 
 The attendant of little Otho had already several times anxiously 
 and longingly listened to the distant sounds of the music, and the 
 resounding merry peals of laughter. Her lady had observed this 
 when glancing from her volume : accordingly she bade her bring 
 the cradle of the child into her own apartment beside her bed, 
 light the night-tapers, and assist her to undress ; which having 
 done, she dismissed her, and let her go to join the rest. 
 
 She was obeyed ; and she now lay in bed, when the thought — 
 " How if the White Lady should suddenly stand before me in this 
 solitude !" pierced her with shuddering fright. Still there was no 
 one sufficiently near whom she could summon ; and, meantime, 
 nothing mysterious having presented itself, and exhausted by the 
 excitement of the past day, Bertha sank into a tranquil slumber. 
 
 Chap. X. 
 
 The Gift from the Dead. 
 
 Scarcely had sleep gradually enwrapped her thoughts from the 
 scenes of reality around her, than a sweet and charming dream 
 completely enchained her senses. She beheld therein her Otho 
 standing before her bed, the same exactly as when living, only that 
 he looked more serious and beautiful. He looked down with a 
 smile on his son, and kissed him. He then turned his eyes across 
 the cradle at her, with a sweet and affectionate look ; he then ap- 
 proached her, and with his pale and shadowy hand placed on her 
 fore finger a ring, the same as that worn by the Matron, and kissed 
 her forehead. His breath fell gently o'er it like a cool and re- 
 freshing breeze, which she fancied she could actually feel, and by 
 which she thought she was awoke, and about to rise to meet him. 
 Then it seemed to her in her sleep as if she awoke again, and saw 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 25 
 
 the Matron disappearing by the door of the chamber ; yet sleep 
 still held her fastened in its bands, and she slept undisturbed until 
 the break of day. 
 
 Her first looks on waking were directed to the cradle of her child ; 
 it was no longer close to her own bed, but had been removed to its 
 former place. By chance her eye fell at this moment on her right 
 hand, with which she had just drawn aside the curtain, and she 
 was suddenly overwhelmed with a shuddering feeling of awe and 
 wonder, for on her forefinger was encircled the ring of the White 
 Lady! 
 
 She was at a loss how to act — whether to take it off or leave it 
 on. Tears of terror and doubt fell from her eyes, and bedewed it. 
 It was a fiery, brilliant ruby, without device or ornament, set in 
 plain gold. At length she drew it from her finger. On the inside 
 was engraved: "M. a. R. 1129, on the day of the summer equi- 
 nox.' 5 Thence it appeared to be a wedding ring : yet what mean - 
 ing was she to ascribe to such a gift? Did it call her to her 
 husband, who had placed the ring on her finger while she slept, 
 and to whom she felt her wedded love attracted her on high, while 
 her dear affection's ties towards her beloved child enchained her 
 not less to the earth below ? Or had she, while half asleep, con- 
 founded the features of Otho and the Matron ? Had she perhaps 
 really received it from her ? Was it to be the means of placing 
 herself in relation with her ? Agitated by such doubts, she passed 
 the day in anxious expectation ; but it ended calmly and undisturbed 
 as usual. The night came — yet no dream which might explain the 
 mysterious gift disturbed her slumbers. 
 
 " Knowest thou this ring, good Francis ? " she inquired next 
 morning of the old steward. 
 
 " Assuredly, my noble lady ; that is the White Lady's ring ! " he 
 exclaimed, as he looked at his mistress anxiously, and with an in- 
 quiring glance. 
 
 " Even so !" she replied. " Either she or my husband placed it 
 on my finger while I was asleep. I saw them both in a dream. 
 Advise me, good Francis, what I am to do with it. Or is it per- 
 haps intended, think you, to summon me from my child ?" 
 
 The old man shook his head, and was silent. " Who can say 
 what they intend who explain not their meaning to us by word of 
 
 D 
 
2G 
 
 THE WHTTE LADY. 
 
 mouth ?" he said after some time. " Yet," he continued, as his 
 features brightened to a smile, " from the aspect in which the White 
 Lady appeared to me in the hour of the young prince's birth, I 
 should not think that she wishes to portend death to you by the 
 gift of the ring. My belief is, that she knows you, my noble lady, 
 that she loves you, and that the ring is intended as a gift to the 
 youthful mother of this house, on the occasion of her thanksgiving 
 to God. But — advise what you ought to do with it — that I dare 
 not, noble lady." 
 
 " In what you have said, good Francis," answered his mistress, 
 "you have only expressed my own feelings, and I have formed the 
 same conclusion. I have decided therefore not to suffer the ring 
 to quit my finger, but preserve it as a sacred relic : by doing this, 
 I feel it can bring no harm either to myself or my child . For the 
 rest I will follow your former counsel, and committing myself to the 
 will of Heaven, banish, as much as possible, all other thoughts 
 upon the matter, until some indisputable sign beckons to take 
 another direction." 
 
 The Lady Bertha, however, found it not so easy to follow out 
 this resolution. The expression in the countenance of the Matron, 
 the resemblance between her features and those of Otho, the sym- 
 pathy which the apparition testified for her and her child, the fright- 
 ful judgment on the dead — all these subjects often deeply agitated 
 and afflicted her. A secret doubt whether, nevertheless, the day 
 of the summer equinox might not be her last on earth, still clung 
 to her mind, and the more especially as the White Lady had not 
 since appeared either to her or any one else in the castle. 
 
 Chap. XI. 
 
 The Old Man's Legacy. 
 
 The winter was past — the summer equinox was fast approaching; 
 when one morning the venerable steward — who spent several hours 
 in the early part of each day by the cradle of the little Otho, carried 
 the infant in his arms, and was delighted when the child grasped 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 27 
 
 his silver locks with his little fingers — made not his appearance as 
 usual. Bertha inquired after him, and heard to her sorrow that he 
 was unwell. Soon after this, an orphan boy, the child of his de- 
 ceased daughter, whom he had adopted, entered her room, and 
 begged her ladyship to come to his grandfather. " He is sitting in 
 his arm-chair," said the child, " and says he shall never rise from 
 it again ; and he wishes much to see you, my lady." 
 
 She followed the boy immediately. She found the aged man 
 sitting near the open window, in his old-fashioned cleanly apart- 
 ment, looking out on the gentle haze of the early spring morning, 
 which had gathered round the tops of the hills and the trees. 
 
 " When the young leaves appear, the stem must throw off the 
 few old ones which have lingered beyond their time," said the good 
 old man, calmly, as he pointed from the window to the budding 
 trees outside. 
 
 " What mean those words, my kind old friend ?" exclaimed Ber- 
 tha ; " surely you would not wish to leave me ?" 
 
 "Not wish it, noble lady," he returned; "one would willingly 
 remain where one has lived so happily, and so long ; but a 
 time does come, and now that time has arrived and completed 
 itself. It was but yesterday that I received a warning ; this day I 
 feel it was rightly given and will be realized, and therefore it was 
 that I wished to speak with your ladyship." And he continued : 
 " The White Lady, my noble mistress, has appeared to me. She 
 was standing in the gallery, from the windows of which we over- 
 look the church and church-yard, when I entered it. I preserved 
 my silence as usual, and wished to continue my unbroken course ; 
 but she intercepted my path, pointed for a length of time with her 
 shrivelled finger to the church-yard beneath, then turned aside, 
 went slowly on, with her eyes fixed constantly on me. When 
 arrived at the door, she stopped, raised her hand first towards me, 
 then to Heaven, shook her head sorrowfully, and then vanished. 
 I understood at once that this was meant as her last farewell to me 
 on earth : and Heaven be praised, I have done my duty, and I am 
 ready ! One thing now alone remains to be done. Behold ! noble 
 lady, this casket; it is a heirloom which my forefathers on their 
 death-bed have successively bequeathed from son to son, from 
 generation to generation. The key is, however, wanting : nor have 
 
 D 2 
 
28 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 we ever known what is contained therein, nor whence its origin. 
 But each succeeding guardian on his death-bed ever declared that 
 its contents were of hallowed importance to this illustrious house ; 
 that it must not he opened by any other but its own key, if it be 
 wished not to bring over the head of a dear and valued member of 
 the family the most fatal calamity and heavy judgment. You 
 know, noble lady, that it is not fitting here to treat with indifference 
 those things which might perchance elsewhere be regarded lightly ; 
 accordingly, as my daughter's son, the nearest of my descendants, 
 is but a mere boy — not yet attained to years of discretion, I confide 
 the precious casket to your ladyship's care." 
 
 The boy stood next to his grandfather, and looked anxiously in 
 his face. The old man placed the casket in the Lady Bertha's 
 hands in silence ; his last words seemed to have completely ex- 
 hausted his remaining strength. He smoothed down the fair locks 
 of the boy ; he would fain have bent towards the youth, in order to 
 embrace him, but his head sunk down on his breast ; he breathed 
 deeply, and his parting smiles were illumined by the genial rays of 
 the refreshing morn of spring. 
 
 Bertha had understood his last request, which was thus antici- 
 pated by death. She took the child with her to her room, and 
 tried to console and cheer him, while she gave directions to have 
 him placed under the best superintendence the castle afforded. 
 She then placed the mysterious casket under lock and key ; though 
 not without considerable anxiety, for she felt that it was connected 
 with the fate of the Matron, and that its safe keeping was insepar- 
 ably linked with the chain of her mysterious history. Its exterior 
 consisted of ebony, beautifully inlaid with gold, ivory, with mother- 
 of-pearl and variegated stones ; the work was of the Byzantine 
 period of art, very ancient, but in an admirable state of preservation. 
 
 Meanwhile, the anxiety excited in the mind of Bertha by the 
 possession of the casket, proved to be as unfounded as that which 
 had been occasioned by the gift of the ring. The funeral of the 
 aged Francis, and the immediately following summer equinox, 
 passed by, and she still lived ; the course of her days proceeded 
 naturally, undisturbed by any mysterious event : so much so, that 
 amid this continually secure uniformity, she, at times, cherished 
 the wish to investigate the mystery of the old picture. But a pro- 
 found dread still served to act as a check on this wish. 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 29 
 
 Chap. XII. 
 
 The Golden Key. 
 
 A bout this time her little Otho fell ill, arid the blooming child 
 drooped more and more, apparently past all recovery. Less and 
 less frequent were the moments when it was possible by a flower 
 or a toy to win from his cherub face a passing smile. The sorrow- 
 ing mother bore him continually in her arms, rested his feverish 
 and aching head upon her bosom, and long did she struggle in 
 silence and in sadness with the anxious fear that this last and 
 dearest tie of her existence would be snatched from her. 
 
 One night, at length, the little sufferer presented little or no 
 hope of surviving until the morning. She sat beside his cradle, 
 and watched him with unchanged, unwearied looks ; her poor 
 heart was in an agony of anguish and despair. At one moment 
 she half wished all might be over, and that, beyond the reach of all 
 mortal pain, he might have been borne to Heaven, there to join the 
 choir of angels ; and then again she shuddered to think of her own 
 state, and how she should be enabled to support such a painful 
 visitation. 
 
 The early light of morning now broke in upon this mournful 
 scene, when, exhausted with fatigue, she sank into a gentle slumber. 
 When after a slight repose she looked around in affright, she be- 
 held seated on the opposite side of the cradle — the White Lady ! 
 Terrified with this sight, and painfully struck with the thought 
 that the child must be dead, she sat motionless with horror, and 
 gazed upon the boy. But her treasure lay there, with refreshed 
 and open eyes, looked at her, and held in his hands a wreath of 
 rosemary, brilliants, and pearls, with which he was playing with 
 happy cheerfulness. 
 
 " Know me, if thou wilt !" breathed a soft and gentle voice. 
 " Thou seest me no more unless thou seekest me !" 
 
 The White Lady now rose up and quitted the room with noiseless 
 step. Bertha remained in a state of tremour. Terror and delight held 
 
 D 3 
 
30 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 enchained her lips and her whole form. She then fell on her knees, 
 caught up her child, held it in her arms, then raised it to Heaven 
 with a flood of tears, trembling, sobbing, rejoicing, praying. 
 
 The nurse still slept soundly. By degrees the agitated mother 
 became more calm ; she now wished to turn her infant, and place 
 it more comfortably on its couch ; she then observed on the pillow 
 beneath its head some newly-plucked herbs, and remarked that the 
 child smiled the more cheerfully the nearer she brought them to 
 his head. She carefully collected them together, and placing them 
 there, she proceeded to examine the wreath with which the boy was 
 playing. This consisted of a plain gold ring. At regular distances 
 there were large pearls, flowers formed of variegated precious 
 stones, set in massive gold, with a branch of rosemary twined round 
 the whole. 
 
 She gave the wreath into the child's hand, and was about to 
 spread the coverlid over him, when between its folds glittered a 
 golden key, of the same antique and splendid workmanship as the 
 wreath and the casket, to which latter it evidently belonged. 
 
 Bertha looked at it with terror, and for a length of time she 
 hesitated to touch it. She then cast a look at her child, and im- 
 mediately took the key. Thus the opening of the mysterious 
 cabinet appeared now to be confided to her charge. It was indeed 
 impossible to avoid doing the office, for the Matron had evidently 
 saved her child. Yet cold tears of dread filled her eyes at this 
 thought. She, however, looked again at her child now recovering 
 and reviving with every moment, and her feelings as a mother over- 
 came every other. Lost in joy, and forgetting all else save her boy, 
 she watched him as he gently fell into a quiet, happy slumber be* 
 fore her delighted eyes. 
 
 Chap. XIII. 
 The Resolution. 
 
 The morning had dawned and continued its course in triumph 
 amid the minstrelsy of the feathered tribe, the harmonious sounds 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 31 
 
 of joyous industry, echoed forth over the flower-strewn earth, and 
 its bright, transparent streams. The nurse of little Otho now 
 awoke, and was wonderstruck and delighted at the sudden recovery 
 of her young lord. The joy diffused itself over the whole castle. 
 The inmates hastened to see the young prince, to testify their de- 
 light and sympathy ; and this cheerful sound awoke the Lady 
 Bertha from the silent forgetfulness of the extacy in which she had 
 passed the last few hours. 
 
 These emotions of delight were too much for a heart accustomed 
 so long only to sensations of the most opposite and painful kind ; 
 she was unable to restrain her feelings, and she hastened from 
 within the narrow limits of the walls, to give loose to her gratitude 
 and joy amid the solitude and silence of nature. 
 
 She was struck, as if anew, with the peculiar beauties of nature's 
 scenery and its objects, which now met her everywhere around, so 
 full of life ; and she was astonished to find that the earth could 
 still contain for her that source whence might still be apportioned to 
 her so much pain, so much happiness. Joy seemed now, as it were, 
 newly born for her. But the thought of the Matron, her fate, and 
 her judgment, became nevertheless more and more a subject of the 
 deepest interest and importance, and her feelings of sympathy 
 were only the more strongly excited by the fear of her appearing 
 being removed, from the assurance so solemnly expressed by the 
 Matron herself — " Thou seest me no more unless thou seekest 
 me. " 
 
 She felt a shudder come over her whole being at the thought of 
 approaching too closely the secret confined within the limits of the 
 other side of the grave. Gladly would she have been relieved from 
 the office of opening the mysterious casket, but which the present 
 of the key now called upon her to exercise. Yet there remained not 
 the slightest doubt but that the White Lady herself was the member 
 of the family who was threatened with the direst misfortune in case 
 the casket should be opened by the improper party ; on the other 
 hand, equal mischief might ensue to the Matron if the opening of 
 the casket were neglected. And were, then, to her those limits so 
 strange, so unknown, beyond which her thoughts flew every hour 
 to seek her beloved husband ? And ought she to be so terrible to 
 her— she who was the mother of her husband's line of ancestors, 
 
32 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 and of her own child, who bore her beloved's very features, and 
 who, like him, had shown to herself nothing but overflowing love 
 and sweet benevolence ? She shuddered : her anguish broke forth 
 in tears : still she felt herself impelled : an irresistible necessity 
 urged her to open the casket, whatever consequences might result 
 therefrom. 
 
 As soon as she had reached her chamber she fastened the door, 
 offered up a prayer to Heaven, then, with firm hand, took the 
 golden key, and applied it to the lock of the casket : it fitted 
 exactly, and the lid flew open without the slightest obstruction. 
 
 The interior of the casket was completely covered with mother- 
 of-pearl. A packet presented itself, enveloped in silk, embroidered 
 with gold. This Bertha immediately took up, removed the cover- 
 ing, and a parchment, in a good state of preservation, written in 
 light and beautiful characters, lay before her, and, although the 
 letters and the style were both of antiquated form and appearance, 
 she was, nevertheless, perfectly able to make out and read as 
 follows : 
 
 Chap. XIV. 
 
 The Manuscript of Centuries. 
 
 Si My name is Juditha, and I am the daughter of Prostibor. I 
 was born, and enjoyed the season of childhood, like all other mor- 
 tals. My father's castle was the place of my birth, and there I 
 lived until my sixteenth year. At that time there came to us Lord 
 
 Markwart von R > ; he was four-and-twenty years of age, 
 
 manly, kind, and handsome. To me it was the dearest news of 
 my heart when I was informed that I was to repair with him to his 
 castle, there to dwell with him, and pass my life in love and peace, 
 the same as my beloved mother with my father in the home of my 
 birth. Great was the joy expressed by all the younger members 
 of our household, and the vassals of my father, many of whom 
 followed in my train, to afford all necessary service and assist- 
 ance. 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 33 
 
 " I was dressed in a purple-coloured robe ; my flaxen hair was 
 curled ; and a golden coronet was placed on my head, as being the 
 daughter and the betrothed bride of a high and mighty noble. 
 Our procession halted before the church adjoining my future lord's 
 castle. It was but newly endowed, and adorned with rich carved 
 work. I was lifted from my palfry, and led by my noble bride- 
 groom to the altar. How handsome did he not look, in his suit of 
 steel armour, adorned with gold ! how did I not delight in him, 
 and in my own lot, before Heaven, the saints, and mortals ! and 
 how fondly did I pledge the vow to be his in love and truth for 
 ever ! He then presented me with a gold ring, in which a purple 
 stone was set : his father had brought this ring from Palestine, 
 the grave of our Saviour, whither he had repaired, one of the first 
 crusaders, with the blessing of Pope Honorius. Inside the ring 
 was inscribed the year, the day, and the name of the Lord of 
 Markwart. Those were dear and precious words to me ! 
 
 " The castle of my husband was situated in a beautiful country. 
 Mountains, crowned with fortresses, bordered the horizon ; the 
 level lands consisted of far outstretching fields of corn, rich mea- 
 dows, and dense forests, amid which flowed the peaceful waters of 
 a sweet, refreshing stream. The castle itself was protected by 
 moats, high walls, and towers, placed at intervals ; and the interior 
 filled with numerous inmates. I had to bestow my care on all, 
 and all returned my attentions ; all evinced the deepest and most 
 sincere care and attachment towards the wedded partner of their 
 lord. 
 
 " When 1 had given birth to my first daughter, it so happened 
 that Mainhard, the holy Bishop of Prague, paid us a visit, on his 
 road to the Holy Sepulchre, and offered to baptize our child. On 
 this occasion there were present, in honour of my lord, many 
 nobles and knights, with their ladies, matrons, and daughters. 
 From Swabia came Sir Conrad of Beutelspach ; and the brothers, 
 Hermann and William, lords of Sulzbach, who founded the convent 
 of AYylemow, now in ruins. Yonder their bodies have long since 
 reposed in peace, and their souls have ascended to heaven with 
 those around them. But my soul has never yet been released from 
 earth ! 
 
 " My parents likewise came, together with all my brothers and 
 
34 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 sisters, and they wondered at me in my coif and veil, a housewife 
 and a mother, and they were delighted with what the strangers re- 
 lated of the splendid city of Byzantium beyond the sea, of the 
 other towns and castles of the infidels in the Holy Land, and on 
 the river Nile, of deserts, where nought is to be seen but earth and 
 sky, day and night ; and then they would return to and dwell upon 
 the beauties of their own cheerful home along the river Neckar and 
 the Inn, in imperial Germany, the sister land of Bohemia. 
 
 "I, too, was pleased with the cheerful subjects of discourse which 
 enlivened our halls, and shared the joy of our lord among his 
 guests ; but still more was I delighted to steal to the chamber of 
 my child, there to gaze upon it as it reposed so sweetly on its 
 couch, and then I returned to busy myself about the castle, in the 
 larder or the cellar, providing for the entertainment of its noble 
 father and his guests : for truly did my heart rejoice at the honour 
 thus bestowed on him, my parents, and myself, when I bore my 
 child in my loving arms to the font, there to dedicate it to Heaven, 
 in the presence of so many noble witnesses. 
 
 " Two young mothers, who had come with me to the castle, had 
 given birth to their children at the same time with myself, and 
 they now, like their mistress, carried their infants to the church, there 
 to be baptized at the same font, by the same holy man, and before 
 the same company. These faithful followers were greatly delighted 
 at this happy circumstance ; equally happy were all the other 
 members of the household, but the most happy of all was their 
 mistress. So many things happened in those times to make me 
 joyful ! 
 
 " I had three children in succession, two daughters and a son — 
 a sweet union of brotherly and sisterly love, continually affording 
 new joys to their happy father and myself. The space in the castle 
 became more and more occupied and insufficient for the wants of 
 its numerously-increasing inhabitants. I had much to make me 
 active, from the early mom to the closing night ; yet, from day to 
 day my spirits and my strength increased in proportion to my task, 
 for my Lord Markwart advised me in all things firmly and faith- 
 fully. Now our servants married each other, and required farther 
 help and protection ; now some building here or there on our 
 estate required completion; or now some fresh land was to be 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 35 
 
 tilled, when all had been carefully attended to for the provision of 
 
 the present moment and the supplies of the season. My noble 
 husband and myself consulted together each other's pleasure and 
 will in everything. Nothing but a state of constant happiness of 
 mind and heart was apportioned to me then, as I can now retrace, 
 for many, many years, even as if one perpetual sunshine beamed 
 upon my heart ! 
 
 " On the death of Duke Sobieslaus at his own new castle of 
 Hastin-Hradeck, my lord and husband, Markwart, repaired to 
 Prague, there to attend at the council of nobles then assembled, to 
 adjudge upon the succession of the sovereign power; and when 
 he was gone, and the time was come that I knew he was journeying 
 through lands unseen by me and unknown, I lost all power of 
 thought : I was no longer in a frame of mind to ponder over the 
 requisites for each coming day ; my children, my servants, were no 
 longer the same to me. I became languid and feeble. What hap- 
 piness, therefore, did the news communicate to my heart which 
 told me that Wladislaus the Second was elected duke, and my lord 
 was on his return to the castle ! The very territory itself, with all 
 its lovely fields and valleys, seemed to rejoice when its lord stood 
 once more upon it. He arrived, and all pursued its former course, 
 all assumed its former cheerful aspect. 
 
 " In the following year I bore my last child ; nor did I ever love 
 those previously born so fondly as I did this. We named the girl 
 Przibislawa. She did not resemble my lord Markwart, nor was 
 she like me ; she was like herself alone in the world ; she was a 
 child that seemed as if belonging to a better world. She was ever 
 serious, yet therewithal ever smiling, and her whole nature and ap- 
 pearance were inexpressibly sweet and pleasing. My other chil- 
 dren grew up, and their looks changed ; nor could I longer recog- 
 nize the face of either as it was in childhood. She, however, grew 
 taller and more beautiful, but still remained the same in look. 
 When I beheld her as a maiden, in her walks about the castle or 
 garden, or when sitting at church, I felt as if I saw her still as 
 formerly, when she came smiling and running up to me in her child- 
 hood. Yet I neither testified to her nor to the others the gratifi- 
 cation I felt in this ; all were alike dear to my heart, for their own 
 and their father's sake ; nor could I have made a choice from 
 
36 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 among them. It was only to my lord Markwart that I confided 
 what I felt. 
 
 " Neither had I time for reflection on this matter : my heart 
 could not dwell on any single joy, for I had much to advise upon, 
 and desired always to attend to all. I knew man and woman and 
 child, every beast, every bird's-nest, as well as every tree and plant 
 upon our domain : I had watched and carefully tended each in 
 turn, with the joy of my eyes and the affection of my heart. 
 
 " Our eldest daughter now made choice of a holy life, apart 
 from the world, within the sacred walls of a cloister. We conveyed 
 her to Prague, to the convent of St. George, there to enter on her 
 noviciate ; and we parted from her in the hallowed peace of those 
 holy halls, and I wept over her with mingled feelings of comfort 
 and sorrow. 
 
 " Soon after this her sister was betrothed, and our son chose a 
 noble maiden for his bride : we desired they should be happy early, 
 as we ourselves had been. We therefore fitted up a castle for the re* 
 ception of our new daughter, whither our son might bring her 
 home as its future mistress. We filled the rooms with furniture 
 and plate, and I selected servants for my daughter, and instructed 
 them in their duties. Alas ! these were pleasing cares ; and it 
 seemed to me as if I was planting my life anew, to flourish a 
 second time in a new soil. 
 
 " Przibislawa made choice of Lord Odolenus of Chisch. He 
 was her father's favourite, and gained her affections by his manly 
 and faultless character. Although still so young, our nobles had 
 selected him from amongst the best, as arbitrator in all their feuds 
 and disputes. His understanding was clear and correct, his ap- 
 pearance was stately, his eye was piercing, his noble forehead 
 stern and lofty. Few and brief were the words which fell from his 
 swelling, youthful lips. He seemed, indeed, almost too strict and 
 rigid for my gentle child ! 
 
 " Our house was blessed with grandchildren just at the moment 
 when Przibislawa's nuptials approached, and when our eldest 
 daughter was about to perforin her holy vow. Our children, 
 therefore, all wished to meet once more at the paternal castle. 
 The rooms were all soon filled, and were almost too small to 
 hold so many beloved guests ; and when now the married couples, 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 37 
 
 with their new-born infants, arrived, and in their company 
 the servants whom we had given them, and who came to visit 
 the friends whom they had left behind on our domain — when 
 we received all these persons in the castle court, and when the 
 young mothers showed me their babes, whose faces dis- 
 played alike the features of my beloved husband and of my 
 children — when I raised them in my arms on high to the blue 
 heavens above — when around me all were eagerly pressing, cor- 
 dially greeting and joyfully shouting forth their warm and hearty 
 congratulations — when from the youthful, blooming countenances 
 of the new parents I turned my eyes upon my eldest child, in 
 whose features the gravity of devout meditation had already im- 
 pressed the traces of profound and holy peace — her companion 
 on earth when the pleasures of youth yielded to the joys of heaven 
 — when, I say, I looked on the joyous crowd that surrounded me, 
 and which all belonged to me, and then gazed on the noble and 
 open countenance of my lord and husband, Markwart, and beheld 
 mirrored, as in a glass, a long series of days, as happy, and some 
 perhaps even happier, than the present — my transport had neither 
 bound nor limit ! I rejoiced with the young mothers like a sister, 
 I rejoiced over them like a mother, I rejoiced in the present, I re- 
 joiced still more in the future. 
 
 " Hand-in-hand we sat round the stone table in the fragrant 
 shade of the lime-trees, looking far and wide over the sunny land- 
 scape. Suddenly in the distance a cloud of dust was seen ; it ap- 
 proached nearer; we descried a glittering of armour; banners 
 were seen to wave, the banners of Duke Wladislaus, bearing the 
 Bohemian eagle ; it was the herald of the duke, who, having now 
 advanced, summoned Lord Markwart, with his son and sons-in- 
 law, to Prague, within three days, thence to proceed to Wurzburg, 
 to attend the marriage of the Emperor Frederick of Hohenstauffen 
 with the Lady Beatrice of Burgundy. The nobles looked at each 
 other with an expression of doubt and inquiry ; but Lord Mark- 
 wart nodded his assent to the herald— and that moment closed 
 upon my happiness for ever ! 
 
 " My mind, from that fatal day, never recovered its cheerful 
 serenity, notwithstanding all that my beloved husband and my 
 children might say to console me by the assurance of their safe 
 
 E 
 
38 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 return. I was no longer able to cherish this hope. When the 
 career of joy is once checked, rarely, if ever, does it resume its 
 course. 
 
 " On the third day — that which my lord destined for the nup- 
 tials of Przibislawa — the steeds were led forth, and the young men 
 took leave of their wives and sisters, myself and their babes. My 
 lord, now having mounted, took my hand, and held it ; he ven- 
 tured not to speak, lest he should betray his deep emotion, and his 
 voice be thus overpowered ; but he looked in my face, which, for 
 some time, I dared not raise to his. At length I looked up to 
 him, when he smiled sadly, but consolingly ; and now Lord Odo- 
 lenus, with the impetuosity of youth, sprang first over the draw- 
 bridge ; Lord Markwart then slowly turned on his horse, pressed 
 my hand, loosed it as I gazed on him for the last time, and then 
 my heart was nigh to burst with agony within my bosom. Oh, 
 that I had indeed never beheld him more on earth again ! 
 
 " In the vacant, spacious apartments all was now silent and de- 
 serted : I felt myself overcome with anxiety and alarm as I wan- 
 dered through them. My children seemed but half allied to 
 me, now that their father no longer looked at them with me. My 
 daughters were young and eager; the pain of absence afflicted 
 them but little, compared with myself, the wedded one of so many 
 years. The separation weighed upon my breast far heavier than in 
 my youth. My poor heart beat faintly, and sank beneath its 
 painful burden ; my limbs were more and more feeble and power- 
 less ; my senses became confused ; I seemed to have no faculties, 
 no wish but that of living until the day of his return, of beholding 
 that happy future when my joy should be continued more and 
 more enriched, and when I should again be enabled to care and 
 provide for those whom I so loved, so dearly prized. 
 
 " But the power and the hope of attaining this desire grew less 
 and less within me. I constrained myself to breathe more freely, to 
 direct my feeble steps more securely and more firmly, and to collect 
 together all my remaining strength of mind for my customaiy 
 duties ; but the effort became more and more vain from day to day. 
 The nearer approached the day of their return, the more did ray 
 strength abandon me. I looked towards it as my deliverance ; I 
 hoped to survive until that day should arrive. 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 M 
 
 * But vain was that hope ! A few days only intervened, when 
 I awoke one morning in my bed, without the power to move, and 
 my throbbing heart and brain tortured with the thought as if of 
 some dark prophecy — ' No more shalt thou see the absent !' and 
 my anguish became indescribable, My women, soon after enter- 
 ing, were shocked at my looks, and hastened away. My daughters 
 came : they knelt beside my bed, and my holy daughter alone it 
 was who conquered her tears and her grief. I wept with the rest ; 
 I wept more bitterly than they. I could not bear to die. I caused 
 my grandchildren to be brought and my servants to be summoned. 
 All came round my bed. I clung to life : they all linked me 
 to it! 
 
 "And the holy priest now approached, and pronounced over me 
 his blessing, and warned me that my hour was near, when I must 
 quit this world and all it contained so dear to me, at God's 
 command, and that it was now my duty to turn my thoughts to 
 Him who had ordained this affliction — if it should befall me and 
 mine — in mercy, and for my salvation. 
 
 " I would not hear the pious man to the end. I wept ; I bade 
 him be silent, and not call that a mercy which would snatch me 
 away in the fullness of my life from so many objects of my love, 
 without even a parting from the dear companion of my youth and 
 age. 
 
 " Then my eldest daughter threw herself on her knees beside 
 my bed, and, with folded hands, spoke so sweetly and so solemnly 
 of the darkness of mortal vision ; she assured me I should soon 
 bless even this my fate, and with smiles more blissful than now, 
 look down on her father, on her, on her brothers and sisters, and 
 on my home, if I would now but turn my heart to God, and devote 
 all my thoughts to, and rest all my hopes on Him alone. 
 
 * I heard only the sweet sound of her voice ; I felt nothing but 
 the joy of her holiness. * Pray, pray to God,' I cried, ' that I may 
 live !' But, alas ! to my unspeakable anguish, I felt myself grow- 
 ing weaker and weaker every moment, in the struggle I maintained 
 against death. 
 
 m The priest then knelt again, and prayed beside me, as he pre- 
 sented the sacred symbols of religion ; but I pushed them aside, 
 and bade him cease, and not invoke my death. T renounced in 
 
 e 2 
 
40 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 my heart all happiness save that of seeing once more my lord and 
 husband, of remaining with my children, and all those so dear to 
 my heart in that home in which I had dwelt so long in peace, on 
 this beauteous earth : and my thoughts recoiled from every other 
 object with abhorrence. 
 
 " But weaker and weaker grew my breath ; I constrained myself 
 by force to sustain it, and I strove with all my sinking powers to 
 inhale air and life with exhausted, agonized lungs. The priest 
 prayed aloud for my salvation. I cursed his prayer ; it seemed 
 to me as if it only hastened the coming of death. I ordered him 
 to be taken from my sight. I invoked — I besought heaven, with 
 the utmost effort of gasping passion, to grant me life — life — life ! 
 
 " This prayer was my last thought, and then a deep slumber 
 irresistibly took possession of my entire consciousness. It was a 
 long repose of unspeakable delight ; a state no longer of breathing, 
 yet existing; of floating, as if without effort, on the wings of thought; 
 no longer feeling or thinking, yet of observing all things in infinite 
 clearness. I beheld, as it were, the earth with her day and night, 
 her light and shade, her starry firmament, her beauteous verdure, 
 so fresh and green, the busy rounds of life, the ever-varying con- 
 nection of nature and innocence with God — contemplations teeming 
 with peace from heaven, like a revelation from on high, freed from 
 all association with bodily pain, pleasure, or anxiety. I had no 
 desire to return to the past state of trial and infliction. 
 
 "And now there arose before me a form resembling man, but far 
 more lofty and noble, of such infinite radiance of figure and of 
 countenance, that, compared with such splendour, the light of the 
 sun were dim — contrasted with its purity, that of the moon a gloomy 
 shade. He fixed his eyes upon me, full of the piercing sternness 
 of judgment. He spoke not, yet I knew and comprehended the 
 meaning he conveyed — 1 Thou hast begged for life with the prayer 
 of acceptance; thy prayer is granted; live free from death until 
 
 "Here my vision of death dissolved into a slumber of life, and I 
 lost the close of the sentence. The apparition faded from my sight, 
 the power of breathing returned, and I felt the burden of earthly 
 existence again rising and sinking within my bosom ; I heard 
 hollow, earthly sounds from time to time, dark and gloomy shades 
 surrounded me, and a red light glimmered above my head. 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 41 
 
 " I opened my eyes ; I recognised the lamp in our family vault 
 burning over me. I lay in my coffin, wrapped in my shroud, 
 whilst the funeral bell tolled in the tower above, and the knell 
 pealed for me ! I was once more alive ! The feeling of life weighed 
 heavily upon me after the recollection of the new existence which 
 had just passed away. My first thought was of my husband — my 
 children — all that was mine, and, full of joy, I quickly arose, and 
 only wished to quit the vault to meet them. 
 
 " The gates of the vault and the folding doors of the church 
 stood wide open, an unknown impulse drew me through, and I 
 found myself in the open air. Wide around me lay the landscape 
 in the misty light of the moon ; the knell tolled on ; I beheld a 
 dark funeral procession surrounded by torches — it slowly ap- 
 proached. Trembling with inward horror I longed to ascertain 
 what it meant, to discover who lay on the bier, and at once I stood 
 beside it. In sudden haste the bearers put it down, and fled ; the 
 attendants threw away their torches, and like the rest, fled with 
 gestures of terror. The whole procession was scattered in a 
 moment on my appearance — I stood alone beside the coffin — I 
 pulled away the pall that covered it, and by the light of the moon* 
 and the torches still burning on the ground, I recognised my lord 
 and husband, beheld him dead before me, his wife, so newly called 
 to life again ! I threw myself prostrate on the coffin ; I pressed 
 my warm and breathing lips, my painfully breaking heart, on his 
 calm and death-closed mouth, on his silent, unmoved breast. O ! 
 life— life— life ! 
 
 "The morning sun soon rose over the earth; the larks greeted each 
 other with their early song ; every living object had its kindred to 
 meet — and I — I also had children, and grandchildren. I thought 
 
 first of my lovely Przibislawa and in the same moment I 
 
 found myself transported to her apartment, to the foot of the 
 couch on which she reposed. 
 
 " She was completely dressed, and seemed to have wept herself 
 to sleep. Her hands were folded on her bosom in the same attitude 
 in which, when a child, she used to fall asleep when troubled with 
 some childish grief. Yet her sweet countenance glowed not now 
 as then ; it was pale, and so full of woe that it pierced my inmost 
 
 E 3 
 
4 2 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 soul ; and on her cheeks were traces of her tears. Long did I gaze 
 upon her, but waked her not, for I wished not to disturb her 
 repose, until at length I could no longer bear that look of affliction, 
 and involuntarily I pronounced her beloved name. 
 
 " * Mother !' she cried, without unclosing her eyes ; and new 
 tears broke forth. She raised herself up, sat awhile, looked wildly 
 at me, and then completely awoke. I extended my arms to enfold 
 her, but she sprang from the bed with a cry of affright, rushed past 
 me from the room, and down the stairs, screaming loudly with terror. 
 
 " My thoughts fondly followed her, and the new and mysterious 
 impulse, which impelled me forwards, hurried me after her steps. 
 I had just reached her, and was about to clasp her in my embrace, 
 when she sank to the ground lifeless. The doors of the cor- 
 ridor were opened, I saw my children and my faithful servants 
 approach ; but at the sight of me they hastily retired and shut the 
 doors, and no one came to the aid of my poor Przibislawa. In vain 
 I cried. I wished to be with my eldest daughter, to tell her my 
 presence should no longer alarm them, but to beg them to hasten to 
 the aid of their sister, and to assure them that they should see me 
 no more. 
 
 " No sooner had I conceived this wish, than I found myself 
 beside her, in the midst of our family circle in the sitting room. 
 I beheld those so dear to my heart, all in their accustomed places, 
 and all attired in mourning for their father and myself. But none 
 flew to receive me ; all turned pale, and regarded me with a shud- 
 dering feeling of terror and awe. My eldest daughter made the 
 sign of the cross over them and herself, as a protection against me 
 who loved them so ! Their terror shocked and alarmed me, and 
 my heart was about to break with agony and grief. I wished 
 myself far away, in the most distant and solitary tower of the 
 castle, and the wish was fulfilled in the same moment. 
 
 " No one since the time of Lord Markwart's father had inhabited 
 this portion of the building. I lived here neither as a blessed 
 spirit nor a mortal being ; all earthly ties were loosened for me. 
 I firmly resisted the natural impulse which would have led me 
 into the midst of my children. I could no longer belong to them, 
 nor they to me ; the time of our union was past, the shuddering 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 43 
 
 awe of death separated us for ever ; and yet I loved them still with 
 all the force of life. Who had ever suffered such a doom as mine ! 
 But the ransom required by Providence was not yet paid. 
 
 "At midnight, when all around me was silent, when the stars, now, 
 as ever, were watching over us in the dark blue heavens, my anxious 
 desire to learn the state of my beloved Przibislawa, to know if she 
 slept tranquilly, to listen to her gentle breathings, and to hover 
 round the door of her chamber, became at length completely irre- 
 sistible. And the same unconscious, mystic impulse bore me 
 thither again. I heard moanings and whisperings in the room ; 
 I then suddenly heard her give a shriek. Methought it was indeed 
 her voice, and yet again not like her voice ; it was a scream so wild 
 and hollow ! 
 
 "Horror seized on me at that moment. No longer could I 
 restrain my desire, and the fatal, new faculty of my soul fulfilled 
 it. I stood again amid my children before the bed of Przibislawa 
 on which she was sitting upright, but in a death-like state. She 
 perceived me — she pressed her hands before her eyes with a piercing 
 cry of anguish, and fell back on her pillow, where she lay stiffened 
 and with dying eyes. I wished myself far, far away; and behold 
 I was instantly in my lonely apartment of the tower as before. A 
 quarter of an hour had now passed over me in silent, unspeakable 
 anguish, when suddenly the mournful bell of death was tolled again 
 and again. She was dead ! My sweet child — my Przibislawa 
 was no more ! I, her mother, had produced her death ! 
 
 " All uneasy, anxious desire after my children had now ceased. 
 There, on high, where my soul longed to be, there, alas ! no 
 impulse bore me. And each noon when the sun stood high, and 
 each evening when it sank in twilight, the knell resounded afresh, 
 and awoke me from my heavy and fixed stupor. On the third 
 evening it sounded longer and longer, and its sadly swelling tones 
 rose again and again to my ears, and vibrated through my soul — for 
 they were now bearing my child to the grave. 
 
 " But when all was hushed and silent, and midnight had arrived, 
 I wished in my heart to be once more in the chapel, and in that 
 vault from which I had so recently risen. And there I stood as I 
 wished ; I beheld them reposing beside each other — my daughter 
 and my husband — and my own coffin empty between them. In it 
 
44 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 I should have slumbered by the will of heaven ; and my husband, 
 glorified like the angelic being I had beheld in my vision, would 
 now be advancing to welcome me to those celestial regions, the 
 happiness of which I had witnessed, blessing with me our children 
 on earth, at first alone with me for awhile, as we had been in our 
 early existence on earth, before our children came to bless us here ; 
 until these would join us there one after another, when our early 
 bliss on earth would be renewed and completed in heaven, growing 
 only more infinite and more perfect through the course of eternity. 
 But, alas ! so blessed a lot I had impiously rejected ! 
 
 " I sat down at the foot of the coffins, gazed with unspeakable 
 delight on the dearly loved features of my husband, on the sweet 
 countenance of my child, in their silent sleep of death, and meditated 
 on the will of God with a heart broken, yet exalted by grief. I 
 had no wish beyond this spot. I felt neither hunger nor thirst, nor 
 was I subject to any other mortal desire or want ; I was sustained 
 by a spiritual life. 
 
 " But those dear and precious features faded fast away. The 
 eyes sank deeper and deeper in their cavities, and deeper sank their 
 wasted cheeks ; and one morning, when a sunbeam falling obliquely 
 through the ancient window of the vault, showed themmore clearly 
 to me again, there floated over the lips a bluish mist, which spread 
 like a gentle veil over their countenances. I sank on my knees; I lis- 
 tened to and followed the voice of nature, which called me to part 
 from them now, and to pry no further into what she would conceal. 
 
 " I was now once more transported to my room in the ancient 
 tower, and there I resolved to continue my abode until relieved by 
 the fulfilment of my doom." 
 
 Thus far had Bertha read without allowing herself to be inter- 
 rupted by the tears which constantly obscured her eyes. Here, 
 however, she paused awhile, and threw around the apartment a 
 shuddering glance of fear and apprehension lest some impulse 
 should have attracted the Matron towards her; but the chamber 
 was empty, and she then recollected, with a mingled feeling of con- 
 solation, reverential pity, and almost of affection towards her, the 
 words of her promise — " Thou seest me no more until thou seekest 
 me." She then turned over the next leaf of the parchment manu- 
 script, and continued to read further. 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 45 
 
 Chap. XV. 
 
 The Manuscript of Centuries continued. 
 
 u But the heart of a mother never rests. By degrees, and after 
 a few months, my wishes revived to see once more my still beloved, 
 living children. In the remote tower in which I dwelt, no sound 
 from the inhabited portion could penetrate to bring me intelligence 
 of them. This desire constantly increased, and late in the deep 
 stillness of a moonlight night, I ventured to quit my chamber once 
 again, in order to behold and bless them in their unconsciousness 
 of my presence as they slept. 
 
 " With beating heart, and with tears of joy, when once more 
 approaching those dear objects, I glided along the well-known pas- 
 sages which led to their chambers and sitting rooms. The palpi- 
 tation of my heart might almost be heard, and even my light foot- 
 fall echoed through the deep silence of the night. The windows of 
 the corridor were brightly reflected by the moonlight on the ground, 
 and not the slightest sound fell upon my ear. The first chamber, 
 that in which I had dwelt in the fulness of joy and social affection, 
 opened to me, but it was now empty and silent. I entered the 
 second and the third, but from no bed proceeded the breathings of 
 slumber, from no side any indication of life. Wardrobes and boxes 
 stood open and exposed to view, some half empty, others again 
 were untouched, and appeared as if undisturbed since I had myself 
 arranged them. The furniture lay scattered around the rooms in 
 confusion. I wandered through the whole suite of apartments, 
 and every where existed the same disorder and neglect, and it was 
 only from the casement of the porter's room that I at length per- 
 ceived the light of a lamp. 'The alarm I inspired/ I said to myself, 
 'has driven away my children, and has rendered the home of their 
 birth and of my happiness completely desolate !' My desire to see 
 them — all my hopes died away in sorrow ; I inwardly promised them 
 from the bottom of my heart not to pursue them, nor recall their 
 terror by my presence. I collected and arranged all their neglected 
 
46 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 effects ; I closed all the boxes and wardrobes, and employed myself 
 in my former haunts until daylight. 
 
 " Years passed on. On one occasion, when my inclinations led 
 me again to those apartments, I found them not altogether empty, 
 and that the porter's wife was still there. She had first come to the 
 castle with me, had carried her child to be baptized with mine, and 
 I felt great and indescribable pleasure in beholding one of my own 
 people. She, however, turned pale, stood aghast, and I expected 
 the moment when she would fly from me as did all other living crea- 
 tures. Yet she fled not, but remained with more firmness, although 
 with downcast looks; she bowed reverently and in silence, and 
 appeared to wait my pleasure. How was my heart revived by this 
 silent intercourse with a living person ! I returned her salutation 
 by a grateful inclination of my head, and left her, in order not to 
 cause her further anxiety or fear. 
 
 "Since a living being had now borne the sight of me, I felt again 
 powerfully attracted to my children. I ceased to resist the desire 
 which transported me to the spot where I was present in thought, 
 and I stood before the bed of my eldest daughter. She was pale 
 and haggard, youth and beauty had quitted her features, yet she 
 slept sweetly and with heavenly content in her garment of horse-hair, 
 and upon her hard couch, and seemed hastening towards that pre- 
 mature death which should transport her to a world of bliss. I gazed 
 long and with an emotion of delight upon her countenance. Those 
 who had departed, with whom I felt to be more nearly connected 
 as it were than she was, were even already stretching out their 
 hands through me to bless her and welcome her to heaven ; while 
 she seemed in like manner to be nearer to them than I was, and 
 was hastening to meet them. Alas ! I was at once blessed and 
 accursed; belonging to heaven, yet banished from it; and must 
 tarry on earth until my sentence be fulfilled. This, however, I 
 knew, that whenever my delh T erance might come, it must come 
 from my children ! 
 
 "In the next moment I found myself in the chamber of my 
 eldest son. There he reposed; beside him lay his armour which he 
 had cast aside, his noble, manly countenance unchanged, and his 
 left hand clasping, as if in prayer, the right hand of his wife, whose 
 features had become more serious and mild than when I had seen 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 47 
 
 them before. I now desired to be in my grandson's room, whither 
 I was immediately transported. Three small beds were standing 
 there; he lay in the largest, with his open countenance, and look- 
 ing bold and fearless even when wrapt in sleep ; in the second was 
 a little girl, so like my dear eldest, holy child, that it seemed as if 
 I beheld her in her cradle again, looking so innocent that every 
 breath appeared to waft her back to that heaven which she had so 
 recently quitted; the child in the third couch was but recently 
 born, yet its features, though scarcely formed, seemed quite fami- 
 liar to me ! 
 
 " The same mystic impulse then transported me to the castle of 
 my married daughter. Her lord and husband was absent; she was 
 sleeping alone ; in an adjacent cradle was her infant, her firstborn 
 son. By the light of the opening dawn I contemplated them both. 
 Calmly and in peaceful slumber lay the boy, his little hand clasped 
 on his bosom, his open brow raised to heaven. I viewed him with 
 unspeakable delight. He turned and opened his eyes, large and 
 blue like those of my Przibislawa ; he called out, and the dread of 
 alarming his mother transported me again to my tower. 
 
 " My heart could still beat with joy, for so long as these features 
 existed on earth, so long also did I belong to the earth ! Often 
 did I transport myself by night to their bedside. This, however, 
 was only beholding them in sleep like lifeless images of themselves. 
 How did I long to watch their looks, their actions, to hear their 
 voices ! but to appear to them while waking I never ventured 
 again. 
 
 "The grand-children grew up, passing from childhood into 
 youthful, mature age; whilst my children's countenances waxed old, 
 and faded. Their time arrived to quit this earth ; I saw it approach, 
 and I awaited the hour with anxious pain. One night, when I 
 found myself conveyed to the cell of my eldest daughter, I found it 
 vacant; the night air was streaming through the empty space. My 
 heart was swelling with the painful thought — does she already rest 
 in her grave ? And the next moment I found myself in the church 
 of the convent ; at my feet was a tombstone, which bore the 
 escutcheon of my house, and beneath that her name. I was then 
 to see her no more on earth ; when should I see her again, and 
 in heaven ! 
 
4S 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 " Not long after, my son's wife slept alone in her widowed bed ; 
 then the apartment of my daughter and son-in-law was empty, 
 and soon my daughter-in-law too was summoned away, and thus I 
 mourned the death of all my children. 
 
 "For years and years did I confine myself within the silent walls 
 of our castle, in the halls and chambers which had been the wit- 
 nesses of my days, and now were silent and lonely as myself. Of 
 all who had lived in youth with me, the wife of the porter alone 
 survived. The nearer she approached the grave, the less she shunned 
 me, and often would she regard me with a look of sympathy 
 and pity. I was likewise present at her parting moments ; she was 
 succeeded by her son ; thus I had survived all my generation, and 
 was left alone, sole inhabitant of the castle ! 
 
 " After many, many years, one morning, as the rising sun gilded 
 my tower with its rays, I heard sounds issuing from a distant 
 quarter of the castle, the neighing of steeds, the baying of hounds, 
 the clamour of voices — sounds such as had echoed many past-gone 
 years from its numerous and joyous inhabitants. Oh, what recol- 
 lections of times past will not even a mere sound bring back ! 
 How did my poor heart, condemned, alas ! never to know repose, 
 swell with its emotions, with love for my children's children, and 
 joy at the thought of being again among them ! 
 
 " My mingled feelings of desire, yet dread, of being present amid 
 the social throng, transported me to the ante-chambers and un- 
 visited apartments, thus guarding myself from intruding on the 
 gay visitors. Here I beheld suits of splendid armour, precious 
 jewels, and ladies' attire, lavishly laid out, with a rich display of 
 goblets, cups, and tankards, as for a banquet. A costly coat of 
 mail, which my lord and husband Markwart used to wear, was 
 among the armour with which my descendants encased themselves, 
 and amidst the jewels with which their ladies adorned themselves, 
 I saw a stomacher which it was my wont to wear on festive occa- 
 sions, and which having been in the possession of my mother, I 
 had given to my long-deceased daughter as a bridal present. 
 
 " I took out of a chest in my tower a cup of onyx stone, a brace- 
 let of fine gold, and a cuirass of polished steel, on which Lord 
 Markwart's armorial bearings were curiously inlaid in gold and 
 silver, and which belonged to, and completed his suit of armour. 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 49 
 
 I laid the bracelet beside the stomacher, the cuirass by the coat of 
 mail, and the cup I placed among the goblets, as tokens of welcome 
 to my descendants. 
 
 " And when the bell began to chime for service, I waited at the 
 window of the corridor that leads to my tower, and beheld my 
 posterity as they proceeded through the court to church. A man, 
 considerably past the middle age, headed the procession, with all 
 my husband's calm and dignified deportment. His eye reminded 
 me of that of my beloved Przbislawa; this was the son of my 
 daughter. How often, oh, how often had I surveyed and 
 watched him with delight when sleeping as a boy! By degrees I 
 recognised my other grandchildren in the couples which followed 
 immediately after him. But their companions, who also formed 
 part of the train, were completely unknown to me. Young damsels, 
 knights, and pages of noble birth, followed two by two. I beheld 
 in their countenances the traces of many fresh features mingled 
 with those resembling our family. They were the husbands and 
 wives, sons and daughters of my descendants — all belonged to me. 
 O immortal and ever-increasing treasure of maternal love ! 
 
 " It was a marriage ceremony. All the present existing members 
 of my house were here collected. 1 saw my descendants in their 
 great-grandchildren assembled before the altar and on the same 
 spot, where I had stood with my beloved husband to receive the 
 blessing of heaven on our union ; I beheld them entering on the 
 same happiness, which I had once enjoyed, in presence of their 
 parents, their kindred, their noble friends and dependants as wit- 
 nesses ; above them was the unchanged, undecaying structure 
 whose carved dome had then received and protected me, whose 
 vaults below had long since covered those who lived with me in 
 that age, as well as those who had flourished since. 
 
 "And my eyes fell upon a side altar ; there lay my gifts — cuirass, 
 bracelet, and cup. My descendants had put them aside and dedi- 
 cated them to the church ; for me they knew not, cared not, nor 
 felt aught else but terror when they thought of me. Alas ! I could 
 no longer afford joy or pleasure to the living. 
 
 "The newly-married pair remained in the castle. Although 
 debarred from all intercourse with them, I still took delight in 
 being near them, participated in their sorrow and their cares, felt 
 
 p 
 
r.o 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 an interest in their possessions, rejoiced in their welfare and in that 
 of their children, who again recalled to me the features of those I 
 had formerly so fondly loved, and whom I loved once more in these. 
 
 " I became more and more intimate with all that belonged or 
 related to them. I felt assured they must be conscious of my 
 vigilant care, and I hoped that they at length might gradually learn 
 to know me, and freed from their terrors on my account, might 
 enquire for me, seek me out, and approach me. Could I but once 
 be permitted to clasp either to my bosom, then would the throb- 
 bings of my sad and wearied heart be stilled, and transported on 
 the gentle but buoyant wings of joy, I should be restored in bliss to 
 my husband, and to the many dear departed ones of our race ! 
 
 "The sound of footsteps — a sound I had all but forgotten — reached 
 my tower, and approached my chamber. My soul already felt 
 lighter under the burden of my frame, and I was overwhelmed 
 with grateful feelings of delight. The latch was raised, the rusty 
 bolt grated as it was drawn back, the door opened, and my great- 
 grandchild entered the room. He saw me, shuddered, turned 
 pale, and fled ; the door shut behind him again — it has never since 
 that day turned on its hinges more ! 
 
 ''From this time henceforth I no longer quitted my tower. 
 The course of time rolled on, and I remained separated alike from 
 the living and the dead. 
 
 " At length the sounds of life and action penetrated once more 
 to my apartment. The castle echoed with rude wild cries of war, 
 mingled with the tumult of weapons and the peal of the alarum 
 bell. The summons was answered from village to village, from castle 
 to castle, the whole country was roused to war, and bands of armed 
 men with their banners hastened over the plain towards our castle. 
 Anxiety again brought me among mankind. 
 
 " My grandchildren, both man and wife, were long since dead, 
 and reunited beyond the grave, with my husband and children. Of 
 their family the only surviving son was the present lord of the 
 castle, a man far advanced in years. A savage heathen nation from 
 the north-east, in countless hordes, was sweeping over the countries 
 of Christendom, extirpating the inhabitants, plundering their pos- 
 sessions, burning and destroying towns and villages, and driving 
 away the flocks and herds before them, leaving only a desert behind 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 51 
 
 them. They had thus forced their way from nfction to nation, 
 unchecked hy mountains, rivers, or the opposition of armies, even 
 to the frontiers of the holy Roman empire. And the christian 
 knights of the realm, the noblest, bravest, and the best, both old 
 and young, assembled on these threatened frontiers to oppose the 
 barbarous and savage tribes, and in the name of heaven resolved 
 to check their unhallowed course. 
 
 "The lamentations of the affrighted people, the danger and terror 
 of my descendants, the fate impending over myself, of being forced 
 to see them all so cruelly exterminated, and the very walls of our 
 ancestral castle, which alone afforded me refuge from the hatred 
 of mankind, razed to the ground ; the fortresses and castles around 
 all swept away, the entire scene presented by that lonely, familiar 
 landscape before me, no longer to be recognized, but transformed 
 into a desert; my people driven and hunted forth, destroyed; 
 their very language forgotten and passed away, and I myself con- 
 demned to wander without a home among savage and unchristian 
 hordes — I, an outcast from earth and heaven ! The dread of all 
 this drew me again with irresistible desire into the circle of the 
 living, and overpowered the fear of alarming them by my appear- 
 ance. 
 
 " The wives, daughters, and children of my house were trem- 
 bling at home in their castles, praying for deliverance. The wish 
 to be with my heroic sons had borne me to a wide plain on the 
 frontiers. I sat on a stone on the border of a ploughed field, in 
 the morning dew : before me, in order of battle, stood an army, 
 arranged in three divisions ; behind me were dreary plains; and in 
 the distance rose the towers of a city. The shadows of the hind- 
 most ranks, whose helmets glowed in the rays of the ascending 
 sun, covered in gloom the foremost lines, and myself as well. 
 The leaders, stepping forward, stood in a semi-circle before the 
 troops, their heads divested of their helmets, as if preparing for 
 some ceremony. I saw among the knights my great-grandson, 
 the lord of our castle, his grey locks waving in the air. Among 
 the youths next to him I beheld, as it were, the image of my 
 beloved husband, still youthful, still living on the earth, in form 
 and face such as I had seen him the first time when in my parents' 
 house ; this youth was at this moment extending his hand towards 
 
 f 2 
 
52 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 the venerable commander, who held a banner, unfurled it, and, as 
 he waved it, exclaimed — ' Thus I spread forth thy banner ; take it, 
 and may it lead thee to glory ! ' * With joyous mien the heroic 
 youth took the standard, held it high in the morning beams, and 
 bore it to his warriors in the ranks, waving it over his head. 
 Once again did I behold Lord Markwart's colours and crest flut- 
 tering in the breeze. Two youths followed the standard-bearer, a 
 little in his rear ; in them I beheld the features of my married 
 daughter — the features of my son once more. The steeds of the 
 three youths were brought. They shook each other by the hand, 
 and mounted. The new standard-bearer gave his banner to an 
 attendant knight. Their helmets were brought, they put them on, 
 took up their position together in the foremost rank, with their 
 vizors raised. I could still see their faces, and above them, high 
 in the breeze of morn, waved the banner of our house. 
 
 w At this moment a wild uproar arose behind me. I looked 
 round, and saw the distant depths of the horizon obscured by a 
 savage, wide-spreading mass. The vizors of the warriors before 
 me fell at once, and deprived me of the blessed sight of my chil- 
 dren's faces. The troops were set in motion, drew in closer bodies 
 to each other, and raised their spears. The war-cry behind me 
 grew louder and more furious. 1 looked round again : the Tartars 
 were now rushing on in wild disorder, with bended bows and 
 hideous, horrid yells, their whole appearance savage and brutal. 
 But the Christian battalions stood firm and unmoved. I cast one 
 more look at my children and our house's banner, and then found 
 myself again within the deep silence of my tower, in that lonely 
 prison of my mortal body, my isolated chamber, snatched from all 
 knowledge of the fate of those I loved, and before I had even 
 formed the wish not to behold the sanguinary scene. 
 
 " My desire to witness the result of the conflict, anxious and 
 powerful as it was, was repressed by the natural dread and horror 
 of venturing to be an observer of it. The sun reached its meri- 
 dian point above my tower, then declined and sunk. The shadows 
 
 * " Je derole votre banniere ! 
 
 Dieu vueil votre preux en faire ! " 
 
 Froissard. 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 53 
 
 lengthened on the red, gleaming earth. The battle must be de- 
 cided ere this. I only wished to see from a distance the squadrons 
 in which my children fought ; and before me, on the open plain, 
 passed in full flight a troop of soldiers, completely disfigured with 
 blood and dust, on jaded horses covered with foam. A few torn 
 banners waved over them ; but the banner of our house I could 
 no longer discover among them : I still distinguished our arms 
 and colours, but could nowhere behold my children. 
 
 " And I stood on the field of battle. The wide plain around me 
 lay torn up and desolate ; no plant was left upon it, no bird flut- 
 tered over it. I saw in the distance the ground strewed with 
 corpses of men and horses, while ever and anon a fearful groan 
 echoed through the silence. Nothing now of death had terrors 
 for me ; I longed to be with my offspring, if they were lying here, 
 and, with a shudder of dread, I found myself hurried on by the 
 same mystic impulse to the very centre of the battle-field, where 
 the earth itself was still more violently torn up, and the dead lay 
 huddled closer together. I closed my eyes in grief and horror, 
 when a faint moan from the ground reached my ear from a beloved 
 and well-known voice. I opened my eyes, and beheld, close to my 
 feet, the son of my great-grandson, stretched at full length on his 
 banner, his vizor closed. In his dying hand he grasped that of 
 his younger kinsman, who lay dead beside him, with his vizor 
 raised ; across him lay the youngest, his helmet off, his palid face 
 exposed. I threw myself on my knees beside him, loosed his 
 collar and gorget ; a black torrent of blood gushed from a deep 
 wound in his throat. He opened his eyes for a moment, smiled a 
 farewell at the setting sun, pressed my hand, and calmly breathed 
 his last. I now looked beyond him, and saw the corpse of my 
 great-grandson, the lord of the castle, who had fallen, it appeared, 
 while hastening to the aid of the others. Thus all the sons of 
 my race were consigned to destruction. It was only a life impe- 
 rishable as mine that could sustain this load of grief ! 
 
 " The lamentations in the castle extended as far as my solitary 
 chamber in the tower. Again I heard the knell tolling over my 
 head, hollow and unceasing. A long series of coffins was placed 
 in our family vault, ranging from that in which I was appointed to 
 repose. The inhabitants fled from the neighbourhood in every 
 
 F 3 
 
54 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 direction. A profound silence reigned in the castle; desolation 
 and solitude spread over the land. No bell now signified, by its 
 sound, the hour of devotion or rest ; all note of time had ceased. 
 I looked day by day for the consummation of my sentence ; I 
 waited for the flames to burst forth from the castles to the north- 
 east, announcing to me the ruin of our own, and I already fancied 
 I beheld the entire country around overrun by the wild and bar- 
 barous heathens. This fate, however, was not in reserve for me. 
 
 " The fortresses which were left undestroyed still adorned the 
 horizon. The landscape was gradually repeopled and reanimated 
 with its peasants, flocks, herds, and sounds of active life ; but the 
 castle itself remained empty and forsaken. 
 
 " I sought the living no more. The generation had passed away 
 with whom I had witnessed those days of horror. I saw another 
 and a second and a third flourish and die away. A change gradu- 
 ally occurred which I had long anticipated with alarm : the whole 
 appearance of the country became altered : a few only of the 
 castles and churches of my time now remained, and only a few 
 mountain oaks, which had struck their roots into their rocky soil, 
 seemed to gather duration from that source, and to defy the power 
 of time. I lived with them, with the earth, and with the stars, 
 which, like myself, remained ever unchangeable and fixed. I 
 learnt their varied course in the heavens, and the relation of the 
 earth to their return ; the nature of the clouds and the air ; and, 
 as he who has often observed the course of the seasons, knows that 
 when the germs appear the leaves will soon follow, can tell the 
 duration of the foliage and the period when it shall fade and die 
 away — so I learnt, from watching the many generations of man- 
 kind whom I had seen pass away before me, the probable duration 
 of each individual's springtime of life, and was enabled to pro- 
 phesy the period of its gradual fading away and final term of ex- 
 istence. 
 
 " The castle remained uninhabited for more than a century ; it 
 was then threatened by the same ruin which had removed those of 
 its preceding rulers. Walls were pulled down ; the halls and 
 chambers which I had inhabited were destroyed ; my tower alone 
 remained unmolested. Fresh buildings now rose from the ruins, 
 the new halls and apartments were lighter and more lofty. In the 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 55 
 
 great room, in which Lord Markwart and myself had entertained so 
 many noble guests in our time, were placed our portraits, those of 
 my children and grandchildren, and all those loved ones of former 
 days, together with a collection of others born subsequently, to 
 me unknown personally, yet the sight of whom still filled me with 
 pleasure, for each of those countenances, however diversified, bore 
 some feature of resemblance to our family. 
 
 " From contemplating these portraits I felt an ardent desire to 
 see the individuals themselves, and this impulse bore me to them. 
 I found my family divided into several branches. I knew not the 
 names of the countries, towns, or castles in which my descendants 
 lived. Their dress and furniture were strange and foreign to me, 
 and it was only here and there that, on a coat of arms, I met with 
 traces of our family ; their very language was no longer that of my 
 own time. They regarded the names of those who, to my recent 
 sense of grief, seemed but lately lost, as names appertaining to his- 
 tory of by-gone days. My own fate was to them a doubtful tra- 
 dition of ancient times ; but still their features, their voices were 
 ours, whilst their appearance often reminded me of those whom I 
 had so dearly loved. 
 
 " On the completion of the new building, its occupiers, a father 
 and son, took possession of it. As I entered the church again, 
 shortly after their arrival, I missed my presents on the altar — Lord 
 Markwart's cuirass, and the cup and golden bracelet. The hope 
 which I indulged, that my descendants had removed them to the 
 castle, and had thus indicated a desire to regard me with kindness 
 and sympathy, inspired me with a strong interest in their welfare, 
 and to none of my posterity had I ever felt so greatly attracted as 
 to them. When I looked on the father's sad and melancholy coun- 
 tenance, I felt that it resembled my own when mourning for my 
 lord ; and when I saw that he never smiled except at the sight of 
 his son, and that he longed to be released as I did, and when in 
 the son I saw my child, my Przibislawa, revive again— O ! then with 
 what confidence did I hope and expect that my deliverance was at 
 hand ! 
 
 " One day, at the foot of my tower, where it was seldom that 
 any one came, I heard hasty footsteps approach — a cry of anguish 
 from the father calling for his son— the lamentations of the ser- 
 
56 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 vants from mouth to mouth, that their young lord had fallen into 
 the river — that he was lost, and that their utmost speed to save 
 him would be too late. 
 
 " Borne by the same mysterious impulse, in a moment I was in 
 the midst of the stream, close to the sinking boy. I caught him 
 up, and reached the bank with him in my arms. O ! moment of 
 happiness, which compensated for centuries of suffering ! It was 
 my own offspring who lay on my bosom — the child whom I had 
 saved — and thus had I, alas ! once embraced the child I had de- 
 stroyed ! His eyes were closed, his cheek was pale, yet his heart 
 still beat, and he lived ! And now, O ! now how did I hope that 
 he would open his eyes, again breathe, and waft me by a blessed 
 smile to my husband, to Przibislawa ! 
 
 " He was in a deep swoon : in vain did I breathe upon his lips ; 
 they remained without motion ; he could not return to life without 
 assistance. 
 
 ** His father appeared at this moment, to my great relief. He 
 ;saw his son saved, saw him in my arms, yet he ventured not to 
 approach me. The servants stood trembling at a distance, and I 
 beckoned to them in vain. Weaker and weaker beat the poor 
 boy's heart under my hand. O ! vain hope of the bliss of death ! 
 I was compelled to banish it from my heart. I kissed the lifeless 
 child, I laid it safely on the grass, and vanished. 
 
 " Once again I saw the child and its father in the church. The 
 entrance to our family vault was walled up, and in a shrine before 
 it was placed a picture depicting a portion of my history. For 
 the explanation of that picture I have penned the above narrative, 
 and deposited it in faithful hands, in the hope, that one of my children 
 who knows me and my fate, may overcome his dread of the con- 
 demned one, may voluntarily come to me, clasp me to his heart, 
 and bestow on me that blissful and joyous death which may free 
 my soul from the burden of the body, and unite me with my chil- 
 dren and my lord!" 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 57 
 
 Chap. XVI. 
 
 The Manuscript of Centuries concluded. — Bertha. 
 
 Bertha laid down the pages amid contending feelings of sincere 
 sympathy, high indignation at the pusillanimity of Lord Gescheck, 
 ardent desire to seek the Matron, in order to give her the happy 
 meeting with one of her children — a meeting she had for ages 
 longed for in vain. Happily she might, although not directly a 
 born daughter of the family, promote her re-union with her fondly- 
 loved lord and husband, and thus terminate her state of suffering. 
 These thoughts crowded upon her mind, but there came over her 
 a feeling of horror when she more closely contemplated her meet- 
 ing the White Lady in the tower. She, however, tried for the 
 moment to banish these perplexing emotions, whilst she read the 
 conclusion to the manuscript : 
 
 " Another change, and yet another, in rapid succession, have 
 passed over my castle and its vicinity. Time removes all but me : 
 my tower abides, and with it its contents and myself. When a 
 new offspring is born, when one of the family is married, or when 
 the hour comes for the living to quit this earth, then the same 
 mystic impulse leads me to rejoice in the newly-bestowed one, to 
 pronounce a blessing on the wedded pair, or take a long farewell 
 of the beloved features that I am deprived of seeing on earth, and 
 cannot behold in heaven. This I know — that deliverance is ap- 
 pointed for me, that it will come from my children ; I know that 
 death is reserved for me, and that the joys of death will be mine 
 at last ! " 
 
 Bertha was well aware where she was to seek for the Matron. 
 Of the ancient portion of the castle there now remained only that 
 fallen tower which adjoined the deserted court, where Otho had 
 seen the White Lady the last evening of his life ; and near to it, a 
 second, in a very ruined condition, to the upper story of which the 
 last of the rooms inhabited by her son opened. There was no 
 means of access to either of these towers from without. The en- 
 
58 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 trance from that room into the dilapidated tower inhabited by the 
 Matron must be sought through some underground communication 
 between that and the fallen tower. But it was not without a shud- 
 dering feeling of horror that Bertha could resolve on seeking it : 
 even should she succeed, the thought of finding herself there, far 
 from all human aid, of being alone and shut up with the White 
 Lady in her chamber, there to look upon her death-like features — 
 worn by a thousand years — to touch her, to hear the whisperings of 
 her chilling breath, to see her die, and be alone with her corpse — this 
 scene of horror could not but turn her brain with terror, or snatch 
 her from her son by some dreadful death. She, therefore, deter- 
 mined to wait until some sign of further import should, by its 
 summons, induce her to decide upon venturing to the tower. 
 
 Nothing, however, that could be considered as such an indica- 
 tion ensued ; still she found it impossible to avoid dwelling upon 
 the subject. The thought of the Matron, while she delayed her 
 visit from hour to hour, looking in vain for her wished-for deliver- 
 ance from the burden of life which had oppressed her for nearly a 
 thousand years, allowed her no rest. She reflected, moreover, that 
 all probability and even possibility of release for her, would be for 
 ever lost if she did not venture to make the attempt, for, to which 
 of her descendants could it be so facilitated by a knowledge of the 
 circumstances and consequent fitting preparation of mind as to 
 her ? Every thought of her Otho, every feeling of joy afforded by 
 her now blooming child, impelled her to take this step. The very 
 absence of any further summons, implying as it did confidence in 
 her resolution; the non-appearance of the Matron herself, who 
 could at will, and at any moment stand before her, and implore her 
 to grant this boon, but who doubtless kept away in order to spare 
 • her feelings : all served to strengthen her determination. 
 
 One morning, when nature, radiant with sun and life, seemed to 
 banish all that was sad and gloomy from the earth, she clasped her 
 child to her beating heart, kissed him with tears of devotion and 
 anxiety, confided him in God's name to the attendant, and prepared 
 at once to seek the Matron, however the consequences might affect 
 herself or her son. 
 
 She would not allow any one of her servants to accompany her ; 
 but she chose the grandson of old Francis, whose forefathers had 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 50 
 
 so truly and honourably preserved the manuscript which had in- 
 spired her with this resolution, and she bade him carry a torch 
 before her along the subterraneous passages, to assist her in open- 
 ing the doors. 
 
 Chap. XVII. 
 The Ruined Tower. 
 
 Leading the boy by the hand, Bertha entered the first of those 
 empty chambers which lay beyond that of her son, opening on the 
 corridor that ran along that wing, at the window of which she had 
 seen the White Lady on the Christmas eve, as she returned from the 
 church after the baptism of her child. Her eye encountered no- 
 thing on either side as she proceeded ; the whole of the vacant and 
 neglected suite of rooms renewed the same impression of loneliness 
 as when she visited them before. All was silent, even as death 
 itself, interrupted only by the audible pulsation of her own heart. 
 Her trial, her struggle was indeed severe ; on the one hand, the 
 thought of her son held her partly back, in order to remain with 
 the living, and on the other, the recollection of her beloved hus- 
 band in connection with the Matron urged her forward, while the 
 peaceful, happy influence of pious feelings reconciled both desires, 
 and her heart swelled with resolution and courage. 
 
 She had now reached the chamber, the first floor of which was 
 on a level with the top of the dilapidated tower ; and on the oppo- 
 site side she perceived a narrow door, which, from its situation, led 
 she knew not whither. Bertha inwardly shuddered at the sight ; 
 yet with firm hand she applied to it various keys out of her branch. 
 At length one of these opened the lock, and agitated by a feeling 
 of dread, not unmixed with joy, she saw a flight of steps, winding 
 narrow and steep into the depths below. She lighted the torch, 
 gave it to the boy, and descended almost overpowered with indis- 
 cribable awe, yet sustained by the unshaken resolution of her soul. 
 
 The steps did not descend very deep ; they led into a circular 
 vaulted chamber, from which a roomy subterraneous passage pro- 
 
CO 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 ceeded sideways. The air was similar to that of a cellar, yet suf- 
 ficiently free for Bertha to breathe without difficulty ; the flames of 
 the torch flashed brightly among those dark shades which had 
 remained undisturbed for centuries. Along the walls, at a moderate 
 height, were small niches with seats : in the centre of each arch of 
 these niches appeared a flower hewn in the sandstone, and a large 
 lily occupied the chapiter above of the vaulted roof itself : all was 
 mute and gloomy as the grave itself throughout the vault and the 
 passage ; all bore the impress of high antiquity, yet there was little 
 or no sign of decay, and with every step she took, she felt as if 
 quitting and leaving behind her the living and the present world, 
 and approaching more and more the past. 
 
 The passage again terminated in a round vault exactly similar to 
 the former, and she saw before her, by the light of the torch, a 
 flight of steps leading upwards, like those she had descended. 
 The throbbing of her heart redoubled at this sight. She bade the 
 boy wait for her and to keep the torch burning. "If she did 
 not return," she said, " by the time it had burnt down as far as 
 the sign which she now marked with her finger, he was not to 
 follow her, but to return to the castle by the same way they had 
 come, to collect together the servants, conduct them hither, and all 
 were to follow her course up the steps." 
 
 The boy looked anxiously at her ; she encouraged and cheered 
 him by a few words, and then ascended the steps. The light of 
 the torch shone on her from below, and a ray of daylight burst 
 upon her from a window above as she advanced, as a reviving beam 
 of life. Still the most profound silence prevailed around. A small 
 vaulted door-way, and a curiously carved black door with a bright 
 ring, presented themselves opposite the window on the stone land- 
 ing-place. Bertha grasped the ring, turned it, the door flew open, 
 and revealed an apartment, the floor of which was covered with 
 variegated tapestry and with a vaulted ceiling consisting of many 
 arches. She looked around, it was quite empty; an unknown and 
 monotonous sound struck upon her ear, which came no nearer, yet 
 never ceased. It proceeded from a corner of the room, in which 
 was seen a second door that stood only half open ; Bertha's limbs 
 trembled at this sight; but the weaker her powers of body became, 
 the stronger grew the courage of her soul. Collecting herself, she 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 si 
 
 advanced, opened the door with a firm hand — when behold, in the 
 chamber which she had now entered, was seated on a throne-like 
 chair, the White Lady! Her seat formed the centre of others, simi- 
 larly placed, but of course unoccupied. She was attired as Bertha 
 had seen her before, and as she was depicted in the more modern 
 painting in the white saloon, only that her face was almost con- 
 cealed by the veil-like drapery which was wound around her head. 
 
 Bertha's feelings at the sight of the Matron, on entering the 
 apartment, partook much more of joy than of fear. That had 
 happened which was to happen ; the moment had arrived, and 
 must pass away in its turn, having brought with it its event, as 
 destined to it from all eternity. She looked at the White Lady, and 
 saw her sitting with a resignation, a repose, and a dignity of de- 
 meanour which made her forget and banish all cause for terror. 
 
 A like air of repose prevailed throughout the entire apartment. 
 Hangings of tapestry, of dark purple hue, each of which bore the arms 
 
 of the house of R , worked in gold, covered the walls behind each 
 
 throne, from the ceiling to the ground. On each side of the door 
 of entrance stood a chest of ebony, inlaid with pearls and precious 
 stones, similar in workmanship to the box or casket in which 
 Bertha had found the manuscript. Two splendid and complete 
 suits of armour hung in all their pride over these ; in their front 
 was suspended to each the sword that belonged to it ; and opposite 
 to these bright and noble trophies of antiquity, the oriel window 
 admitted a view of the calm and lovely landscape without, the ever 
 present beauties of nature. On a table stood a clepsydra or water- 
 clock of ancient make — the course of time, as it passed drop by 
 drop, alone being heard in this silent, lonesome abode. 
 
 G 
 
62 
 
 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 Chap. XVIII. 
 Completion. 
 
 The Matron did not rise from her throne when Bertha entered, 
 but turned her head towards the gentle visitor, raised her veil, and 
 greeted her by a look so full of inexpressible delight, affection, and 
 mildness, that it seemed to counteract the painful effort produced 
 upon her features, the character of which was wholly those of a 
 corpse, and on which time appeared to have repeatedly worked the 
 destruction of its own performance, so as to efface every vestige 
 of the original countenance. " And wilt thou indeed not shudder 
 to approach — to touch me ?" breathed her faint and hollow voice to 
 her young and beautiful relation. 
 
 Giving way to the emotions excited by this appeal so moving to 
 her heart, Bertha rushed towards her and sank upon her knees 
 before her. She had lost all self-possession, and completely for- 
 gotten all motive save the one dear wish and eager desire to call 
 that Matron — mother. 
 
 Her Ancestress looked down upon her with her star-like eyes. "I 
 knew it would be thus," she said, after a few moments of silence ; 
 " my joy is now becoming that of Heaven ! " 
 
 Bertha embraced her with deep and filial affection. " Thee, first 
 of my living children, shall I welcome as my own in Heaven ! " 
 whispered the White Lady, bending over her. Bertha at this mo- 
 ment felt a light, unearthly breathing on her forehead ; she raised 
 her eyes in search of the Matron — she had vanished from her arms 
 — she beheld not her death. Bertha remained on her knees, un- 
 able to rise, in silent, tearful prayers of gratitude. 
 
 Becoming now gradually more calm, she rose and seated herself 
 
THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 63 
 
 on one of the ancient chairs, and thought of all that had passed, 
 deeply thankful for having been allowed to succeed in accomplish- 
 ing what she had so much wished. She felt as if placed nearer to 
 Otho by this act, and as if united more closely with him by this 
 new tie of kindred. Her fancy carried her to his abode among the 
 blessed, where the Lady Juditha was now meeting her long-lost 
 husband ; where her children were pressing around her, inexpres- 
 sibly grateful for her affection, and eager to repair the injustice they 
 had unknowingly done her on earth ; and how would her heart 
 overflow with the joy of maternal love, and of pardon, and the 
 bliss of souls redeemed ! 
 
 The golden daylight seemed to beam with fresh splendour, the 
 breeze around poured forth with a happier sound, nature appeared 
 with silent sympathy to celebrate the happiness of one of her 
 creatures. Bertha remained sitting, lost in thought ; she had for- 
 gotten time and present objects. 
 
 At length hasty footsteps resounded near the tower, the door 
 flew open, in rushed the weeping boy, and a train of servants, fol- 
 lowed by the nurse with little Otho. Loud and universal were their 
 exclamations of joy at finding their mistress safe and unhurt, whilst 
 the nurse related that the White Lady had an hour before stood near 
 the child's cradle and blessed it. Bertha now followed her attend- 
 ants out of the tower, the entrance to which she carefully closed. 
 
 After some days, she ordered the family vault to be opened ; she 
 felt desirous to see the Matron once more. She entered the chapel. 
 There reposed the aged, who had been released from life by gradual 
 decay, and near them those whom sickness or a violent death had 
 prematurely snatched away in early life. 
 
 Various symbols, the garland of the bride, the sword of the 
 warrior, the veil of the widow, indicated the opposite fates of those 
 who, at the same time, were united by a common name, a common 
 home when alive, and a common asylum in their last repose. 
 
 Bertha caused the lid of the Matron's cofHn to be removed, and 
 gazing upon her beheld the same countenance she had seen so 
 shortly previous, with the same happy, blessed smile. She stood 
 absorbed in reflection, imagining the moment when she had lain 
 down in the coffin, and had yielded herself up to the dear enjoyment 
 of her long sought-for repose* 
 
64 THE WHITE LADY. 
 
 The vault was now ordered to be walled up again. The Lady 
 Bertha removed from the ancient chamber to her own the picture 
 of the White Lady — who since that time has been seen no 
 more. 
 
 rrinted fry Joseph Kogerson, 24, Norfolk-street, Strand, London. 
 
£f>e 
 
 ^()t)^tctan of Wiat$titk$, 
 
 Cfre iRe»olutiomst0, 
 
 etc. 
 
 Sour SEaleS from ttje ©erman 
 of 
 
 ^Elje ®arone00 tie la Q^otte iFouque. 
 
LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY LEV E V, ROBSON, AND FRANK LYN , 
 Great New Street, Ketter Lane. 
 
Contents. 
 
 I. SOPHIE ARIELE, OR THE PHYSICIAN 
 OF MARSEILLES. 
 II. CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 III. THE REVOLUTIONISTS. 
 
 IV. VALERIE. 
 
THE PHYSICIAN OF MARSEILLES. 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 ith his books and instruments — and va- 
 rious chemical preparations, which could 
 only have been explained by a few of the 
 most learned in pharmacology — around 
 him, sat Doctor Matthew, a famous phy- 
 sician of Marseilles. It was believed that he and his friend 
 Farenberg lived in the closest spiritual connexion with each 
 other; a constant correspondence on all subjects was kept up 
 between them ; sometimes indeed was this intercourse so as- 
 tonishingly swift, that one might have almost fancied invisible 
 messengers flew from Stockholm to Marseilles, with Faren- 
 
 J 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 berg's letters to Doctor Matthew, and as quickly carried back 
 Doctor Matthew's answers to Stockholm. 
 
 When such tales as these came to his ears, Doctor Matthew 
 would laugh heartily, and explain the extraordinary speed of their 
 correspondence by an exact calculation of the post, which from 
 time to time passed between him and his friend; or, if his 
 hearers were not convinced by this, he would conclude by telling 
 them, between jest and earnest, of a pigeon post which hastened 
 beyond belief his intercourse with the Swedish sage ; and it was 
 not to be denied that the most beautiful pigeon through all the 
 beautiful south of France might be seen flying in and out of 
 Doctor Matthew's pleasant farm, which lay in the suburbs of 
 Marseilles. 
 
 On the evening of the day on which this history begins, the 
 learned Doctor Matthew sat alone, and seemed to have no thought 
 but for his grave and deeply mysterious studies ; even the thunder 
 of an approaching storm, which gradually grew louder and louder, 
 could not wake him from the reverie in which the circles, squares, 
 and triangles, lying on the paper before him, held him, as it were, 
 fast bound. 
 
 Nevertheless, as if this thought too formed part of his reverie, he 
 sighed almost inaudibly, " Sophie Ariele and then added, smiling, 
 or indeed almost laughing, " When I am fortunate — or, I should 
 say, unfortunate — she comes, just at the end, and scatters all my 
 labour to the winds ; and then I have measured and calculated in 
 vain." 
 
 In the mean time, however, he did not suffer these doubts 
 to prevent him from diligently pursuing his work, and he looked 
 up as though he were disagreeably disturbed, when a servant an- 
 nounced the arrival of a stranger, who had come to ask his medical 
 advice. But before the message was ended every symptom of dis- 
 satisfaction that had appeared on the good man's face was checked, 
 and his grave, noble countenance changed to an expression of 
 cheerful kindness as he beckoned to the servant to conduct the 
 stranger to his presence. 
 
 The tall figure of a man in a military dress, of noble bearing and 
 youthful appearance, entered the room ; and Doctor Matthew said, 
 after the first salutations were over—" I have the honour, if I am 
 
SOPHIE AIIIELE. 3 
 
 not mistaken, to welcome in you a Swedish officer, arrived here, as 
 I suppose, by the advice of my friend Farenberg, of Stockholm." 
 
 " It is so, sir,'' returned the stranger ; "I am the Swedish 
 colonel, Gustavus Gyllenskiold, whom your friend Farenberg has 
 sent hither, in the hope of deriving from you that assistance which 
 the profound nature of his studies will not suffer him to confer on 
 me immediately. 
 
 Doctor Matthew looked for some time upon his guest in thought- 
 ful silence; at length he said, "The proposal is difficult; it sounds 
 almost as though it were sent as a temptation. Shall I be able to 
 render assistance where my friend has failed? And besides, 
 your appearance, sir, gives evidence.. of the most blooming health. 
 What cure is it that you require ? If your truth-telling eyes and 
 noble courtesy did not forbid the suspicion, I should say you had 
 come here to insult me by a pretence of illness." 
 
 An expression of indignation, that he seemed to restrain with 
 difficulty, passed over the countenance of the young stranger. The 
 doctor good-naturedly extended his hand to him, with these words, 
 " I would not have said so much, had I for a moment fancied it 
 would really have affected you. My noble guest, there is only one 
 singular little ' if in the way; but, come, in all truth I will not 
 grant a place in my heart for any such ' ifs' as these." 
 
 Gustavus Gyllenskiold seized the hand so kindly proffered, and 
 the doctor added, " In what can I help you, sir ? I am ready 
 with joy to do it, to the utmost in my power. Your malady is, I 
 doubt not, of the greatest moment ; for, however many fanciful 
 sick people may be found in the world, it is not possible for a 
 man like yourself to suffer under the influence of unsubstantial 
 dreams." 
 
 Then the young stranger slowly drew his hand from that of the 
 physician, and said, shaking his head, " If you are one of those, 
 sir, who consider dreams to be of no importance, either for good 
 or evil, I must not reckon upon your assistance ; for my malady 
 consists entirely in evil dreams. Waking, I am healthy and well; 
 but slumber seldom sinks upon my eyes without bringing with it 
 the most ghastly visions, which disturb and terrify my soul. Yet, 
 I pray you to forgive the dreamer, who has robbed you of so much 
 of your precious time, and who can natter himself with no hope 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 SOPHIE AIIIELE. 
 
 that you will enter into his case, or in the least participate with and 
 help him in his sufferings. Farewell." 
 
 But Doctor Matthew, with engaging cordiality, begged his sin- 
 gular guest to remain, telling him that, if he could not reckon upon 
 his assistance, he might with confidence expect his sympathy, which 
 indeed had been already assured to him by their mutual friend, 
 Farenberg. " Indeed, it is incomprehensible to me," he added, 
 as Gyllenskiold cheerfully yielded to his request, " how the philo- 
 sopher, who is in general so seldom wrong, should send you to me 
 under these circumstances ; for our ideas concerning dreams are 
 the only point at variance between us in our scientific path. For 
 though, like him, I acknowledge many deep mysteries in nature, 
 and look upon them both with reverence and awe, yet dreams are 
 mysteries which I can only attribute to a physical cause ; while our 
 friend believes, not only that physical breath is often imparted to 
 them, but that if they are not indeed to be exalted to the nature of 
 heavenly apparitions, they are at least messengers in spiritual com- 
 munications. It is possible, certainly, that he may have suddenly 
 and completely changed his views, and has sent you to me that I 
 may put you in the way to recovery by a different method from that 
 formerly adopted by himself." 
 
 " Of that I have much doubt," returned Gyllenskiold. " His 
 injunctions respecting you were wrapped in that mystery which 
 often accompanies his words ; and I should fancy, from what you 
 now say, that I had deceived myself by a misunderstanding, if this 
 billet in his handwriting did not prove to us both that he has sent 
 me to you, at Marseilles." 
 
 " Unaccountable," said the physician, after some consideration, 
 while from the well-known characters he read over and over again 
 the words, and at last almost spelt them : " ' Cure for friend Gyl- 
 lenskiold from his evil dreams, by friend Mattheio at Marseilles' 
 Unaccountable!" he repeated, musing as before; " for, if my vanity 
 induced me to believe that Farenberg had yielded to my opinion, 
 a moment's reflection reminds me that long after your departure 
 from Stockholm, very long after (for the posts, when properly 
 managed, pass and repass inconceivably faster than travellers), I 
 received a letter from him, confirming his full belief in the mys- 
 tery of dreams, and promising me a fresh demonstration of the 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 5 
 
 truth of his way of thinking. And I cannot doubt, Colonel, that 
 in alluding to this fresh instance of his theory, he spoke of you. 
 But the principal thing now to be considered is your health. And 
 it seems certain, at any rate, that in your particular case our friend 
 placed some dependence upon my art for the treatment of these 
 sort of maladies ; I pray you, therefore, shew me the same con- 
 fidence, and give me a clear description of your malady, and the 
 way it came first upon you." 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 Gyllexskiold sat down in an arm-chair, near the physician's 
 table, and said, after sorrowfully musing for a long time — 
 
 " How my malady first came upon me ? Alas ! dear sir, from 
 the very hour that I was born. It is at any rate probable that, 
 in the very first dreams of my childhood, the same ghastly cloud- 
 spirit which still follows me was on the watch. Those who were then 
 around me say, that, when an infant, I often awoke from slumber 
 with fearful screams, and that at other times I smiled in my sleep 
 like' an angel." And, indeed, at these words sweet smiles, like those 
 of an angel, passed over his proud features; yet soon a dark 
 cloud of sorrow again overspread his countenance, and he said — 
 " Whether this was pity or flattery, or a self-deception, or whether 
 it was indeed a truth which has passed away with the happy Para- 
 dise of childhood, I know not : now — " 
 
 He stopped, and sang softly to the moving tones of an old song — 
 
 " Now is it far otherwise !" 
 
 Then he held his hand before his eyes, while he leant his elbow 
 upon the arm of the chair, and the Doctor thought he could see 
 soft tears stealing down the cheeks of his strange guest. But, as 
 the physician wished on no account to disturb this fit of gentle 
 melancholy, he avoided observing him too closely. 
 
 Suddenly Gustavus Gyllenskiold looked up proudly and steadily, 
 and casting a piercing glance upon the physician, he said — "I am 
 
 B 3 
 
6 
 
 SOPHTE AEIELE. 
 
 certain you will not think so meanly of me as to believe that dreams 
 alone, be their images ever so evil, could have power to drive me to 
 that state of melancholy depression into which I felt myself sunk a 
 moment ago ; but I think if my mother had died earlier, if I had never 
 seen her glad, heavenly smiles, when I awoke to the morning sun 
 out of dreamless, or even sweetly dreaming sleep ; or, if 1 had never 
 heard her happy, hopeful words, when she said how, in time to 
 come, she would prepare for the marriage festival of her Gustavus, 
 or would salute him when he returned home from the field of battle 
 as a victorious hero, or from some distant country as a noble 
 ambassador. " 
 
 Again he was silent for a few moments, and it seemed as 
 though, with his dark glowing blue eyes, he looked sorrow- 
 fully down into the depths of his own soul ; then he said, 
 quite collected, and in almost as indifferent a tone as though he 
 were speaking of the unfavourable circumstances of some other 
 person — 
 
 " In this case, sir, those fearful dreams might not have come, 
 nor the still more fearful awaking ; for, at the end, when a heart 
 of any worth becomes recognised in a half a quarter of an hour — 
 when people do find a little time for sensibility, though five minutes 
 after they have forgotten, perhaps, everything about it — Ah ! well ; 
 the way of the world is still the way of the world ; and just con- 
 trariwise, also, a heart is still a heart. It is a painful history, too, 
 that of the heart ; but, after a man has paid a few apprentice- 
 fees to Sorrow, he gets to understand its course, and becomes 
 reconciled to it. Just so it is, also, when Glory smiles sweetly 
 and temptingly upon us, like an amorous wanton, and in those 
 smiles lies hidden the promise — 'Now I greet thee! now I kiss 
 thee ! Now art thou mine ! now am I thine !' And neither greet- 
 ing nor kiss follows, and the promise of the glorious union 
 only becomes a swelling poison in the veins ! Yes, yes ; the 
 man who possesses a really superior soul submits to all this, 
 and thinks at last — c Let me only be laid in the grave, and 
 beautiful golden characters be set upon my coffin or my tomb, 
 and the long-estranged lover will then all at once become faithful, 
 and turn and abandon my sepulchre no more ; but she will gaze, 
 with looks of infinite tenderness, upon the breathless corpse of him 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 7 
 
 whom, in life, she dragged— by her deceitful, enticing, changeful 
 features — through a bewildering labyrinth of error !' And can any, 
 from a prince to a slave, long hope for any better consolation than 
 this, before he is shut up in his silent, narrow cabin, within six 
 black boards, bedizened, it may be, with a few golden nails or 
 painted characters ? It were pretty much the same, indeed, 
 whether one had performed the deeds they commemorate or not ; 
 and the shadowy forms of our great forefathers might shake their 
 long-bearded heads at pleasure. But when one thinks how the 
 sweet, proud hopes of a lovely mother for our worldly career have 
 been deceived — how it is nought but sorrow, notwithstanding, 
 which has taken possession of our heart — yes, then one might — " 
 
 He stood up full of excitement, as if suddenly a cloud- 
 spirit had appeared to combat with him ; then sitting calmly down 
 again upon his arm-chair, he said, smiling and making a gen- 
 tle movement with his hand, to prevent the soothing answer of 
 the physician, " Let them alone, good sir, I have comfort 
 for such griefs as these ; I know indeed that life is only death. 
 And why should the so-called life so especially concern us ? Have 
 we not equally to do with the so-called death f The last is indeed 
 only the culminating point of the first. It is not so much for the sake 
 of a peaceful life as of a peaceful death that I ask for your advice in 
 the name of your friend Farenberg. The experiment with most 
 men is long in being made, and," added he, in a low voice, " I 
 suppose that few would wish it shortened. I am still young, dear 
 sir ; render therefore my lingering death as gentle as possible, while 
 you scare away or lighten the fearful dreams of my life." 
 
 " And these dreams," asked the physician, who had listened 
 eagerly, " do they always appear to you in the same form 1 or do 
 they alter, according to the different dispositions of your soul ?" 
 
 Gustavus answered with a smile, " He who could thus account for 
 the various dispositions of his soul, and from their echoing tones 
 know how to watch for the beings of the visible or invisible world, 
 would scarcely need to ask advice of any; he would himself be 
 able to write the prescription for his cure, or, it may be, the 
 reason why it is incurable, for indeed the die is even." 
 
 " Hearken !" said Doctor Matthew, somewhat harshly. " My 
 noble profession is do game at dice; and if it has any unworthy 
 
8 
 
 SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 members who consider it as such, I am not, God be thanked ! one of 
 the number. But I know that, without the entire confidence of the 
 patient, no physician in the world can do any good. Unquestionably, 
 sir, you have discovered something in my appearance that has de- 
 prived me thus soon of your confidence ; for it seems you avoid 
 unfolding to me the mystery of your dreams ; and therefore, for 
 my part, I can only grieve that you have taken the long journey 
 from Stockholm to Marseilles in vain." 
 
 Gustavus Gyllenskiold rose from his seat with ill-repressed anger, 
 and stood in the act of taking a cold, but courteous farewell. Then 
 the door gently opened, and the graceful form of a lady with a 
 white clove on her arm, herself as tender and as snowy white as her 
 dove, floated in. At the unexpected sight of the stranger, a soft 
 blush overspread her pale cheek : with unspeakable grace she bent 
 down over the physician, and whispered a few words in his ear, then 
 in a moment disappeared through the open door. The soothing 
 magic that the presence of woman sheds over the too sorrowful 
 heart of man, swelled sweetly and tenderly through the soul of the 
 young soldier ; he already laid down again the hat that he had 
 taken up for his departure, and said in an altered voice, " Dear 
 sir. a little while ago I declared, in a moment of anger, that I 
 would renounce your assistance ; and now, in just such a fit of 
 anger, you withdraw your assistance from me. We have both been 
 unjust towards each other; but let me say one thing, should not 
 the physician have more indulgence with the patient, than the 
 patient with the physician ? And indeed the happy ought to show 
 far more gentleness to the unhappy, than the unhappy can be 
 expected to towards the happy." 
 
 Deeply touched, Doctor Matthew took the noble youth in his 
 arms, and Gustavus said, " Now you have indeed unlocked my 
 heart, and I will willingly confide to you what I myself know 
 of my dreams." 
 
 Mutual confidence being thus restored, they both returned to 
 their seats, and Gyllenskiold related the following history. 
 
SOPHIE AKIELE. 
 
 g 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 tc Even when a boy I was pursued by dreams. Tiny forms 
 played around me : they were infinitely smaller than I was myself 
 at that time; yet even their dwarfish size excited in me a most 
 peculiar dread — more horrible, perhaps, than if now a monster, 
 gigantic as the tower of yon cathedral, were to offer me combat 
 hand to hand. Then at any rate it would be quickly decided, 
 and in no wise an inglorious contest. But to be struck dead 
 by mites, by ants ! and it was thus that the visions of my 
 dreams appeared before me. Little men, only a finger long, 
 with sharp needles for swords, fiercely enraged one against the 
 other, and all together against the world, but particularly against 
 me. How often, when my tender mother laid me in my bed, 
 and saw my infant limbs tremble, or my cheeks grow pale, how 
 often did she say, ' Oh, Gustavus — my own child ! — what ails 
 thee ? Let me only know what gives thee pain, and surely, with 
 God's assistance, I would chase it from thy dear, tender soul V 
 But it seemed to me then that my lips were sealed ; I did nothing but 
 sigh deeply in my heart, and think — ' Ah, if you only knew about 
 the wicked little wizards ! But what then ? They would not be so 
 obedient to you as your poor Gustavus, and you would not be able 
 to preserve him from them. Much better is it therefore that you 
 should know and understand nothing at all about them ?' — So I kept 
 the secret from my dear mother until she died ; when even then I 
 strove to tell her of it in my childish lamentations, the little wizards 
 disappeared, and I thought that perhaps their evil fonns would 
 come more seldom. But it turned out far otherwise ; they came 
 only more often, and wore a more fearful appearance than ever. By 
 little and little, out of the dark world of dreams, forms rose up" — 
 
 He stopped, and, with his eyes half closed, mused for a long time, 
 shuddering as if he could find no words to express the horror in 
 his bosom. At last he continued in a hoarse voice, speaking 
 almost like a frenzied man — " Doctor Matthew, have you ever 
 read the ' Germania' of Tacitus ? But what do I say ? so learned a 
 man, and not acquainted with the ' Germania' of Tacitus ! Well, 
 
10 
 
 SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 you must have read there — 'There shall arise at various times 
 from the waves of the north-eastern ocean strange, brilliant forms 
 — beautiful, but absolutely fearful on account of their marvel- 
 lously solemn beauty ! ' That was the idea, at least, which always 
 came to my mind when I read that enigmatical passage. And when, 
 as a schoolboy, I had to explain the description of it, I was blamed 
 because I put my own fearful meaning upon it ; yet it seemed to me 
 that I could have explained my dreams, as they increased upon me, 
 in the enigmatical words of the old Roman. Even to you, dear 
 sir, I can scarcely describe them more clearly. — Will you have 
 patience with me ?" 
 
 The physician begged he would desist from the explanation that 
 seemed so singularly painful to him, and to wait for some more 
 favourable moment. But Gyllenskiold quickly composed himself, 
 and said with a forced smile, " He would indeed be a brave soldier 
 who must wait for the right hour before he can face the enemy ! No, 
 forwards ! From the misty world of dreams there arise kings' heads 
 with long grey beards, and maidens with such wondrously bright 
 forms, that my closed eyes are often pained at their exceeding 
 brightness. These might be called beautiful ; but such a strange 
 expression of scorn plays around their sharply curved coral lips, 
 and their eyes sparkle sometimes with such triumphant hatred, that 
 a deep, inexpressible horror fills my whole soul. And then they 
 sing so wildly and fearfully ; and it seems, ever and anon, as though 
 I understand their words, and yet I understand them not ; while, 
 from musing perpetually on the meaning, which at one time seems 
 plain, and at another eludes my grasp, my brain becomes per- 
 fectly dizzy. The old crowned heroes shake their white heads dis- 
 approvingly, as though in anger; and the women grow pale, 
 as if with fear, and distort their livid, hideous features ; and 
 then all of a sudden they are changed to the white crowned 
 heads, and the old heroes to the horrible blooming women. 
 Then they all quarrel, and pursue each other with mad eagerness ; 
 then arise such wild dancing and chasing, and at last they 
 fall to the earth, misshapen, disfigured corpses; and all 
 around, in the air, is heard a most fearful chorus — ■ Life is 
 death P — and involuntarily I sing with them, and my own voice 
 swells with the dull sounds of the dream, louder and louder, till at 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 11 
 
 last, terrified, I awake ; but the ghastly sound pursues me : * Life is 
 death /' and the earth seems to me dark and dead, and the light of 
 the sun changes into a grey mist ; and rejoicings and festivals are 
 nought but sorrow for me, and the noon-day is changed into mid- 
 night." 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 Gustavus Gyllenskiold leaned back in the arm-chair, pale as 
 a wounded soldier after a hard-fought battle. 
 
 Doctor Matthew looked at him thoughtfully, deeply pondering 
 over what he had heard, and considering it according to the rules 
 of his healing art ; he turned one attentive look on Gyllenskiold, 
 asked him a few hasty searching questions, then moved his chair to 
 the table to write some prescriptions and receipts of a simple kind, 
 but still more to think over and judge of what he had heard, and 
 note down a general view of the state of the sufferer, and the 
 changing expression of his face. 
 
 Meanwhile a soft slumber stole insensibly over the eyes and 
 soul of the exhausted youth. But while he slept his Mild 
 fearful dreams rose not up before him. It seemed to him as 
 though he stood upon the top of an exceeding high moun- 
 tain, and had never before breathed or felt such pure, reanimat- 
 ing air. It poured through all his veins like a healing torrent, 
 and overflowed his whole frame, when gently his heart ceased 
 to beat, and a sweet voice sang : — 
 
 " How beautiful is death, 
 
 When in pure light we die ! 
 Not fearful is the parting breath, 
 It is but sleep in which we lie : 
 Death is not night, 
 But pure and glorious light." 
 
 Wondering, he looked behind him to the place from whence the 
 singing came, and near him he saw a white dove, that silently and 
 sweetly looked on him with its thoughtful eyes. 
 
 " Do the doves sing upon the lofty mountains of the south?" he 
 
12 
 
 SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 asked. Then he heard a pleasant voice whisper, " No, not yet !" 
 and a low, gentle laugh. 
 
 But this was no dream. He had awaked long ago ; and looking 
 up, he saw indeed the white dove, hut upon the shoulder of the same 
 fair, tender lady, whose lovely appearance had before checked the 
 rising quarrel between him and the physician. She held in her white 
 hand some sheets of paper, which she laughingly tore in pieces and 
 Jet fly out of the window, amusing herself with watching the white 
 fragments borne hither and thither by the evening wind, and then 
 sinking down into the darkening surface of the neighbouring sea. 
 
 Doctor Matthew looked at her in astonishment ; still holding the 
 pen in his right hand. These little loose fragments were all that 
 remained of the description he had just finished of Gyllenskiold's 
 morbid world of dreams. The graceful vision murmured still more 
 clearly, "No, not yet;" and she added, as she stooped down and 
 kissed his brow, " but how could you undertake anything without 
 consulting me?" Then, for the first time noticing that Gyllens- 
 kiold had awaked, with a swift step she glided out of the room. 
 
 Chapter V. 
 
 "A strange series of circumstances,", said the physician, after 
 some moments' pause, " compels me, Colonel Gyllenskiold, to let 
 you have some deeper and earlier insight into the history of my life, 
 than might seem advisable between prudent men on so short an 
 acquaintance ; but it will be no painful task to me to show this con- 
 fidence to one of your noble and courteous demeanour. And, besides, 
 we are already bound closely to each other by our mutual love and 
 respect for the wise and learned Farenberg. Listen then, in order 
 that you may not take me for a weak-hearted fool, who is ready 
 every moment to sacrifice his views of life and skill to the caprices 
 of a beautiful woman." 
 
 Gyllenskiold pressed the hand of the physician ; grateful for his 
 frank and noble confidence, and it seemed to him as though a 
 sweetly sounding stream of air, like the murmuring of bees, breathed 
 
SOPIIIK A RIF.T.F. 
 
 13 
 
 through the apartment. Doctor Matthew also must have perceived 
 it, for a smile of pleasure passed over his countenance, while he 
 softly, almost imperceptibly, shook his head. Then he said — 
 
 " It is now almost six years ago since I made a botanical expedi- 
 tion over the chain of mountains which separate Genoa from the 
 plains of Lombardy ; and one beautiful spring evening, I found my- 
 self at so great a height that I was as it were quite alone in the 
 world, and that everything around me had disappeared from view 
 amid shapeless clouds. The mountain summit on which I stood rose 
 up into the sunny blue air from the sea of mist at my feet, like some 
 lonely island. Mountain herbs filled the air with the most delicious 
 odour, and the most exquisite moss grew under my feet, giving me 
 thus as sweet an enjoyment of nature as can be found in this wide, 
 beautiful world. But every trace of the footpath had now disap- 
 peared, and half fearing, half smiling, I thought of the haughty 
 physician, who, in a sumptuous feast, was placed by the jesting 
 tyrant at a separate table, and entertained only with perfumes, 
 that he might be satisfied with Olympic fare. While I was 
 looking for a path by which I might easily descend, 1 beheld 
 in the surface of the sea of mist my own reflection, pale, 
 stiff, and distorted. Horror and giddiness seized me ; I felt 
 myself precipitated into some unknown abyss, and became in- 
 sensible as I fell. When I again recovered my senses, I found 
 myself in a shepherd's cottage stretched upon a soft bed of 
 moss. In my head and breast I felt severe pain ; but, notwithstand- 
 ing, an unspeakably sweet feeling, as of etherial balm, floated 
 around me, and filled my whole soul. I believed that it was the 
 sensation that followed a happy death, and thought a fair, tender 
 woman's form at my side was an angel guiding me home. And oh, 
 my friend ! though since that wondrous moment I have led a happy 
 and, in comparison with other men, a blissful life, and have seen, 
 God be praised ! manifold joys spring up before me on my earthly 
 path, yet the glorious feeling of that moment sometimes makes 
 me wish that it had been my last, and that I had been conducted, 
 as I then believed, to the eternal joys of Paradise. But I again 
 sank back into a gentle insensibility. When I recovered, the beautiful 
 vision had disappeared. A grey-headed shepherd, with a benevolent 
 countenance, stood by my bed, saying, 'Take comfort, my dear sir; 
 
 c 
 
14 
 
 SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 you will not die.' Knowledge and experience, however simply ac- 
 quired, I never despised ; but with my returning senses, awoke also 
 within me a sort of medical pride, and I answered the good old man, 
 ' Do you know that? and who has told you ?' ' The lady Ariele herself 
 he said, in a tone of confidence, that seemed to put every doubt of re- 
 covery out of the question ; and so indeed did it seem to me. ' The 
 lady Ariele herself?' I repeated, as if responding to his words. ' Yes — 
 yes !' And in my heart I knew full well that she was the same fair 
 vision that I had thought an angel, and whom my fevered brain 
 had since represented as a being endowed with a mysterious irresisti- 
 ble influence, whose presence alone could infuse healing power 
 into the expiring breath of man." 
 
 " Something like the purest and most refreshing breeze ?" asked 
 Gyllenskiold. 
 
 The physician answered, with some astonishment and confusion, 
 " Exactly. But what led you to think of that strange comparison ?" 
 
 " Only," returned the other, " as we often hit upon certain 
 thoughts without being able to give any exact account of their 
 origin. It came to me from the dark, sweet, inexplicable sympathy 
 of our common nature." 
 
 " Very true," said Doctor Matthew, with an expression of perfect 
 satisfaction, " very true ; and I now feel a greater pleasure in dis- 
 closing to you the progress of my strangely happy fortunes. 
 
 "The lady Ariele lived, as I learned on the recovery of my health, 
 in almost solitary seclusion, in the restored ruins of an old castle, 
 which had once belonged to the noble race of Belmont. The air 
 around this castle was very pure and delightful, but of so singular 
 a quality that only a few of the beautiful lady's servants and 
 attendants could stay there for a long time together ; and while 
 those around her were obliged to leave the place, the lady herself 
 bloomed in as perfect health as they who lived in the regions lower 
 down in the valley. Yet attendants never failed her. Not that they 
 considered it any sacrifice, and did it for the sake of charity ; but 
 there was a peculiar charm, and a silent, delightful authority in her 
 whole life and nature, wonderfully united to an almost childish 
 gaiety, which chained every heart to her presence ; and the domestics 
 who had left her, always returned to the castle, earnestly praying to 
 be admitted afresh into her service. By these changes in her 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 15 
 
 household, the fame of Sophie Ariele's gentleness and goodness 
 spread further and further through the country. And she herself 
 often descended, like a protecting angel, to heal the sick, to cherish 
 the wounded, and by her sweet presence to carry peace wherever 
 discord or anger were kindled between any of the inhabitants of the 
 deep valleys. And an instance was never known in which she had 
 failed to reconcile them ; no sick man, whose restoration she had 
 attempted, remained unhealed. And perhaps she might have been 
 honoured in those valleys as a saint, only that her joyousness, 
 which sometimes burst out into laughing merriment, forbade those 
 exceedingly solemn thoughts. 
 
 " By the gracious care of this beautiful physician I was soon so 
 completely cured that I was able to pay a visit of thanks to her 
 lofty castle. It is true that I felt my art as a physician to have 
 been completely superseded, for I must acknowledge that when I 
 became better, and endeavoured narrowly to observe Sophie's 
 method of cure, her medicines and restoratives were for the most 
 part quite unknown to me, or seemed completely unimportant and 
 almost childish. Yet 1 knew, from experience, that I could never 
 have restored a .person so severely wounded, in the short time that 
 Sophie had required to complete my cure. 
 
 " Light as a chamois, and happy as a lark in spring, I climbed the 
 mountain path to Ariele's castle, in order to thank my mysterious 
 preserver. You ask what I found there ? Spare me, my friend, 
 the task of describing the capricious strangeness of this almost 
 aeriel dwelling ; or — for I feel that you would wish to know more 
 concerning it — spare me at least at present. At another time our 
 conversations may lead us back to this subject, when I will gratify 
 your curiosity. Sophie was not, as I had at first supposed, one of 
 those strange learned Italians who had obtained a degree in medi- 
 cine for their skill and knowledge. No one was further than Sophie 
 Ariele from possessing academic knowledge. But her mind is tuned 
 in such sweet and innocently deep accord with all things with which 
 she is acquainted, as it were without art or learning, that she floats 
 above all my science like a glittering breath of air playing upon the 
 waves and circles of the sea. It is true she acknowledges that justice 
 and goodness are often to be found in my manner of thinking and 
 acting ; but it frequently happens, as it did just now, that she 
 
 c 2 
 
16 
 
 SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 laughs at my prescriptions and receipts, or whatever notes of the 
 kind I have prepared — tears them to pieces, as a child would a 
 daisy, and gives them as a sport to the winds. But in all the 
 various cases in which experience has taught me that my lovely 
 wife possesses a true judgment, in its highest and noblest form, I 
 have never met with one that appeared to me so singular as your 
 own. Indeed, sir, I now hope, with the utmost confidence, to be 
 able very soon to banish your fearful dreams ; and to rejoice our 
 friend Farenberg with a favourable account of the issue of your 
 journey to Marseilles." 
 
 Chatter VI. 
 
 Doctor Matthew now invited his patient to their evening 
 meal, that was awaiting them in the garden by the sea shore ; and 
 they went out together. More balmy than usual, after the thunder 
 and lightning of a distant storm that had just passed away, the 
 blossoms and flowers of the herbs breathed fragrance from the 
 beds where they grew, partly in beautiful order, partly in capricious 
 confusion, throughout the green plantation. 
 
 " It is Sophie's work," said the doctor, smiling, while Gyllens- 
 kiold with pleased astonishment followed him through the shaded 
 walks which wound between the various trees, forming little bowers 
 in the shrubberies as they passed along, and displaying every now 
 and then to the view a transient prospect of the beautifully swelling 
 sea. 
 
 The physician, with the sweet feelings that now breathed through 
 his soul, beholding the grave smiles of Gustavus as a bright mirror 
 of his own thoughts, softly said — 
 
 " One evening, as I stood upon the walls of Allele's mountain 
 castle, and looked with her at the setting of the evening sun, and the 
 veil of mist which gradually sank over the deep valleys, the feeling 
 at that sweet hour stole over my heart, that she indeed was the soul 
 of my life ; and a supplication for her pure love breathing from my 
 lips was answered by a softly whispered yes. At this moment 
 it seemed to me that upon these happy mountains my earthly 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 destiny was fulfilled. I spoke, as a matter of course, of the future 
 that I was to spend henceforth in the distant castle. But she 
 looked at me in astonishment, and a light shade of displeasure 
 passed over her features, as on a bright summer day the shadow 
 of a cloud sometimes passes over the flowery meadows. She chid 
 me gently for intending, by this seclusion, to deprive my fellow- 
 creatures of the advantage of those faculties which God had placed 
 in my soid, and in the art I exercised. She would go with me, 
 assisting me by the aid of that perception which had be?" granted 
 her by nature, and which, until now, she had only been able to 
 use for the assistance of a few families of shepherds. ' But,' added 
 she, blushing, ' supported by the arm of a protecting husband, 
 and by his name veiled from the vain, rude glances and praises 
 of the world, I hope to do more good than I have ever 
 before been able to accomplish, all to the glory of the invisi- 
 ble Creator, and the happiness of his dear creatures.' Full of 
 delight, I gave myself up to Sophie's sweet direction, and begged 
 of her to consider whether her tender frame could for a long 
 continuance support an atmosphere less pure and clear than 
 that she breathed in her mountain castle. 'Take me to a city 
 by the sea,' she answered, after some consideration, 'to the south, 
 to a city by the sea, that overlooks the waves of the sea — the holy, 
 wonderful, living sea. The breezes blow there as undisturbed and 
 refreshingly as upon the top of these lofty mountains.' To me, as a 
 physician, this opinion of her health seemed true and reasonable. 
 And for five years, now, I have lived a most happy husband, some- 
 times as her scholar, sometimes also — though it is true in but few 
 cases — as an instructor to my beautiful Sophie Ariele." 
 
 " Sophie Ariele !" repeated Gyllenskiold, after a sweet, dream-like 
 fit of musing, " Sophie Ariele ! How graceful the name sounds ! 
 And is this beautiful creature, that almost seems wafted to you from 
 heaven, without either friends or kindred ? And is Ariele her second 
 Christian name — or the name of her race?" 
 
 "On this subject," said the physician, with an open-hearted 
 smile, " I can give you no other account than one which will seem 
 to you almost childish. Sophie was separated from her parents, 
 under peculiar circumstances, in her early childhood. All that she 
 can recall of her relations carries with it the ideas connected with 
 
 c 3 
 
] 3 
 
 SOPHIE A BIBLE. 
 
 her infancy, as it was only as a child that she remembers them. 
 She laughs sometimes at her own history ; yet more often, the tears 
 drop from her blue, angelic eyes, when she recalls — though the 
 remembrance is now only indistinct — the harsh and cruel separa- 
 tion. I entreat you, therefore, my noble guest, disturb not the 
 serenity of that blue heaven by any allusion to Sophie Ariele's 
 birth." 
 
 Blushing, from a slight feeling of displeasure, Gyllenskiold said — 
 " I hope that I have not behaved to my noble host with such rude 
 or uncourteous manners, that he could be justified in fearing from 
 me an error against all rides of courtesy. Is it probable that at 
 our first meeting I should inquire of a noble lady of her origin, and 
 her early relations :" 
 
 " But let me hope," answered the physician soothingly, " that 
 we shall see you often at our house ; and it was only in considera- 
 tion of this, that" — 
 
 " That you find it necessary to warn me against rudeness towards 
 a noble lady," eagerly interrupted Gyllenskiold. "This caution, 
 Doctor Matthew, was perfectly unnecessary, for I can assure you, 
 on my word of honour, that the gentlemen of Sweden understand 
 quite as well the courtesy that is due to noble ladies as the most 
 chivalrous of the knights of France." 
 
 An indignant reply rose to the lips of the physician. But at 
 that moment soft sounds murmured through the neighbouring 
 trees, and he laid his fingers on his mouth, while Gustavus bent in 
 a kind of embarrassed compliance, and an angel-voice sang the 
 following words, to the soft, irregular accompaniment of the almost 
 motionless, but gently murmuring chords : — 
 
 " Sweet evening breezes of the sea — 
 
 Doubly sweet the thunder over — 
 From every flower, from every tree 
 
 Woo its sweetness, like a lover. 
 Hide not yourselves in vale or glen, 
 
 Or in earnest or in jest ; 
 The storm is over : come again, 
 
 Breathe on every meadow's breast. 
 
 " Spring laid her down awhile, and slept, 
 And in her absence storms arose ; 
 She has awaked — the flower that wept 
 Has dried its tears, and fresher blows : 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE, 
 
 Life's perfect circle does not cease, 
 For all is safe, till clouds are over ; 
 
 Strife unconscious turns to peace, 
 And life and joy are friends for ever." 
 
 Chapter VII. 
 
 Towards the north were dark, thick forests ; towards the south 
 the immeasurable ocean, extending free and boundless in the 
 horizon, and blending in the already darkening evening hour with 
 the rosy-tinted clouds of heaven. It seemed to Gyllenskiold's 
 ravished senses as if the world was nearly dissolved into nothing- 
 ness, and yet at the same time expanded into infinity. Half-shud- 
 dering, he looked out into the undefined distance, which appeared 
 to him the type of his own uncertain future ; so that for some mi- 
 nutes he forgot the presence of his noble host, and even of his beau- 
 tiful hostess, softly sighing to himself, " Life is death ! and the 
 white sails upon the dark blue surface are my fearful dreams, sor- 
 rowfully waving to and fro betwixt sleeping and waking !" 
 
 But Sophie Ariele said joyfully, in an inexpressibly melodious 
 voice, " Life is life ; and the white sails upon the darkening waves 
 are messengers of glorious promises, from a distant and infinitely 
 more beautiful and blooming shore." 
 
 Gustavus Gyllenskiold, with sweet emotion, bowed low before 
 her graceful form : it was as though a joyous blessing had de- 
 scended upon his soul from above, chasing the shadow from every 
 gloomy thought. It was only by a strong effort, and by the assist- 
 ance of his natural and high-bred courtesy, that he coidd suddenly 
 fall into the easy tone of common conversation, while he implored 
 the mistress of the place to forgive his strange and most uncour- 
 teous wonder at the astonishing beauty of everything that sur- 
 rounded him. 
 
 Sophie Ariele's beautiful head shook half-disapprovingly, as a 
 little flower trembles on its stalk before the rough blast of evening. 
 It was evident there was something not quite right in the words of 
 the guest ; yet with gentle compliance she continued in the same 
 
•20 
 
 SOPHIE AKIELE. 
 
 tone in which Gyllenskiold had spoken. The three were soon sit- 
 ting together, surrounded by dishes, glasses, and flowers, talking 
 as carelessly and merrily as if they were in an elegant saloon at 
 Paris. The words of a little French song came into Gyllenskiold's 
 mind, which might, perhaps, be rendered — 
 
 " Unknown treasures, fairy pleasures, 
 
 Lavished on tins world of ours ; 
 Joys whose home we cannot trace, 
 Telling of some fairer place — 
 
 Sunny hours ! 
 Graceful, laughing, light as air, 
 
 Sunny as the sunny weather — 
 Without a pain, without a care — 
 
 Jest and laughter blent together. 
 
 ' 1 Ask not why the violet blows — 
 Why the bloom is on the rose : 
 
 Joy will not be set to task ; 
 Winged, light, she roaraeth free. 
 
 Too curious mortal, do not ask 
 What or whence thy bliss may be : 
 
 The sweetest bloom upon the rose 
 Lies deepest in its bosom's core ; 
 
 Seek not its petals to unclose — 
 Bared to the world, its charm is o'er." 
 
 But as they thus merrily conversed together, there was suddenly 
 heard the sound of full, rich, powerful chords, as from a solemn 
 choir : the most exquisite harmony fell on the ear, while the me- 
 lody was more felt than expressed. Gyllenskiold perceived that it 
 proceeded from harps that were hidden in the trees. It was, in- 
 deed, the same sound that had before, with softer breathings, 
 accompanied Ariele's song, which now, under the influence of the 
 rising night wind, swelled into these mighty, solemn tones. This 
 kind of wild natural music was now so extremely uncommon, and 
 to most people so entirely unknown, that the young Swede felt 
 tempted to think it sorcery, or some such superhuman power. In 
 his cradle he remembered to have heard songs and tales of the an- 
 cient heroes of his country, in which, though untouched by fingers, 
 the harps of the Scalds breathed music from the soft breezes of the 
 air, or from the threatening motions of the storm. Soon, there- 
 fore, this strange music became familiar to him ; only the sportive 
 jests and fancies that had come into his mind so short a time be- 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 21 
 
 fore, now gave place to a far different feeling of deep joy, that wa:, 
 diffused through his whole soul. Gravely and silently the north- 
 man looked up to the deeply darkening clouds, and listened in 
 joyous transport to the wonderful tones of the harps. Then So- 
 phie Ariele whispered, in a soft voice, " On just such an evening as 
 this I was separated from my parents." Her husband and the 
 stranger youth gazed on her astonished ; but as they listened to the 
 vibrations of the wonderful harps, and beheld Sophie Ariele's sweet 
 melancholy smile, they could find no words by which to change 
 the conversation from this subject, which was so dear, and yet so 
 full of sorrow. Dreamily smiling, she continued — " I see it still 
 before my eyes, though the meaning of the whole has never been 
 distinctly clear to me. My mother rocked me in a beautiful silver 
 cradle, and prattled to me in little poems and tales, that I might 
 not be frightened at the thunder of the mighty battle which my 
 father and some other noble warriors were fighting, deep, dee]) 
 down in the echoing valleys. The noise of the combat sometimes 
 arose to our high mountain castle, and re-echoed from its rocky 
 walls ; then I laughed at the sweet chattering of my dear mother, 
 and because she laid me again in my cradle (for I was too old for 
 such a baby's bed). I could already chase the butterfly in its swift 
 course — I could never catch it, but would sing after it wild songs, 
 which only made it fly more rapidly than before, and the various 
 colours of its fluttering wings glisten more brightly. 
 
 " But now the thunder of the battle rattled nearer, and the glittering 
 of the fighting host beamed wilder. My mother anxiously called for 
 her servants. ' They are all flown, from terror of death, noble mis- 
 tress/ said, in a mournful, faltering voice, the only one of her train 
 who remained faithful to her, and heard her. We always called this 
 gentle creature Tiiublein,* because she was so soft and white and 
 mild. I believe that, in the stammering of my earliest child- 
 hood, I had by chance first called her by this name, instead 
 of the one that really belonged to her ; and it suited her so well, 
 that she ever afterwards retained it. But to continue. The gentle 
 Tiiublein floated in, sighing, ' Ah, that I could bring an olive- 
 branch, the glorious type of rest and peace ! But all is trouble and 
 
 * Tiiublein is a German word, signifying little dove, 
 
22 
 
 SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 war ; the squadrons of my noble lord yield ; and fearfully sounding, 
 the trumpet-call and arrows of the enemy threaten them with 
 pursuit !' 
 
 " * No enemies have ever broken in hitherto,' said my mother, 
 with a proud smile, that fell like a sunbeam on my terrified 
 soul; 'and/ continued she, 'my noble husband and hero has 
 built his castle so high above all the other dwellings, that no fear 
 for me, or for his only child, might disturb his mighty battles 
 against the fierce foe rising from the hot south. Those coward 
 slaves have fled in foolish, needless fear, and they will soon re- 
 pent of having forfeited their happy abode in this secure castle; but 
 you, dear little creature, faithful Taublein, shall be so much the dearer 
 to us, now you are the only one left to us. It may be that we 
 shall enjoy a far more quiet, peaceful, and happy life when my hus- 
 band goes no more down to fight in the plain. But, alas ! how will 
 he support that sad, sad peace which falls to the lot of the van- 
 quished !' 
 
 "Then my dear mother began to weep burning tears, and at the 
 same time my father entered the lofty room, his head sunk low upon 
 his breast : I still see him before me. Wild as a cloud of mist in a 
 storm, a soldier's white mantle flew around his shoulders. The 
 metal of his helmet or cap — for I do not rightly know what he wore 
 upon his raven locks — strangely glistened in the brilliantly lighted 
 saloon, outvying the brightness of the wax candles, and 
 made me break forth into a scream of sorrow and lamentation. 
 Then my proud father restrained his noble passion, and talked in 
 a low voice to my beautiful mother. Few words did I catch of 
 what they said to each other, for soon I sank into a deep, deep 
 slumber, overcome by weariness and fear. But such words ! Even 
 now I hear them sometimes in my sorrowful dreams, full of the most 
 desponding meaning ; now threatening separation — now promising 
 hope ; now weighing down my soul into the depths of an abyss — 
 now raising it again to the glorious heights of heaven." 
 
 With a singular expression in her soft eye, she first looked down 
 before her, as into her grave; then up to heaven, as towards a place 
 in which she had already secured everlasting blessedness. Gus- 
 tavus Gyllenskiold was almost tempted to ask about these 
 dreams: it was in dreams that all his own sorrow dwelt, and he 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 22 
 
 experienced a secret hope and a sweet delight that he had seldom 
 felt before. Just as he was about to speak, he was stopped by a 
 gentle sign from Sophie Ariele's sylph-like hand — a sign that 
 seemed to say — 
 
 " Oh, silent, silent be! 
 
 Speak not, ask not, think not : 
 There's music, sweeter far 
 
 Than song or voice — 
 Oh, silent, silent be ! 
 
 Speak not, ask not, think not ; 
 Life's dream, life's hope, life's joy 
 
 Keep secret, hid ; 
 While silent, silently 
 
 Are woven unknown spells, 
 Unknown, but true I" 
 
 Was it that she had in reality sung these words, or had Gus- 
 tavus only imagined them ? For a few moments his mind hovered 
 in the pleasing uncertainty of a beautiful dream. — But she continued : 
 
 " When I awoke, the kind attendant Taublein was sitting on my 
 little bed, with bright tears in her loving eyes : she told me a won- 
 derful tale of a little . princess, whose parents, living formerly in 
 great magnificence, had wished, on the loss of their fortune, that 
 their only daughter should remain in quiet seclusion from the evil 
 race of men that dwelt elsewhere, and should find a recompence in 
 the deep joy of giving and receiving love, for the lost pomp and 
 power of her former station. And then she painted to me so beau- 
 tifully the sweet joys of such a life, that I felt tears of eagerness 
 upon my cheeks. Then my mother came in, and said, 'Thou, thy- 
 self, art the little princess, dear Ariele ; and thy wise father has 
 destined for thee as happy a lot as Taublein has just sketched.' 
 
 " At that time I was a more than usually thoughtless child ; but 
 the feeling that I was to be separated from my parents for ever, 
 brought streams of tears into my eyes; and even now, when I 
 think of it, when — " 
 
 Her bright blue eyes were filled with tears, and holding a snowy 
 white handkerchief before her sweet child-like features, she disap- 
 peared from the bower. 
 
24 
 
 SOPHIE ARIELF. 
 
 Chapter VIII. 
 
 Both her companions for a long time remained silent and deeply 
 affected, each looking down on the ground before him, sunk in 
 earnest contemplation. After awhile, Gyllenskiold said mildly, " I 
 hope my noble host knows how perfectly innocent I was of giving 
 any inducement to call forth the sorrowful recollections which the 
 sweet lady felt in her tender heart r" 
 
 Doctor Matthew only pressed the hand of his guest in silence. But 
 the harps in the trees sounded even more solemnly, in full-toned 
 chords, from the rising blasts of the night-wind : their harmony 
 seemed all at once to open the secrets of the physician's heart, and 
 he said, " Sophie has to-day disclosed her beautiful soul and her 
 strange recollections to you, as I have never before seen her in the 
 presence of a stranger. Neither will I, therefore, any longer con- 
 sider you a stranger, but tell you all I have ever been able to discover 
 of her wonderful condition. In vain, since the time that Sophie be- 
 stowed on me her love, and extended to me her beautiful hand, in 
 promise that I was her chosen husband, I have endeavoured to 
 gain the least traces of her uncertain origin. She could tell me no 
 more, besides what she has just related, than that her faithful at- 
 tendant, whom she called Taublein, had carried her from the won- 
 derful palace of her parents down into a lonely village, and had 
 confided her to the care of a kind shepherd's family; rewarding the 
 good people, for the attention they were expected to bestow 
 upon her, with rich jewels, prepared from the most ex- 
 quisite mountain crystals. But the simple shepherds understood 
 not the value of these costly gifts, but gave them for playthings to 
 their children ; while they brought up Sophie from pure compas- 
 sion for her condition, that seemed to them so helpless. But those 
 things which men often do from charity, reward them for ever — 
 certainly hereafter, and it may be even in this present world. In 
 both cases did Sophie's foster-parents unquestionably find it so. 
 Two learned mineralogists, from some distant city, sought and found 
 hospitable protection in the ehepherd's house. At this meeting — 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 2.') 
 
 which we might, perhaps, erroneously .suppose to have come about 
 by chance — the strangers told them of the value of their crystals, 
 and offered, when their condition should allow them to do so, to 
 purchase them, as their own conscience and the costliness of the 
 jewels required. After that time, Sophie's foster-parents lived in 
 great, and for them almost unheard-of, happiness ; and they would 
 have loved the child Ariele, who had brought such good fortune, 
 still more deeply than before, if it had been possible. At last the 
 two good people, almost on the same day, passed into a higher ex- 
 istence ; and Sophie Ariele now employed her wealth in leading 
 that benevolent life that I pictured to you before, from which I, if 
 it may be so said, took her away, yet only in order to guide her, ac- 
 cording to her own wish, in a still wider circle of benevolent peace 
 and blessed performance of her duties. The happy influence over 
 my physical trials, and my profession generally, which she has 
 since — " 
 
 He stopped short, for now Sophie again entered the bower, the 
 little white dove upon her shoulder ; her face sweetly beaming with 
 unruffled serenity, like the stars appealing upon the beautiful 
 southern brow of heaven. It might almost have been doubted 
 whether she was indeed the same person who so short a time be- 
 fore had been overwhelmed in so deep a sorrow. She said, with a 
 happy, silvery laugh, " Do not believe everything, my friend, that 
 Doctor Matthew has been pleased to tell you about his wife ? for that 
 he was talking of her I can easily perceive, by his so suddenly 
 breaking off the conversation, and by his still embarrassed silence. 
 Not, perhaps, that I thought such a wise head could wish, to teaze 
 you with silly stories. No ; Doctor Matthew imagines everything 
 marvellous that he relates of me : I only wonder that he has never 
 been pleased to declare that my parents are of high imperial de- 
 scent; or that I am some sort of demi-goddess — and this merely 
 because I intrude a little now and then upon the domain of his art, 
 and am wonderfully successful in it too !" 
 
 Gyllenskiold smiled, and was silent : he could not help thinking 
 of what he had quite distinctly seen and heard on his awaking, 
 namely, how Ariele had torn to pieces the prescription so carefully 
 written by the Doctor, and let them fly out of the window — and 
 how she had so playfully scolded her husband for having done any- 
 
 D 
 
2G SOPITIF. ARIELF.. 
 
 thing without consulting her. It seemed as if Sophie understood 
 the smile of her guest. With a slight blush she said — " But there 
 is one, of whom my good husband cannot have said enough — I 
 mean in all that he has said in praise of that faithful servant of my 
 parents, whom we we called Taublein. Unfortunately, I have never 
 seen her since the day when she put me under the care of the good, 
 kind shepherd ; yet, at the sight of real doves, her pure form seems 
 to return to me, almost as if she had been a real dove herself !" And 
 then a soft laugh passed over Sophie's tender hps ; yet soon be- 
 coming serious again, she said to the physician, u Do you not 
 think, my love, that my frolics with the dove you are so fond of 
 might now be of some use in helping to drive from our noble guest 
 his unhappy dreams ? for, you see, I have managed to pick up 
 some few scraps out of your lectures — the animal vital power of an 
 innocent animal over the sulphureous — I meant to say, over the 
 nitrous — over the exhalation of the demoniacal natural powers, I 
 think — " She stopped, and said, at last, half in jest, but almost 
 weeping, " Now help me a little, when you see that I am puzzled 
 with your learned way of talking, and in my sorrow and necessity 
 use one word for another, or even three for one !" 
 
 Doctor Matthew said, laughing, " I have already told our new 
 friend, dear Sophie, that you would win a doctor's hat, not' in a 
 common university, but by dint of your own peculiar faculty of sci- 
 ence, although your beautiful name signifies as much as wisdom ; 
 but a much higher, far more infallible wisdom — " and his voice be- 
 came louder as he spoke, and his eyes sparkled with a glow of in- 
 spiration — " this, Sophie Ariele, is yours, and I willingly put myself 
 under your skilful guidance." 
 
 Ashamed, she let her soft eyes sink upon the ground ; yet, when 
 the physician, with the eager questions which the love for his mys- 
 terious profession and his vividly aroused sympathy for Gyllens- 
 kiold inspired, began to inquire in what way the little dove would 
 contribute to the recovery of his guest, Sophie forgot all her shy 
 timidity. As if winged with eagerness for the health of the suf- 
 ferer, she said, "My favourite dove must be near him when 
 he slumbers : as soon as she hears him speak or sigh in his evil 
 dreams, or moan as though in pain, then, frightened, she nutters 
 about her wings ; so he w r akes, and his eyes seeing the pure white 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 27 
 
 wings as they hover around him, while he is softly fanned by their 
 gentle motion, the demon forms of that dark world will be for- 
 gotten, and a perception as of the protecting presence of a pure 
 angel will fall on his softened soul. Trust me and my dove : such 
 tender inhabitants of the air are a fear and horror to night demons, 
 as the golden breezes of the morning to bats and owls. Yes, my 
 little dove will conquer ! It lives and laughs in the noon-day sun- 
 shine ; the gloomy, unsubstantial world of dreams flies far away, 
 where only innocence, light, and joy reign !" 
 
 She repeated the last words almost singing, and immediately 
 she took the white dove caressingly in her tender hands ; then 
 placed it upon Gustavus's shoulder, and whispered a few words, as 
 if in command, which it was almost impossible to hear, for at that 
 moment the harps in the trees sounder louder than ever. With a 
 deep inward shudder, Gustavus remembered his dreaming struggles 
 to understand the songs of those fearfully beautiful women. But 
 here was the sweet opposite of them all : instead of the sharply 
 glancing, mockingly laughing forms, a sweet, gentle countenance 
 beamed on him ; instead of their wild songs, breathed a mild, 
 peaceful whisper through his inmost being. The dove, which at 
 first had moved somewhat painfully upon his shoulder, now bent 
 down, sweetly caressing him. 
 
 With one look at Sophie Ariele, Doctor Matthew, as became his 
 duty as host, accompanied the poor dreamer to the bed that was 
 carefully prepared for him. 
 
 Chapter IX. 
 
 A small chamber, softly scented by frankincense, had been pre- 
 pared for the youth. From the ceiling was suspended, by a silver 
 chain, a beautifully shaped silver lamp ; and on the side where Gyl- 
 lenskiold's bed was standing, its too dazzling light was tempered 
 by a tall shade ; while in the opposite direction, where the walls 
 were covered with green silk hangings embroidered with silver, it 
 streamed with so much the greater brilliancy, like the light which 
 
 d 2 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 the full moon sheds upon a silent meadow. By the side of the plea- 
 santly darkened couch was placed a young laurel-tree, in an elegant 
 antique vessel : upon its branches the dove instantly alighted, soon to 
 sink with dreamy cooing into sweet slumber. Outside the high win- 
 dow, that was partly open, and only defended from the air by a thin 
 curtain, nightingales were singing upon blossoming orange-trees. 
 One solitary picture was upon the wall, representing a group of angels 
 as large as life, with all the sweet magic of their fonn and colour, 
 watching over the sleep of the pious pilgrim and patriarch Jacob ; 
 while the demons and wild animals of the desert flew far away, and 
 could be dimly seen in the indistinct darkness of the back-ground. 
 
 AVhen Gustavus had laid himself down to rest, the physician, 
 from a crystal cup, gave him a sleeping potion, which passed 
 through his veins pleasantly cooling, and at the same time softly 
 glowing, and said, with a smile — " You see I would fain connect 
 something of my profession with the cure that is to be wrought by 
 the lady Ariele's dove ; but do not think that I meddle unbidden 
 in her work. I prepared for you this cup with the approval of my 
 guiding nymph ; for," added he, " though I do not by any means 
 consider myself a Numa, yet she sometimes seems to me to be an 
 Egeria." Then glancing at the picture of the protecting angels, he 
 said, gravely — " May they be with you !" and left the chamber. 
 
 Full of inexpressible delight, Gustavus sank into a refreshing 
 and, at first, perfectly dreamless slumber. Yet soon the grisly 
 long-bearded kings' heads rose up before the tormented youth, and 
 he groaned — " Away from me, ye threatening forefathers ! or at 
 least, keep far away from me those woman-forms which shine with 
 such unearthly beauty !" But these sparkling forms, with their 
 blasting eye-balls, were just rising up out of the chaos, and Gustavus 
 moved in fearfid shuddering ; when something floated around his 
 head like a pleasantly cooling breeze of May. AVaking, he saw the 
 dove startled from her slumber, fluttering about with extended 
 wings. A sweet melancholy filled his heart, at the white, brightly 
 glancing vision ; smiling, he beckoned to her, and she sank down 
 upon the pillow of his bed, caressingly laying her white feathers on 
 his burning cheeks, then again flew up to the laurel tree, and for a 
 long time looked kindly at the youth from her watchful eyes, turn- 
 ing her graceful head from one side to the other, till at last again 
 
.SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 20 
 
 in slumber, she hid it under her snowy wing. Then Gustavus also 
 laid himself down again in soft sleep. 
 
 But after a while, the kings' heads from the world of his 
 dreams sprang up indeed, but far, far away; looking at him 
 more in earnest sorrow titan in anger. And the other glitter- 
 ing forms hovered about in the horizon, but like distant stars, 
 so small and distant did they seem. -" It is the most glorious 
 firmament that I have ever seen," said the dreamer. Then 
 the sparkling forms floated nearer, encircling each other like wild 
 shadowy comets, and describing wonderfully strange figures of 
 a dance, which the youth felt himself obliged, he knew not why, to 
 follow and define. Then the enigmatical frantic song again began 
 to sound, and the kings' heads rose up red with passion, like flames. 
 Yet again the dove hovered and fluttered around him ; again the 
 youth awoke, breathing deeply, and again the dove and the youth 
 sank down to sleep. And now the dreamer saw the kings' heads 
 and the women as in the deep slumber of death, stretched upon a 
 wide ocean ; the surface was undisturbed by the slightest breath of 
 air, while it bore their horrible corpses as if it had been firm land. 
 " Is this ocean then frozen ?" Gyllenskiold asked. Then the death- 
 sleepers began to sing their old song — " Life is death," and Gus- 
 tavus began involuntarily to sing with them ; it is true only softly, 
 very softly, but he knew well enough that the sound arose louder 
 and louder from his breast ; and just before he was waking in wild 
 fear, he sighed to himself — " Oh ! help me little dove ! oh ! wake 
 me, little dove, thou faithful attendant!" But the little dove must 
 have been now very fast bound in sleep, for it stirred not from the 
 boughs of the laurel tree. Yet in the dream of the youth something 
 floated like a dove. A white, tender creature, with butterfly wings, de- 
 scended from the clouds ; while, from above, a king clothed in sky- 
 blue armour, and a queen in silvery white gannents, which were set oft' 
 as it were by the glowing twilight and the soft rays of the moon, 
 looked down after it. And the hero said to the lady — ss Yonder see 
 our beloved daughter Psyche ! now must she accomplish her first 
 wandering upon earth ; but animated with an inexpressibly higher 
 love, she will again float up to us." The queen smiled approvingly, 
 through the tears which filled her eyes, and drew again the clouds 
 of dew like curtains before herself and her husband. The hover- 
 
 D 3 
 
30 
 
 SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 ing form sang soft tones, half like the cooing of a dove, and half 
 like the murmuring of harps ; and at her song the horrible chorus 
 rising from the slumbering dead was hushed, and they them- 
 selves sank into the sea. But the sea had suddenly become a 
 beautiful green meadow ; the form of the lady descended upon it, 
 and walking here and there sowed a quantity of flowers, which im- 
 mediately sprang up, while the beautiful vision said—" Life is life !" 
 Then the dreamer sang after her, with overflowing joy — 
 
 " Spring up beneath her wand, 
 The flowers she cherisheth ; 
 There is a life beyond 
 The life that perisheth. 
 
 " Praise on her happy breath, 
 Wafting away all strife ; 
 For this life is not death — 
 No ; life indeed is life !" 
 
 He heard himself sing, and he awoke, but this time not in terror, 
 but intense delight ; drinking in the rosy tints of the young morn- 
 ing, and surrounded by the songs of nightingales and the harmony 
 of iEolian harps; and near him, on the pillow, sate the white dove, 
 joyously caressing him with her wings, and looking on him still 
 more kindly than the evening before from the boughs of the laurel 
 tree. 
 
 Chapter X. 
 
 Gyllenskiold continued to live after this at the house of the 
 physician, spending such days as those only can imagine who 
 have passed out of fearful woe into joy, from morbid misery 
 into sound health of body and mind. The sweet quiet which 
 was wonderfully united in Ariele's whole nature and exist- 
 ence with almost childlike gaiety, filled his proud heart with 
 the magic of an idyllic blessed peace. No earthly wish, not even 
 the least pang from any selfish desire, once troubled the calm 
 serenity of Gustavus's soul. He felt that there were bonds in truth 
 
SOPHIE ARIEL.'.. 
 
 31 
 
 which belong infinitely more to eternity than time ; and for t£is 
 reason his spirit felt no more impulse after relations of this worjd, 
 but flew as on the wings of the dove upwards to its heavenjy 
 habitation. 
 
 The hateful glittering women had almost entirely vanished fron 
 his dreams ; the pale countenances of the old crown-bearers die V 
 indeed sometimes appear, but they were mild and kind, and ha 
 soft, indistinct whispers breathed reconciliation to the soul of the 
 now happy youth. When once he answered in his dreams — " Yesj 
 life is not death ! yes, life is life !" the oldest of the crowned heroes 
 approached him, rising as high as his girdle from the chaotic mist of 
 dreamy waves, and said in a deep-toned voice, which was in har- 
 mony with the strange accompaniment of distant thunder — f * Yes, 
 life is life ! but the wisdom of Asa knew a still more beautiful 
 language which I will teach you, and which you shall demand of 
 the beautiful elves of the air, when — " He was silent. Then the 
 breast-wound which had given him his glorious death, a hundred 
 years ago, suddenly reopened and covered Gyllenskiold's garment 
 with a deep purple like a gushing fountain; so that he said, 
 with rejoicing spirit — " See ! old ancestor, now I also glory in 
 royal garments, now I revel in them as well as you !" But as he 
 slept, his own voice again sounded clear and fearful, and with a 
 scream of terror he woke from his slumber. 
 
 Doctor Matthew sate near him, and said, with a smile, shaking 
 his head — " So, so ! the Lady Sophie Ariele has again shewn herself 
 right, and I have judged quite wrong about her infallibility — when 
 she maintained that in the wonderful web of your dreams, among 
 other companions you have one very self-satisfied comrade, or 
 rather master, who may be called Pride." 
 
 With a sorrowful smile Gustavus looked up at the physician, 
 and whispered — " What ! could Sophie Ariele really think anything 
 -so ill of me r" 
 
 " It is not the worst thing that can be thought of a man," re- 
 turned the physician, kindly. " Besides," he added, joking, " as 
 to ambition, the less Lady Ariele says of that the better, since she 
 herself inhabited so lofty a dwelling, until my love, or rather her 
 wish to aid me in my physician's calling, enticed her down to the 
 strand of this southern sea, and you herself may determine if she 
 
32 
 
 SO I'll IE ARIELE. 
 
 would love the dee]) with so unspeakable a love did not some- 
 thing of the high heaven belong to it ?" At the last words his 
 voice and the expression of his noble face had again become 
 flprave. 
 
 Gyllenskiold mused for awhile, then he said — " Why should the 
 )atient hide anything from the physician ! especially from so good 
 md kind a physician — a physician who works under Sophie 
 Ajriele's beautiful direction, and is clearly conscious of it himself? 
 fori must know, then, that ever since I first began to think, 
 perceptions of proud magnificence have hovered round me ; 
 they floated even in the unconscious dreams of my child- 
 hood. It might have been only the silly tales of my first 
 nurses, or deceiving elves sporting with my soul ; but ever since 
 that time I have believed myself to be the unfortunate son of royal 
 parents, who by the contrary storms of life had been driven back 
 into the darkness of private station ; and I remember, even now, 
 ancient tales or sayings which refer indeed to a princely, yes, regal 
 descent of our race. I have already often related these to you and 
 Ariele. It is true that I cannot escape from the proud images of 
 a splendour that has passed away. When now the crowned heads 
 in my dreams shake their grey heads so disapprovingly, I think of 
 myself as their great great grandson, whom they blame for his in- 
 activity and weakness, and who has done nothing to restore the 
 past glory of his race. And indeed, my noble friend, they are not 
 wrong, for see — " 
 
 But his proud words were silenced, for the lovely sounds of 
 Sophie Ariele's harp murmured from the garden, and her beautiful 
 Voice accompanying it with the following song : — 
 
 " Fairy children, happy dwellers 
 
 Of the palace of the air, 
 In the battle of existence 
 
 Conquering without strife or care ; 
 Gambollers in the golden sunlight, 
 
 Weavers gifted with high song — 
 What creature you doth most resemble, 
 
 All the breathing world among ? 
 
 " Every thing is like unto you, 
 Like in songs of happy words, 
 If they did but know it rightly, 
 Merry, merry little birds ! 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 33 
 
 u You are almost like the flowers — 
 But that you your pinions raise 
 Unto higher, holier bowers, 
 More aerial sanctuaries. 
 
 " They who sing the sweetest chorus 
 
 Mount upon the highest air ; 
 Mounting, singing — singing, soaring — 
 
 Joys are round them everywhere. 
 Oh ! what height has each one ventured 
 
 Far into the skies alone ! 
 Aye ! what life has he attained to, 
 
 Who his God has truly known !" 
 
 The last line was repeated again and again, with beautiful varia- 
 tions, till at last it resembled choral music, and ceased in one loud, 
 swelling chord. 
 
 " 1 Who his God has truly known,' " said Gustavus, deeply moved, 
 pressing the hand of his host and physician, and then adding — 
 "From henceforth the old crowned heads, with their ambitious 
 dreams, shall no more trouble me." 
 
 Chapter XI. 
 
 Gustavus Gyllenskiold performed what he had promised, and 
 more too ; as it often happens with human expectations and pro- 
 mises, either the intention is forgotten, or else it is overstepped. 
 
 Since the morning on which Sophie Ariele had given her guest 
 permission to relate to her something of the ancient noble ballads 
 of his northern ancestors, he had often sunk into a gloomy silence, 
 for he had formerly desired to be united with that glorious com- 
 pany of heroes. And if she looked at him with a questioning 
 smile, he used to softly hum the words — 
 
 * ' Oh ! what height has each one ventured 
 Far into the skies alone ! 
 Aye ! what life has he attained to, 
 Who his God has truly known !" 
 
 But one day an expression of discontent passed over the beautiful 
 lady's countenance ; she took her harp, and struck the strings with 
 such a firm, proud touch, you would not have believed her tender 
 
34 
 
 SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 fingers possessed so much power, and sang to a melodious air the 
 following verses : — 
 
 , 44 All things are as God has willed them 
 To the pure and upright mind ; 
 All things fair, if men fulfilled them, 
 Tasting of the joys they find. 
 
 44 Take then home, sweet peace, and cherish 
 All the silent gifts she brings ; 
 Shield her, guard her, lest should perish 
 The fair things to which she clings. 
 
 14 Thirst not for the fight so sorely, 
 All's not lost that is delayed ; 
 Many a noble wish is granted 
 
 While in peace our hearts are stayed. 
 
 44 Not in vain the ancient heroes, 
 Clad in glory haunt your rest ; 
 Not in vain their breathing chorus 
 Stirs the life-blood in your breast. 
 
 44 Noble deeds they come to waken, 
 Thoughts of old heroic days, 
 Every earth-born tie to slacken, 
 Every meaner thought to raise. 
 
 44 Yet, poor dreamer, rest a season — 
 All's not lost that is delayed ; 
 Many a noble wish is granted 
 
 While in peace our hearts are stayed." 
 
 " If you would only tell me plainly what I ought to do, and what 
 I ought not to do, kind Sophie Ariele," said Gyllenskiold, eagerly. 
 But she only shook her beautiful head disapprovingly, and when 
 lie expected to receive a reproof, vanished, without one parting 
 word, behind the sky-blue curtains of her apartment, 
 
 " One cannot be displeased with her," said Doctor Matthew, 
 laughingly, as he wished his Swedish guest a good night and tran- 
 quil dreams ; at the same time begging him not to consider it an 
 inhospitable disturbance if he was awakened early the following 
 morning by a noise at his chamber- window. " For," added he, still 
 smiling, "it is time to expect a carrier-pigeon from Farenberg, 
 and his winged messengers pay no respect to our sublunary cir- 
 cumstances. They flutter impatiently against the first window they 
 come to, and your chamber looks, towards the north." 
 
 Gustavus took leave of his noble host, with a countenance 
 
ROPTTTE ARTELE. 
 
 35 
 
 more smiling than the gloomy state of his mind warranted ; al- 
 though he would fain have concealed his trouble even from himself. 
 Sophie's displeasure (if displeasure it might be called) threw an 
 oppressive weight upon his whole being, for he too plainly felt that 
 she was angry with him on account of the too-yielding submissive* 
 ness which sometimes strangely humbled his proud spirit, and with 
 which he had already so often reproached himself. Well might the 
 beautiful lady imagine he did not really possess any of those noble 
 longings after high deeds which, in true men, never die; since they 
 only showed themselves as pale, spectral images, or as phantastic, 
 flitting meteors, which soon again yielded to the sleepy clouds of 
 undisturbed repose. And yet he was truly conscious that the 
 words Ariele had that morning sung were but a message, pointing 
 out to his too rash thoughts and wild imaginations the way to 
 peace ; and, moreover, that this was only to be gained by a con- 
 tinual series of hard, inward struggles. 
 
 " Oh, Ariele !" he softly murmured, as he closed his eyes in 
 sleep, "thou graceful, capricious Ariele, changing like the airy 
 images in a stormy morning in Spring — now soft and gentle, now 
 earnest and solemn as arrayed for some holy war; and you, ye 
 brave hero princes of my ancestors, shall again possess your power 
 over my soul. Ah, well; we shall see." And the proud, slumber- 
 ing youth whispered the following words of a song : — 
 
 " From the golden clouds descending, 
 
 Borne upon the midnight air, 
 With the stormy ocean blending, 
 
 Above, below, and everywhere, 
 Pressing on my mind and sense 
 With a mighty influence, 
 Gleaming now, now overcast, 
 Comes the glory of the past.' ' 
 
 Scarcely had sleep closed the outer world from the eyes of 
 Gustavus, than he saw the most ancient of the kingly heroes stand- 
 ing by his side ; the same who had talked with him of the wisdom 
 of Asa, and had promised to teach him a more beautiful lan- 
 guage. But this time he rose only as far as the girdle, from out of 
 the billowy flood of cloud which was always seen in the dream. 
 In majestic beauty the ancient hero stood before him, clad in 
 glittering steel ; the joints of his armour were adorned with golden 
 
36 
 
 SOPHIE A.RJELE. 
 
 foliage, and the rivets with golden angel-heads ; while from the 
 wound in his breast flowed the pure blood, encircling his cuirass 
 as a bright purple scarf given by a beautiful lady to a noble knight 
 as a love token of victory ; and the hero, kindly bending over his 
 descendant, whispered to him — 
 
 " At present you do not understand what true love is — you do not 
 understand the word as it comes to you in the old songs from the 
 beautiful heroic ages. Love is no selfish desire. Love is a holy re- 
 membrance. Love is the reflection of the inward heavenly life, like 
 the bright image of the sun seen upon the surface of the tranquil 
 waters. Love even preserves the image of its sun, though that sun 
 be long set, long since veiled behind the awful shadow of the 
 earth." 
 
 "How often does concealment hasten on fulfilment!" said the 
 dreaming Gustavus. 
 
 " Right," answered the hero • *• therefore life is not death, 
 nor is life always life. But J H< seemed about to conjure up 
 from the ever-gushing fou^ruiis of his immortal life some em- 
 blematic vision, and at the sam< time wore a look of almost painful 
 compassion, as if he was fearful of frightening the poor listener with 
 his words ; but at this moment a rustling and fluttering 
 was heard against the window of his chamber, which drove away 
 this prophetical dream. Full of i .onishment, the youth looked 
 about him ; but quickly remembere.i Doctor Matthew's warning 
 of the evening before. And then Sophie Ariele's white dove, which 
 always perched near his couch on the laurel branches, like a kind 
 protector, flew towards her dark companion, who was beating with 
 his wings and beak against the. window, and increased his desire to 
 get into the room. Gustavus sprang up to let in the distant 
 traveller, when there sounded a frightful rustling of gigantic wings 
 in the night air. The little dove might well tremble before a vul- 
 ture or an eagle, and with the strength of despair he flew against 
 the window, and shattering one of the panes to fragments fluttered 
 into the bosom of the youth, that his little trembling heart might 
 beat against the heart of the brave knight. Gustavus kindly 
 caressing the little creature, discovered the letters neatly fastened 
 beneath its wings, so that they should not hinder it in its flight, 
 and yet be safely sheltered from the dew and rain. The dove 
 
SOPHIF. ARIF.LE. 
 
 37 
 
 patiently allowed the letters to be taken from him, and then flew to 
 the laurel branches to his white companion, where with graceful 
 movement of their heads, they kept up an eager cooing, for they 
 had much to say to each other. Meanwhile Gustavus examined 
 the two letters, and recognised the hand-writing and the seal of his 
 friend Farenberg. The one addressed to Doctor Matthew he 
 carefully laid aside ; but the other, which was directed to himself, 
 he quickly opened, and read the following words : — 
 
 ' 1 By the time the dove returneth 
 
 Health is almost thine again, 
 Cherished by a gentle being, 
 
 Whose care like soft and summer rain 
 On the flowers falls noiselessly, 
 Without harm or injury. 
 
 " Spread not thou thy arms, embracing 
 The unknown, yet sweet delight : 
 Glowing cheeks have airy breezes — 
 Yet who greeteth air and light ? 
 
 " Calm, in humble meekness follow 
 Wheresoe'er she guideth thee : 
 Be not careful to discover 
 What or whence her state may be. 
 
 ' ' Even I can scarce imagine 
 
 What her kindred, what her race ; 
 Yet am ever most desirous 
 To spy out her airy trace. 
 
 " This beseemeth high inquirers, 
 Spiritual paths that tread ; 
 But let sweet anticipation 
 Satisfy thy heart instead. 
 
 " Live and love, thy bosom keeping 
 Pure as spirit of a sylph ; 
 Struggle nobly as a hero, 
 
 Serve thy mistress, rule thyself. 
 
 Put the world and evil visions 
 
 Manfully beneath thy feet ; 
 What refreshes, and not injures, i 
 
 Is in nature pure and sweet. 
 
 " Yes, before my dove returneth, 
 Health, I feel, is thine again ; 
 Cherished by a gentle being, 
 
 Whose care as soft as summer rain 
 On the flowers falls noiselessly, 
 Without harm or injury." 
 
 F 
 
38 
 
 SOPHIE A.TUELE. 
 
 Gustavus glanced involuntarily at the tw o doves, as if they could 
 help him to interpret the sense of these mysterious words ; they 
 sate upon the laurel branches cooing and caressing each other, 
 when suddenly, with affright, they nestled together. The window 
 clattered ; a large bird of prey flew against it, either caught in the 
 fragments of the broken glass, or filled with rash boldness from 
 a desire after such beautiful prey. Making horrible screams he 
 strove to get his great body into the room, when Gustavus Gyl- 
 lenskiold seized his good sword and plunged it into the bold 
 robber's heart, and it fell back silent and lifeless. The doves 
 nestled still and peacefully together, and the youth sank back on 
 his couch, in a sweet slumber. 
 
 Chapter XII. 
 
 On the day following, Doctor Matthew might be seen walking 
 cautiously towards the sea-shore, preceded by a Moor, in an 
 African dress, whose bleeding brow was carefully bound up with 
 healing bandages and balsams. At his slightest motion to leave 
 the footpath, the Doctor threateningly raised the well-polished 
 pistol he held in his hand. The Moor was terrified, and bowed 
 submissively, with his hands crossed on his breast, before Doctor 
 Matthew, who pointed in the direction in which their path lay. 
 After walking in this strange way for some time, the Doctor 
 said, in the lingua Franca, which is understood by almost all Mus- 
 sulmen — 
 
 " Will you swear to me by your Allah, that yonder pirate ship, to 
 whose gang you belong, will leave our coast within an hour ?" The 
 Moor nodded in affirmative. " And," continued Doctor Matthew, 
 " that from this hour you will injure no one on these shores, either 
 in freedom or property :" The Moor again bowing his head, swore 
 the fulfilment of these conditions with the most fearful and horrible 
 oaths. 
 
 In vain he motioned to the wretched man to cease his hor- 
 rible imprecations ; when at last he had made an end of his 
 fearful words, he leant against the stem of a tall poplar, to regain 
 
SOP1U13 AlilKLK. 
 
 59 
 
 his breatli; the tree seemed to shrink from Ins approach, and all its 
 leaves began to tremble. 
 
 Doctor Matthew asked him angrily who had taught him to call 
 such horrible powers to his aid. The Moor answered hastily, 
 grinning in scorn — " You, yourself; if you wish to make quite sure 
 of a thing, I have given you all you could desire on such occasions, 
 and perhaps rather more, so you see I am not only an honourable 
 merchant, but also a very liberal one. May I now be suffered to 
 depart without danger from that little villain of a pistol you arc 
 aiming at me behind I" 
 
 "Wait!" said the physician, authoritatively; then with firm 
 steps he approached the African, and examined with great presence 
 of mind, and with the most gentle hand, the dressing on his bloody 
 brow ; and finding everything in right order, he said — " Now you 
 may depart ; yet for the sake of freedom, life, and health, I should 
 counsel you to remain. Go, and think of your oath." 
 
 The liberated Moor climbed swiftly up a steep rock that over- 
 hung the sea, looking down and laughing contemptuously as soon as 
 he was out of reach of Doctor Matthew's shot. " Yes, I will think 
 of it. We bold sailors will raise anchor without hurting any one, 
 in life or goods ; but what happens when we come again has 
 nothing to do with my oath." 
 
 " Perjured infidel !" exclaimed Doctor Matthew, raising his pistol 
 to take sure aim on the black, so soon as he should again emerge from 
 his hiding place. But the cautious Moor knew another way back 
 to the shore, and he was not visible till he was far distant. Doctor 
 Matthew fired after him ineffectually. He could see the black put 
 off from shore in a well-manned boat, and joining the pirate ship 
 about a cannon s shot off, then put to sea." 
 
 Gustavus Gyllenskiold, who was seeking his friend and physician 3 
 heard the report of the pistol, and hastened to him, inquiring the 
 cause of the disturbance, and of the displeasure expressed on Doctor 
 Matthew's countenance. 
 
 "It is nothing," said he, laughing; " I have only been playing 
 Don Quixote, and in a way perhaps more suited to an inexperienced 
 boy than a physician more than thirty years old ; listen, and you 
 shall judge me. I rose early, in order to make some experiments 
 in the theory of sound and echo, by firing my pistols, and went down 
 
 e 2 
 
40 
 
 SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 to the shore, in the hope of finding some object for my aim, for it 
 seemed foolish to be carrying a weapon in my hand for no other 
 end than to make a useless noise ; and so far I was right, as the 
 event proved; for scarcely had I arrived at a spot between the 
 hills that was suitable for my experiment, than I saw a Moorish- 
 pirate- ship cruising along our coast, and a bandit, with a drawn 
 sabre, sprang from the thicket upon me. I retreated from my bold 
 antagonist through the bushes until I had loaded my pistol, then 
 turned my face towards my enemy, and fired. The ball struck 
 my assailant, who fell bleeding to the ground. Until then, you 
 see, I was not to blame. I then hastened to him, raised him from 
 the ground, and, after taking away his arms, bound up his wound 
 to the best of my power ; nor perhaps would any one condemn 
 me for this." 
 
 " I, at least, would not, so heaven help me !" said Gustavus 
 Gyllenskiold, eagerly. "When an enemy lies wounded on the 
 ground, who would do otherwise, especially if he were master of 
 your noble art ?" 
 
 " Well," continued the physician, " but then, instead of taking 
 him to the city prison, and seeking to gain information of the whole 
 robber crew, which might have saved many unprotected vessels 
 from the effect of his cannon, I sought to bind a pirate by an oath, 
 and allowed the spy to return safely to his companions. Pray, 
 Colonel Gyllenskiold, what do you say to this excellent policy?" 
 
 "That probably, if he had attacked me," answered Gustavus, 
 after much consideration, " I should have dismissed him in the 
 manner you have done." 
 
 " Do not misunderstand me," said the doctor, laughing ; " this 
 is not all — if the matter were to end here, it would be an affair of 
 Don Quixotism merely." 
 
 " Certainly not," said Gustavus, joyfully, " and I understand the 
 possibility of an approaching contest. Thanks to the dove-cure of 
 your kind sylph, Sophie Ariele, I may yet take part in it." 
 
 " Sylph ?" repeated the physician, laughing, and shaking his head. 
 
 " So she appears to me, both waking and dreaming," continued 
 Gustavus ; " and perhaps the extraordinary letter I have received 
 from Farenberg has strengthened the idea ; for you must know, 
 doctor, that the dove-carrier came to me some hours ago. There is 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 41 
 
 your letter : mine I hope you will explain to me ; our friend has 
 written to me in verse, as the Pythian sibyls of old to their votaries 
 But now you had better hasten, that you may give all the informa- 
 tion you can about these robbers of Tunis, and that we may take 
 the necessary measures for the security of the town. Perhaps my 
 military experience and love of war may be of service to your city. 
 We Swedes can fight as well by sea as by land." 
 
 The physician took his friend's arm, and still discussing their 
 means of defence, they hastened over the flowery shore back to 
 Marseilles. 
 
 Chap. XIII. 
 
 In the meantime Sophie Ariele was in the garden with the dark 
 carrier-pigeon, and her own white favourite ; at the first beam of 
 twilight they had fled through the broken window, chasing each 
 other through the leafy branches, and as they caught each other by 
 turns, ever and anon beginning again the joyful sport. As soon as 
 they saw their kind mistress approaching, they alighted on her shoul- 
 ders with sweet caresses. And so she passed on through the flowery 
 glades like the spirit of mom, bearing on one shoulder the image of 
 day, and on the other that of night ; so well the adornment of the 
 white and dark dove suited the beautiful lady's form. Sophie 
 knew the messenger too well not to look beneath its wing: she was 
 surprised to find there no letter for her husband. The dove looked 
 in her face, as though it would say — 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I brought them safely, but some one who has a 
 right to them has taken them away." 
 
 Sophie glanced around her inquiringly; then she saw her husband 
 and his guest coming from the town towards the garden, engaged 
 in earnest conversation ; they were busily discussing some subject, 
 when Sophie's bright eyes discovered them. Sophie was amused, 
 as we may ourselves have been, by seeing other people musing 
 and pondering over some subject which we do not understand, and 
 which appears to us very unimportant ; deep study and investiga- 
 
 e 3 
 
42 
 
 SOl-HIE AEIELE. 
 
 tion formed no part of Sophie Ariele'e nature. Her glance of light 
 quickly and clearly penetrated every mystery, or passed it by as a 
 light cloud not worth analyzing. And now the playful gambols of 
 the two doves diverted her attention from the conversation of her 
 husband and his guest, which was, in truth, turned exclusively upon 
 herself. 
 
 Doctor Matthew said to Gyllenskiold, " You must read what our 
 mysterious friend Farenberg writes to me. Your verses and my 
 prose may throw some light on each other ; read me the letter, and 
 perhaps between us we shall discover his strange meaning." 
 
 Gustavus read aloud the following words, written in the elegant 
 characters of the Northern magi : — 
 
 " You are a wise physician, oh, Matthew ! and you are right to 
 love a gentle Sylph, and honour her as a guide. The flame of 
 human philosophy rises towards heaven. You are right. The 
 recovery of our friend Gustavus can only come from some higher 
 sphere. 
 
 "Yet I do not rightly understand why this fairy child, rich 
 in all the delights of feminine charms, should have placed herself in 
 your path, friend Matthew. The spirits who speak to me on the 
 subject are Sylphs ; and, of all the elemental spirits, their language 
 is the most indistinct, though at the same time the sweetest, except- 
 ing perhaps the water-nymphs, whom Theophrastus calls Undines. 
 
 "They could give me an account of the air-sprites, or Sylphs ; 
 but they entertain some jealousy against them, and will not. 
 
 " As to fire-spirits — well, Matthew, a good physiologist like you 
 must know that there is no sporting with Salamanders, when they 
 are permitted to mingle in the dance with the spirits of the air. 
 The Sylphs, to be sure, take care of themselves, and keep safely 
 away from the noisy sons of the flame, soaring aloft with their 
 murmuring and buzzing into a pure, crystal sphere, which is the 
 peculiar abode of those lovely children of the air ; but the Sala- 
 manders raise together a confused noise and bustle, which I cannot 
 here clearly describe. 
 
 " The earth- spirits, or Gnomes, cannot belong to the subject of 
 your etherial companion and mistress, friend Matthew. 
 
 " Thus it is : although I know, in fact, next to nothing of your 
 concerns, yet I feel impelled by an inward voice to write to you. 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 43 
 
 Look well to your sylph-like protecting spirit, for it is on the 
 very point of vanishing from you. But there must be some won- 
 drous circumstances attending so lovely an apparition. Who 
 knows but her parents expect her return ? Dost thou know her 
 parents, Matthew ? Perhaps thy beautiful lady will vanish just as 
 thou art attentively reading these lines for the third or fourth time. 
 Strengthen thyself against this blow, but remember its possibility."' 
 It seemed at once, both to the physician and the soldier, as if 
 they had never before read the concluding lines of the mysterious 
 letter j and yet a painful, but cloudy, remembrance of them swept 
 across their thoughts. Frightened, they first looked upwards, and 
 then gazed, bewildered, around them. But there stood Sophie Ariele 
 smiling before them, with her favourite white dove upon her arm. 
 
 Chapter XIV. 
 
 From this day, Gyllenskiold spent much time in providing for 
 the defence and protection of the coast, in case of the return of the 
 African pirate ship. His name, as a bold warrior, was not unknown 
 in these regions, though he was far from having reached that rank 
 which his ambitious heart had long aimed at ; and to himself he 
 appeared quite a forgotten and insignificant person. But the 
 citizens of Marseilles rejoiced to be able to gain advice for their 
 security from the Swedish Colonel, so renowned for writings on the 
 military art, as well as warlike achievements ; and the officers of the 
 garrison, for the most part very young, received willingly the 
 suggestions of the friendly Northlander, so that, besides being their 
 counsellor, he soon became the commander of their forts. 
 
 In the delights of his favourite profession, Gustavus found him- 
 self quite freed from his evil dreams ; what Sophie's dove-cure had 
 begun, or perhaps nearly finished, was quite perfected by his now 
 constant activity both of body and mind. When, after a hard 
 day's work, devoted to putting the batteries in a state of defence, 
 the disposing of sentinels, or the exercise of arms with the eagerly 
 assembled citizens and country folks, he came back towards 
 
SOPHIE A Rl ELK. 
 
 evening to enjoy a little quiet conversation with his noble host, 
 and then retired to refreshing slumber, he no longer needed 
 Allele's white dove to be on the watch for his dreams, and to 
 awaken him from the charmed circle of his horrible nightly 
 visitors. |f the old kings ever appeared, they were kind and 
 mild. The old hero had never taught his descendant the language, 
 who indeed seemed no longer to need it ; for Ariele's sweet words, 
 " Life is life," had quite perfected Gustavus's serenity, and the pure 
 spirit of these words was often wafted in harmony to Gustavus's 
 slumbering soul from the garden bower, where the gentle lady sate 
 late in the evening singing to her husband. Therefore, the white 
 dove returned to the beautiful service of its mistress; and the 
 recovered invalid, pressed on all sides, agreed to stay at Marseilles, 
 as the protector of their shores. For Marseilles had given him a 
 new existence, an existence which he formerly would have considered * 
 paradise. It seemed as though he had been conducted by a series 
 of exquisite delights to this soothing retreat. 
 
 It is possible the reader may consider these ideas of the restored 
 patient as visionary or extravagant ; his daily occupations in the 
 fortifications, or in reviewing the young soldiers, recalled him to 
 active life. The more he was animated by his exertions, the more 
 light and unimportant appeared his former thoughts ; and Gyllen- 
 skiold had no time to think of Farenberg, or his enigmatical 
 letters. The physician, too, was engrossed with the same appre- 
 hension, and the means taken to prevent the attack of the horde of 
 robbers, which was known to be large and powerful. Sophie, mean- 
 time, showed so great an attention to the affairs of every day life ; 
 and though she sometimes had womanly fears, yet she soon 
 recovered her calmness with such pious, trusting confidence, so like 
 one of the graceful children of earth, that the two friends considered 
 the mysterious hints of the northern sage as more and more im- 
 probable, and at last began to laugh together at the delusion, 
 which before they had almost credited — that Sophie would pass 
 away, air into air, like a dreamy cloud-image. 
 
 At last, the expectation that the Moorish robbers would attack 
 Marseilles was given up, and the citizens felt half ashamed of having 
 made so many preparations on account merely of the chance attack 
 made by a pirate vessel. Yet they felt also that their pains and 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 45 
 
 trouble had not been thrown away in disciplining their young 
 soldiers, and in the bulwarks Gyllenskiold had erected on their 
 shore. 
 
 Gustavus began now to talk of his journey home ; he loved his 
 father-land too dearly, not to wish to carry back to it his soul and 
 body, now animated with renewed health and courage. His noble host 
 honoured these feelings in him, else he would have wished still to 
 keep him on the beautiful shore of Provence. But now the little 
 quiet circle felt the thoughts of their approaching separation, not 
 with deep sorrow or affliction, but with soft emotions of gentle 
 melancholy, thinking on the blessed, blooming harvest which the 
 sunny rays of true friendship should hereafter warm into smiling, 
 mellowed maturity. Yet Matthew, always desirous to maintain the 
 fresh joy of life, struggled at these times against such feelings, by 
 suggesting some joyful or pleasant conversation. 
 
 Thus it happened, one evening, a few weeks before Gustavus's 
 intended departure, when they two stood alone on a beautiful vine 
 mountain ; before them lay a distant prospect of the varied country, 
 now clothed in all the gorgeous tints of autumn, and of the dark 
 sea, whose blue waves glittered in the bright rays of the southern 
 sun. From the happy soul of Dr. Matthew streamed a flowery 
 vein of jests and pleasant stories. And at times Gustavus smiled, 
 pleased at the pleasure of his friend ; yet, in a thoughtful mood he 
 gazed into the heavens above, where the light fleecy clouds were 
 passing hither and thither across the blue firmament, sometimes 
 blending into familiar forms, and then again separating like a peaceful 
 flock of sheep in a pleasant pasture. But now all the clouds had 
 united in a strange enigmatical form, like some sorrowful figure, 
 beautiful, and deeply veiled. Gustavus suddenly interrupted his 
 friend's playful conversation, and pointing upwards, said — 
 
 " Do you see that?" 
 
 The physician looked up, and said — " Yes, it is a beautiful cloud," 
 and added, laughing — " our friend Farenberg might easily 
 fancy it a melancholy Sylph, and demonstrate in his own way every 
 conceivable thing from that one sign ; imagine, I should perhaps 
 have said, for, in spite of all his great wisdom, his imaginative 
 phantasies often get the upper-hand of him." 
 
 But Gustavus answered with melancholy earnestness, for he had 
 
46 SOPHIE AKIELU. 
 
 with difficulty suppressed, till now, the heavy feelings of his 
 heart — 
 
 " Oh ! my noble friend, why are we so incredulous of this 
 northern sage ? why so mistrustful of his spiritual knowledge, that 
 we should throw aside his prophetic warning only as an impossible 
 dream ? It was very natural that our warlike preparations should 
 make us forget these mysterious suspicions, and call us out of the 
 world of conjecture. But since every one has given up the proba- 
 bility or even the possibility of an approaching combat; since even 
 my eager expectations, I might almost say my wishes, have vanished 
 before the general opinion, the words of Farenberg's letter have 
 gained fresh power over my soul, and I know not whether — " 
 
 He paused, embarrassed ; and the doctor laughingly continued 
 his friend's sentence : — 
 
 " Whether at last Madame Sophie Matthew -be not really and 
 truly a spirit of the air, though from discretion she relinquishes the 
 title of Sylph in her signatures and presentations." 
 
 Without sympathising in his merriment, Gustavus observed — 
 " Yes ; what you say sounds absurd, yet I cannot quite give up the 
 idea. Then," he continued, with earnestness, " you have quite 
 passed over the name of Ariele ; and you, who so much delight in 
 the works of the English Shakspeare, so little understood by most 
 Frenchmen, you cannot have forgotten that the most charming 
 of all sylphs conceived by poetfs fancy is called Ariel." 
 
 Doctor Matthew appeared completely surprised, and very natu- 
 rally so, for it was one of those occasions in which, by a single 
 chance word, a long-felt and never clearly understood coincidence 
 in the varying visions of this life is unexpectedly and at once ex- 
 plained. 
 
 " You are right," said he, after some thought, " and yet I might 
 still be inclined to laugh, that in the fanciful images of a poet you 
 have found the clue by which I am to find out my wife's lineage." 
 
 But he did not laugh, and Gustavus said — 
 
 " The sages of the old world have always held the dreams of the 
 poets as the highest wisdom; and where is true wisdom to be 
 found, if not in the mysterious creations of the old world, from 
 which flowed the inward and holy life of the poet in an inex- 
 haustible stream ?" 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 4? 
 
 Doctor Matthew's countenance had grown grave and solemn. 
 
 " Come," said he, with emotion, " home to my quiet hearth, that 
 Sophie's gentle behaviour may convince you and me — for 1 must 
 condescend for a moment to your poetic fancies — that she is not a 
 spirit of the air, but a heavenly child of earth, bound, as we all are, in 
 this sublunary world, to her own sphere of existence. Come, she 
 will scold us for keeping her waiting for supper." 
 
 With quickened steps the two friends returned home through the 
 deepening twilight, when the astonished domestics met them with 
 the question — 
 
 " Oh ! have you not met Madame Matthew ? She went to find 
 you, to call you to supper, and she has been gone already more 
 than an hour." 
 
 Chapter XV. 
 
 It is impossible that the writer of this narrative should describe 
 the bitter apprehension that fell, as some fearful night vision, on the 
 soul of the physician ; he seemed struck as by a thunderbolt at these 
 words of the domestics. Still less can he relate the unspeakable 
 anguish of both Matthew and Gyllenskiold when they returned in 
 the first beam of the morning twilight, after having wandered the 
 whole night along the coast, in the vain search for one who seemed 
 to have vanished as a thin cloud. They could say nothing with 
 looks and words, but, " Vanished — vanished, like a pale mist." 
 
 Heaven, in mercy to the sensitive heart, stupifies it with dark un- 
 certainty, before it undergoes the most bitter of all sorrows, the loss 
 of some infinitely loved being. Without any accurate perception 
 of the truth, the soul is one moment awakened to certainty, and the 
 next tossed in all the feverish excitement of hope, while the most 
 fearful conjectures in a confused medley pursue us, seizing us as 
 with harpy claws. 
 
 Exhausted by his fearful woe, on the evening of the following 
 day, Doctor Matthew fell into a feverish slumber, ever murmuring 
 in his dreams, " Farenberg was right. Her royal relations have 
 enticed her back to them. Air into air !" But at last, while a few 
 
4^ 
 
 SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 solitary tears still trickled through his closed eyelids, his sad 
 lamentations gave way to a peaceful slumber, which pressed so 
 heavily upon him, that he was not disturbed ; when about midnight 
 there arose a violent storm of thunder and lightning — the sea 
 rolled mountains high, and the earth trembled and shook as be- 
 fore an approaching earthquake. 
 
 But this strife of nature was, to the bold-spirited Swedish youth, 
 the trumpet-call to battle. The soldier never bears misfortune 
 better than in that proud moment when life and death are mingled 
 together ; and if they do not offer to the poor mortal immediate 
 repose, yet with glittering hands they hold over him beautiful 
 laurel wreaths, beckoning, " Dare ! — seize it, fear not — and it is 
 thine !" 
 
 Hoping to be led to some glorious field of exertion, Gustavus 
 Gyllenskiold hurried through the terrified town. There mingled 
 many good and noble feelings in the strong tumult of his conflict- 
 ing ideas. But death would not crown his resolution, nor offer a 
 balsam for the wound which Sophie Ariele's loss had left in his soul. 
 
 So had he wandered till nearly morning, when kind nature 
 soothed her afflicted child, lulling his wearied soul to rest by the 
 soft influence of the peaceful autumn air ; and though the deepest 
 sorrow still held its power over Gustavus, yet the first feelings of 
 his anguish were over. Under the kindly shelter which the close- 
 matted boughs of a thicket opportunely offered, he stretched his 
 limbs, as in preparation for a peaceful death ; and sleep wound her 
 airy net around him, bringing all that sweet delight which we might 
 call heavenly, were not heaven rather an awaking than a slum- 
 bering. 
 
 Chapter XVI. 
 
 " Death is Life !" With these words, after a short time, Gus- 
 tavus awoke from sleep. 
 
 The old crowned hero had appeared to him in a gorgeous dream, 
 opening to him the gates of a wonderfully beautiful world. 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 40 
 
 And there, with the golden rays of the morning sun streaming 
 over him, stood the young wanderer, in all the glow of youthful 
 beauty ; he looked, as it were, like some cherub who, descending 
 on some mighty errand, glances proudly over the earth as the 
 momentary theatre on which his heavenly mission is to be accom- 
 plished, and already moves his invisible pinions, as if on the 
 point of returning to his ever blooming home. 
 
 " Death is Life," repeated he, and the words came from his lips 
 in song, and seemed accompanied in some wonderful manner by 
 music, as Ariele's fanciful discourse formerly had mingled with the 
 wild chorus of the .Eolian harp. " Life is not Death ! Oh, no — kind, 
 graceful Ariele j thou art right — Life is Life — a sweet, innocent life 
 — purified like thine own from the bitterness of death. Yet, when 
 at last death approaches at the end of many, many happy years, 
 when it comes at last serene and peaceful, for that eventful hour, O 
 beautiful Ariele, has the old royal hero and priest of Asa, from whom 
 I am descended, taught me in a hallowed dream this great truth, 
 Death is Life ! I will, I must teach it you also. Yet where, O 
 sweet lady — Sophie Ariele — where shall I find you:'" 
 
 Then the truth came before his bewildered senses, that her lovely 
 form had disappeared from the world of reality, and his joyful 
 serenity of soul was changed into the most poignant grief. Bewil- 
 dered, he looked around him, as if in search of some magical means 
 of opposing the arts by which he supposed Ariele had been stolen 
 away. Something rustled over him among the boughs that were just 
 tinged by the beams of morning ; and wearied and shy, yet with 
 kind caresses, Ariele's favourite white dove alighted on his breast, 
 displaying a little paper fastened under her wing by a dark silk 
 thread. With joyful feelings, Gustavus opened the artfully folded 
 paper, and read the following words : — 
 
 "■ With my white dove on my still breast, I joyfully went to meet 
 you loiterers, and dreamt a beautiful dream on a beautiful evening. 
 The wise say that all life is only a beautiful dream, and so I have 
 foun d it. Dark, fearful Moors, like demons who start from the 
 earth to seize the spirits from some higher sphere, broke with 
 laughter from the bushes/and seized me, and bore me to their ship, 
 which lay at anchor in the gloomy bay. Oh ! ye prudent ! what 
 was the use of all your defences, and all your exercises in bright 
 
f»0 SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 armour? they have stolen Ariele away from you. Yet the old reed- 
 crowned man of the deep, called Neptune in the heathen day, has 
 shown himself kind to me : I heard him called the father of the 
 Undines. He raised his three-pointed spear in anger ; the salt 
 waves were agitated in storm, obliging the distressed pirate-ship to 
 return to the shores of Provence. Exhausted by the storm, the 
 ship and mariners rest quietly in the eastern cove. Now fight ! 
 now rescue Ariele, oh, ye brave ones ! Thou, my dear husband, 
 and thou noble Northlander, who knowest how to arrange the 
 battle — quick ! A few hours are yours for action, or you will never, 
 never see Ariele more, until when body and soul are divided. 
 Then fly my faithful, beloved little dove— fly, and may the spirits 
 of air guide thee right !" 
 
 The little dove looked at Gustavus with its mild eyes, and then 
 shook its head, as though it would ask — " Have I done right ?" 
 
 ? Quite right," said Gustavus, and gravely yet gently he 
 beckoned with his hand to the little dove to fly on to Dr. Matthew's 
 dwelling. After a few moments' delay, the little creature obediently 
 flew away to his quiet home ; and the young soldier thought for an 
 instant — " What has given me in this strange manner a power 
 over such tender little creatures }" Yet what would have produced 
 it but the idea of Sophie's deliverance ! 
 
 Gustavus suddenly started up, and hastened to the place where 
 the brave young soldiers of Marseilles were accustomed to assemble, 
 for they had not yet relinquished their favourite warlike exercises. 
 The fearful storm of the preceding night had not kept them from 
 their place of meeting. The youth on guard called out through the 
 gray twilight — " Halt ! who goes there?" 
 
 " War is our watchword once more !" answered Gyllenskiold, 
 with enthusiasm. " Glorious danger stands at the gates of the 
 next hour, and beckons us on. What! my worthy young comrade, 
 you glow with joy at the sound, ha ? Well, well, we are in real 
 earnest now. Sentinel ! call to arms !" 
 
 With eager delight the young soldier sent forth the animating 
 call, and in a tinkling the little phalanx stood in well-disciplined 
 order under arms, glad to exhibit their activity to their leader and 
 instructor, and gladdened still more as he strode to and fro along 
 the ranks, and disclosed to them, in words short but piercing ae the 
 
SOPIIIK All IE LE. 
 
 51 
 
 lightning flashes, the splendid deed of deliverance which was before 
 them. In modest grace and tender beauty Sophie Ariele was the 
 jewel of all Marseilles. To bring back in triumph to her home 
 that lovely lady, what young heart would not beat with joyous, 
 ardent enthusiasm ! 
 
 Attached as they were by their earliest remembrances and habits 
 to their native spot, and relying with proud confidence upon their 
 power to defend it, which their practice in warlike exercises had 
 given them, the young soldiers eargerly seized upon their leader's 
 plan of attack upon the stranded Corsair. They lost not a mo- 
 ment, but, silent and determined, the little army broke up into 
 small divisions, which separated in different directions, in order to 
 prevent the pirates from renewing the embarkation of their plun- 
 der. What were numbers to them ! would not a far less number 
 of Provencales prove victorious, when fighting in the cause of 
 Sophie Ariele ! 
 
 With the adroitness of a general, Gjdlenskiold sketched out to the 
 dismembered little parties the plan of advance, so that the one 
 which first fell in with the Moors might be promptly supported by 
 the rest. If however, as might be hoped, the weary enemy care- 
 lessly allowed them to get round them, they were all to unite for a 
 combined attack at the head of the eastern cove. The overflowing 
 feelings of the combatants, as they pressed on their morning's march 
 to meet the enemy, burst forth in many a martial song. To be sure, 
 this was, properly speaking, forbidden by the necessity there was of 
 taking their adversaries by surprise, in order that they might close 
 in upon the line of their retreat towards the galley, and also that 
 by finishing the contest as quickly as possible, they might expose 
 the lovely prize to the least possible danger. But the still anxious 
 march to the battle field has in itself its own peculiar pleasure, 
 which may almost be compared to the mysterious delight of a 
 Christmas-eve, and has been felt by every soul who has once ex- 
 perienced, in all its wonderfully mingled lights and shadows, the 
 glorious delights of war. 
 
52 
 
 SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 Chapter XVII. 
 
 Doctor Matthew was at length awakened from his slumber by 
 the firing of the not very distant battle. Neither the thunder and 
 lightning nor the howling of the sea of the preceding night, had 
 shaken his heavy sleep ; yet was he now aroused by the cracking 
 report of small arms, mingled now and then with the booming can- 
 non-shot of the galley. But it is not always the loudest noise that 
 awakens us from sleep ; it is much more the interest the soul of the 
 sleeper takes in the sound, which recalls the powers of his mind to 
 real occurrences of this outer Avorld. The mind of this bold and 
 noble physician, who had formerly fought for his home and his 
 country, was more affected by the sound of battle than by the 
 thunder storm. Yet in his awakened soul the idea of those 
 threatening pirates was in no way connected with the inexplicable 
 disappearance of his sweet Ariele. 
 
 Hastily arming himself, and without allowing himself time to ask 
 a single question, he rushed down through the trees of his garden — 
 the laughing tokens, alas ! of a happiness perhaps for ever flown ! — 
 in the direction in which the thundering roar of the battle led him, 
 which, the nearer he approached it, seemed every instant to resound 
 more loudly. 
 
 Uncertain which way to continue his course, he stood still at 
 last under the thick foliage of some lovely acacia trees, and sighed 
 from the bottom of his heart — " Oh, blessed God ! show me my 
 part also in these strange events which are going on around me ; 
 and unfold to me the terrible import of a day which has com- 
 menced so wonderfully, so fearfully, and so bloodily !" 
 
 It seemed as if his prayer had been heard, and answered in pro- 
 portion both to its fervour and piety ; for, on the instant, a wounded 
 Moor tumbled from the precipice close by at his feet, madly shriek- 
 ing as he fell, with his bloody sabre still fast clenched in his hand ; 
 and he bellowed once more in frantic rage ; then there was a fearful 
 rattling in his throat, and he stretched himself out, and — died. 
 
 But the little birds flew merrily over the scene of horror, spor- 
 tively chasing one another, and warbling their joyous songs. 
 
SOPHIE ARIELfi. 
 
 33 
 
 Chapter XVIII. 
 
 " You must cease protecting' me, brave Northman!" said Sophie 
 Ariele, when Gustavus offered her his arm to assist her descent 
 from a hill on the beach to a green sheltered valley. " Cease !" she 
 repeated gravely; " I, your rescued ladye, command you." 
 
 He bent low, humbly drawing back ; and as if borne by invisible 
 wings, she floated away to the fragrant turf pleasantly watered by 
 a silver river. Then she sat almost exhausted upon a pilgrim's 
 seat surrounded by flowers, and said, laughing — 
 
 " But, for heaven's sake, my bold knight and preserver, do tell 
 me the reason that it seemed to you so very necessary to lead and 
 assist me ! For truly — if you will not interpret it wrong, which I 
 am sure you cannot — it seemed to me that you are so exhausted 
 after your exertions, that 1 can far better protect you, than you 
 me." 
 
 H Very possibly !" said Gustavus, smiling; while he gently sank 
 down into the fragrant grass at Sophie's feet. 
 
 But she said suddenly, glancing eagerly, almost sorrowfully 
 around, "But I have lost one thing, nevertheless ; my beautiful veil 
 bleached in moonlight !" 
 
 w Bleached in moonlight ?" returned Gustavus, dreamily; " oh 
 yes, the same that the elves make in northern lands. The fearfully 
 beautiful daughter of their monarch offered the knight Olaf such a 
 handkerchief bleached in the moonlight, in token that he might com- 
 mand her hand in the marriage dance. Yet the knight Olaf remained 
 faithful to his chosen bride, and the elf struck him, so that he 
 died." 
 
 Sophie answered musingly — " Yes, it was so, indeed ; it is an 
 ancient, but very true story. But do not imagine that the elf was 
 praised, or even excused by her tender kindred. To win a noble- 
 hearted man, and by the priestly benediction, to gain with him a 
 more beautiful, more imperishable life — ah, my friend, that is what 
 a sylph or elf might well desire ! But to destroy the chosen 
 friend with deathly magical greetings, merely because he has not 
 chosen us ! — oh, shame, shame !" 
 
 3 
 
54 SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 Then she covered her pale little cheeks with her hands. But 
 then again looking up she said, laughing — 
 
 " Where tarries Doctor Matthew, my chosen lord and husband ? 
 if he knew all, as the people say of doctors and professors, he ought 
 also to know that his Sophie Ariele, carried away by corsairs, was 
 rescued by a knightly soldier !" 
 
 With these words she extended her wonderfully beautiful hand to 
 the warrior resting at her feet, adding with a sweet whisper — 
 
 " But now, I entreat you ! give me back my veil dyed in moon- 
 light. I know that you have it ; I saw you tear it from the Turkish 
 robber, when he sank down under your sword-blade." 
 
 At this serious prayer, Gustavus looked gently at the lady with 
 his blue, melancholy eyes, as a clear sea which brightens before 
 the heaven looking peacefully down upon it from above, and said — 
 
 " Now all is well! till now your veil dyed in moonlight has 
 staunched the blood from the wound which was struck by your 
 enemy's sword. Take it again, sweet lady. In the light of the 
 full moon the fairies will cleanse it pure from my blood, and will 
 make it tender and beautiful again. Oh, take it away, and hear 
 from my dying hps the sweetest motto which now penetrates my 
 whole existence with blessed joy : Death is Life ! Oh, doubt it not, 
 sweetest Sophie Ariele. It is certainly true !" 
 
 And, as though he would immediately seal his words by his 
 death, he sank back on the grass, his pale face overspread with 
 sweet smiles of joy, while with his exhausted hand he softly drew 
 the veil from his breast, from which the purple blood was now 
 streaming, and suffered it to gush forth at Sophie's feet. " Death is 
 Life !" he joyfully whispered once more. Then he lay motion- 
 less, in silent, blessed forgetfulness of all the troubles of the world. 
 
 Then Sophie Ariele again pressed the veil upon his bleeding 
 breast, and tried to quench the blood, and let her soft tears, like 
 drops of balsam, fall in the wound of her deliverer. But the 
 powerless youth remained silent and pale as death. In anguish she 
 began to look around her, whispering to the cool breezes of the 
 valley and the sea — 
 
 " Alas ! and is my art ended here ? For such deathly wounds of 
 fearful weapons, neither I nor my poor little dove know any cure. 
 Matthew, help, help !" 
 
SOPS IE ARIELE. 
 
 53 
 
 Chapter XIX. 
 
 And soon there btood beside them Doctor Matthew, the wise, 
 faithful, deeply-loving physician and friend. 
 
 Drawn thither by Sophie Ariele's cry for help, after he had 
 bravely helped to repulse the last desperate stand of the Moorish 
 pirates, he now hastened to bind up the wounds of the brave 
 Gustavus, and so became an assistant to the assisting. 
 
 And, perhaps, it might happen so everywhere upon earth, if every 
 one rightly understood his power, and desired to employ it in love. 
 
 Very soon, with certain confidence, Matthew assured his rescued 
 Ariele that he could preserve the life and health of his friend. 
 
 Concerning the manner of this cure, history is silent. It was 
 accomplished only by surgical skill and deep medical science, and 
 of this the muse of fabulous description has nothing further to say 
 than — it attained its end. Her severer sister, the scientific muse, 
 could relate far less, or rather, nothing at all, of the cure accom- 
 plished by Ariele's dove. Nevertheless, all was accomplished. 
 Strong for action, and free from dreams ; blooming with health, 
 and clear in mind, stood Gustavus Gyllenskiold before his restoring 
 friends to bid them adieu. 
 
 But, as it often happens in the sorrowful moment of separation, 
 no word escaped their lips ; they looked at each other with gentle 
 glances, and had inexpressibly much to say to each other, but 
 yet remained ever silent. 
 
 Then Sophie Ariele took up her friendly guitar, and drew from it, 
 as if questioning, a few sweet tones, and then sang, as in answer 
 to them, the following words : — 
 
 " Kindred of the laughing breezes, 
 
 Sounds that wander through the air, 
 Sweet voiced spirits ! soothe his bosom, 
 
 Melt it, as the melted ore. 
 Lest too deep a mortal sadness 
 
 Press the soul to darksome night, 
 The sweet muses from our sorrows; 
 
 Out of woe awaken light ; 
 
56 
 
 SOPH] E \ Rll u 
 
 And it sparkles, sparkles brightly, 
 
 That was dim and dead before ; 
 And the world, no longer troubled, 
 
 Mirrors back heaven's smile once more : 
 He that truly seeks what knowledge 
 
 Should inform the trusting mind, 
 Heaven's bliss mingling with earth's sorrow, 
 
 Sunbeam ever bright shall find." 
 
 Ill the last lingering chord of this song, Gustavns whispered — ■ 
 " You wish it — you command it with sweet power, kind song- 
 stress ! Therefore I will utter, as a farewell salutation, the question 
 that sinks deepest into my earthly life — ah, yes, and it reaches also 
 t o my eternal life ! Sophie Ariele, art thou an airy daughter of the 
 firmament, a lovely cloud-image, near us everywhere, yet every- 
 where far away from us ? or art thou a child of mortality like one of 
 us — trembling, yet rejoicing, as we do, within the narrow bounds 
 of an earthly life, where joy and sorrow are ever mingling, ever 
 changing — trembling, fearing, yet joyously hoping, like we, for 
 an eternal blessed peace, for an eternal refreshing communion which 
 shall be hallowed by a pure, child-like innocence ; trembling 
 in our hope, I say — for our path conducts us through the grave ; 
 joyful in our fear — for that dark, nightly path guides us on to 
 everlasting happiness ? Sophie Ariele, thou beautiful, unspeakably 
 beautiful vision, who art thou?" 
 
 Frightened at the words of his own conjuration, which so in- 
 voluntarily had escaped his lips, the youth suddenly stopped, 
 Indignant glances darted from the eyes of the physician, because a 
 stranger (for the nearest and most deserving friend often seems as 
 such when he meddles uncalled for in tender secrets) could dare to 
 ask a question of his enigmatical, beautiful wife, which he had 
 himself never found courage to ask. 
 
 But Sophie Ariele suspecting nothing of earthly confusion, laid 
 her tender hands across each other on her bosom, raised her soft 
 blue eyes to heaven, and whispered with a sweet voice — " He that 
 is above knows that I am His for ever." 
 
 Involuntarily her two companions bowed low before the upward- 
 glancing figure, and then as involuntarily grasped each other's hand. 
 But it was not in token of reconciliation — this was not needed : it 
 was an involuntary sign of the deepest, most blessed brotherhood. 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 57 
 
 Laughing like a child, after a few minutes of silence, Sophie Anele 
 said, " But it seems droll, I must acknowledge — very droll, that I 
 know not what to think of myself, whether I am at home properly in 
 the common real world or not. In truth, dear friends, dreams have 
 sometimes risen up before me, that the airy castle of my parents 
 was a sylph palace ! But then I scold myself for being a little fool, 
 and believe right well to understand that the whole phantom only 
 springs from the wonderful stories which that faithful maiden, called 
 Taublein, was often accustomed to chatter and to sing to me in my 
 sleep, when a merry and sportive child. Now so much is certain, 
 that if my parents were not sylphs, they were princes ! and if they 
 were not princes, yet," she added with mock solemnity, " I am still 
 very high born in my paternal lofty castle." Then soon, with deep 
 serene gravity, she said again — " All we, who are called mortals, 
 are, in truth, very high born ! altogether children of the Most High, 
 refreshed by His heart, which is love ; and preserved by His love 
 from everlasting destruction, if we will only allow ourselves to be 
 preserved. And our origin arises from dark, holy clouds, like the 
 streams which spring between high rocks and the vapour of heaven ; 
 a wonderful riddle never to be understood, until it is seen in 
 sweetly refreshing, or fearfully thundering power. Sophie Ariele 
 is nothing fearful ! Why will you torment her and yourself, by 
 sorrowfully inquiring from whence she came ? Truly she herself 
 knows not !" she added almost mournfully, her little hands folded 
 together across her breast. But then she took her harp, and sung 
 solemnly, with her eyes cast up to heaven, the following words, ac- 
 companied by the chorus-like harmony of the strings — 
 
 " That which has a touch of sorrow, 
 
 Yet rejoices Ariele's soul : 
 Ariele strives for what is distant 
 
 In the heavens, and beautiful. 
 Where we come from, all is darkness: 
 
 It is plain whereto we rove — 
 To the eternal starry brightness, 
 
 Wherein all things live and love ! 
 
 " Who that, in the night's still watches, 
 Gazes on the mystic stars, 
 Feels not that his soul i$ lifted 
 Far above all earthly cares ? 
 
55 
 
 SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 Yet are they but glimmering shadows 
 
 Of the eternal light of love ; 
 To the rapture- drunken spirit 
 
 Shall be given the fount above. 
 
 " We our names in words like sunbeams 
 
 Written in the heavens shall find, 
 If we here in lowly meekness 
 
 Love with true and faithful mind : 
 Though awhile in mortal sadness 
 
 Here we bear our earthly strife, 
 Though the world may frown upon us, 
 
 Heaven shall smile, for Death is Life ! " 
 
 For the last time, while these words were dying away, she laid 
 her hand in that of Gustavus. He breathed a soft kiss upon it; 
 then pressed his friend to his breast, in a brotherly embrace, and 
 hastened quickly from the room. And neither Sophie nor the phy- 
 sician ever saw Gustavus again with their mortal eyes. 
 
 Chapter XX. 
 
 For more than twenty years, in combat of different kinds, Colonel 
 Gyllenskiold led an active, richly varied, and beautiful life ; without 
 once going back to the strand of Marseilles, or hearing any definite 
 news of his kind friends who lived there. Sometimes, indeed, 
 when flights of doves swept in joyous circles above his head for a 
 moment he would fancy that Sophie Ariele's favourite floated with 
 the crowd ; or, perhaps, when at one time before his tent, or on the 
 sea, close before the window of his cabin, a white dove rested, and 
 looked in upon him with her innocent, patient eyes, kindly cooing 
 and decking her tender feathers in the sunshine or in the silvery 
 moonlight, then he indeed thought he beheld a messenger fom that 
 sweet lady of Provence. But often, as such dove-teaming visions 
 came to him, no one of them all had any message, any sign to bring 
 for him; for, however softly and cautiously he approached them, like 
 other wild dwellers in the air, the shy creatures instantly spread 
 their wings and disappeared. 
 
 But what, however, never left him, was a sweet and joyful enthu- 
 
SOPHIE ARTFJ,E. 
 
 :>0 
 
 siasm, which, like a promise of success, before such salutation of 
 the doves, each time filled the soul of Gustavus Gyllenskiold. His 
 soldiers, both on land and sea, had quickly remarked it. They 
 called the doves omens of victory for their colonel ; and when a little 
 soft one was seen to hover near Gyllenskiold, the old warriors were 
 accustomed to present their arms with particular care, admonishing 
 their younger comrades in the well-known lines : — 
 
 " When the dove greets Gyllenskiold, 
 Then for battle thirsts Gyllenskiold ; 
 The brazen die rattles and rolls — 
 Rolls for victory, not for gold, 
 And victory smiles on Gyllenskiold S" 
 
 One day, the bold Gustavus crossed with a frigate, in sight of an 
 almost uninhabited island on the African coast ; to this island a 
 corsair, from whom he had rescued a French merchant-man, had 
 fled for refuge. Gyllenskiold, terrible to the pirates above all their 
 other enemies, determined on no account to let this destructive Moor 
 slip a second time from his hands, and took up his station, there- 
 fore, off the entrance of the narrow cove in which he lay. Further 
 in he could not follow him ; for both the fast-closing shades of 
 evening, and his Swedish crew's want of acquaintance with the 
 iron-bound coast, rendered that for the present impracticable. 
 
 In the clear moonlight the frigate kept in sight of the island har- 
 bour, and the French merchantman whom she had rescued did not 
 move from her side. Gyllenskiold imputed this solely to the wish 
 of her captain that she should not remain in this dangerous region 
 without the protection of the Swedish man-of-war ; and he had 
 already made a resolution, after he should have completely gained 
 the victory, of accompanying his protegee to some Spanish or 
 Portuguese seaport-town. The boat which he had dispatched with 
 this message, and with the question how far the merchantman 
 would wish for his guidance, brought the answer back — " Home to 
 Marseilles !" 
 
 Gyllenskiold's heart beat high at this answer, and higher still 
 when some Marseillan youths, armed, came on board, singing one of 
 those joyous battle songs which had been often sung in their mili- 
 tary exercises on the coasts of Provence ; and when, as the leader of 
 these brave strangers, stood before him one who would have been 
 
60 
 
 SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 more properly called a boy than a man : something in his pleas- 
 ing- countenance reminded Gustavus of Sophie Ariele's feminine 
 softness, something- also of the physician's bold, manly strength ; 
 but he resembled much more the former than the latter. Yes, it 
 was in truth Sophie's and Doctor Matthew's joyous son, who was 
 travelling on a journey from Marseilles, and who now with generous 
 courage had persuaded the captain of the trader to allow him, with 
 one or two other companions who were equally disposed for the en- 
 terprise, to strengthen the crew of their preserver. 
 
 Gustavus Gyllenskiold, in the midst of his joy at this happy 
 meeting, was terrified at the thought that the blooming youth, by 
 an unseen higher Providence, might be torn away from his side in 
 the approaching deadly combat. And then the piteous lamenta- 
 tions of Sophie Ariele, and the deep mourning of the hospitable 
 physician, filled the soul of their former guest j and with an eloquence 
 that the brave soldier till now, perhaps, had never used even to 
 urge his companions to arms, he strove to deter the dear youth 
 from the approaching battle. But he felt the current of his well- 
 meaning words soon checked by an indignant glance from the 
 youth, and still more by the question — 
 
 kk How is tliis ? My father and my mother have often spoken 
 with approving words of your noble enthusiasm in war; and now 
 by such petty fears would you dissuade my parent's only son from 
 a feat of arms that might bring him honour ? That would seem very 
 unlike you. But pardon me, Sir Colonel, that noble fire which 
 sparkles from your eyes at my too hasty language assures me to 
 whom I am come, to the Colonel Gustavus Gyllenskiold ! Your 
 earnest dissuasions had almost made me err. Indeed, the boldness 
 with which you loosed our ship from the corsair, and turned the 
 tables upon him in his turn, this might have — this should have — " 
 
 But his voice had become every moment softer, and, notwithstand- 
 ing all his efforts to prevent it, every moment more faltering, as 
 (iyllenskiold's searching and glowing eyes met his. He grew 
 quite silent before this kind but earnest glance, and thought to 
 himself, " Ah ! truly ; with my too forward boldness I have de- 
 stroyed one of the dearest joys of my life. For I can plainly see, 
 that, for my presumption and disrespect, he will not take me with 
 him to the attack upon the rocky island." 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 61 
 
 And as if Gustavus bad perceived the thoughts of the youth, 
 he answered him — ' k You shall, notwithstanding, go with us, 
 dear boy." But in the joy which lighted up all the features of 
 the youth was mingled an expression of indignant pride, and he 
 murmured — 
 
 " Boy ! That is a name I have not been accustomed to hear for 
 many a long day. Pardon me, sir, for what I say. My Christian 
 name is Gustavus, and after you I have the honour of being so 
 christened. A long year indeed it was after you went away 
 from Marseilles, that I came into the world ; yet the fame of the 
 many beautiful, knightly deeds of the noble Gustavus Gyllenskiold 
 oftentimes reached it ; and so my parents thought, and indeed with 
 good truth, that they could provide me no more noble incentive for 
 a glorious career than if they christened me after their noble guest, 
 Gustavus. May I request, sir, that you will in future call me by 
 this honourable name ?" 
 
 " Right willingly, from my heart, my brave Gustavus !" said 
 Gyllenskiold, deeply moved, as he pressed him in his arms. 
 
 And now they sat together at the joyous evening meal, liberal as 
 the ship's fare could well afford ; and Gyllenskiold said, " I must 
 show you, Gustavus, that I have learnt something of entertainment 
 under the pleasantly hospitable roof of your parents ; or perhaps 
 not under their roof, for our most happy meal-times we passed in 
 your garden by the sea, and spent there certainly our most refresh- 
 ing hours." 
 
 Then it seemed to the heart of Gyllenskiold, moved by many 
 sweet emotions, that he was again indeed at Marseilles, in the gar- 
 den of Doctor Matthew. There lay the ship, now at anchor, as still 
 and firm as a sea-coast rooted by imperishable rocks, and the waves 
 splashed and bubbled against it as against a peaceful shore. 
 
 Gyllenskiold could not refrain from asking the youth about his pa- 
 rental dwelling; and as, with that peculiar clearness of remembrance 
 which is common to all, or at least to the most part of north coun- 
 trymen, he dwelt on the peculiarities of Doctor Matthew's home and 
 economy of life, the young Gustavus felt himself transported back 
 to that sweet place and all his earliest remembrances. As he was 
 once describing one of his boyish battles, and the provocation 
 which had caused it, he suddenly stopped short ; a slight blush of 
 
 G 
 
62 
 
 SOPIITE ARIELEi 
 
 embarrassment passed over his cheeks ; yet soon, as if laughing at 
 himself, he added joyfully — 
 
 " Would you believe it possible, Colonel ? — nevertheless it is 
 quite true — that my quarrel with my schoolfellow arose entirely, 
 because the foolish boy maintained that my dear, beautiful mother 
 was, in reality, not a child of earth, but, as he was pleased to 
 express it, only a mere spirit of the air. I was left conqueror in 
 the contest, and willingly forgave him from my heart all the pain he 
 had caused me, and ever since then we have loved each other 
 dearly; and he is here also upon your noble ship, the dearest and 
 bravest of all my companions. But, strange as it may seem, it is 
 also true, dear sir, that some quite grown-up people in Marseilles 
 have also taken it into their head that my mother was originally a 
 spirit of the air; and is only by marriage with my father con- 
 nected with this earthly life." 
 
 The boy had scarcely said this than he shrank back, seized by a 
 peculiar shudder, and whispered, " What was that ?" 
 
 It was nothing more than a white dove, which hovered about 
 them in soft, scarcely audible flutterings ; then quickly ascending, 
 disappeared in the feeble starlight of the darkling heaven. 
 
 Blushing, the youth said, " You will argue nothing in my favour 
 from this strange trembling, Colonel. To-morrow, among the firing 
 of guns and clashing of swords, I will show no signs of fear ; but 
 this white dove came before my eyes so strangely. These' beautiful 
 white birds are always especially fostered by my parents, and it is 
 for this reason that my mother by some people is thought to be a 
 spirit of the air. It is true they have one other reason for suppos- 
 ing so, but it might seem like boasting or pride in me, if I were 
 to tell it to you." 
 
 "Nevermind; but tell me, dear Gustavus !" said Gyllenskiold, 
 "you need fear nothing of that kind from me." 
 
 " Be it so," exclaimed the youth, joyfully ; " I will not, then, 
 conceal from you that my mother still blooms as before, in the 
 almost childlike beauty of spring. Often, in my boyish years, she 
 seemed to me to be my playfellow ; and now as my sister, even as 
 my younger sister. There may be many autumnal and winterly 
 souls which do not understand this beautiful freshness ; and while 
 <onu j have said that my beautiful mother is like the ever-reviving 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 63 
 
 breeze of spring, that grows not old, others have looked upon her 
 entirely as a spirit of the air." 
 
 At these words he laughed heartily ; but again a white dove flew 
 near him, and he bent low to it, full of grave emotion, and whis- 
 pered — " If thou belongest truly to the band of my mother's 
 doves, greet Sophie Ariele with kind flutterings of thy wing, as a 
 salutation from her Gustavus, and also from the brave Colonel 
 Gyllenskiold." 
 
 Chapter XXI. 
 
 Deeply moved by these words of his young fellow- soldier, the 
 noble Swede soon saw him sink into a tranquil slumber ; his gentle 
 form breathing silently, as in the bosom of the sweetest peace. 
 And now how very like, when the fire of his eye, which he inherited 
 from his father, was hidden beneath the covering of his soft eyelid, 
 and no proudly indignant or boldly laughing emotion passed over 
 his tenderly chiselled lips — noAv how inexpressibly and affectingly 
 was he like his mother ! 
 
 " Oh ! may God guard thee, and for her sake preserve thee on 
 the morrow," said the Colonel, softly ; and spread his mantle care- 
 fully over the slumbering youth. 
 
 At this moment the boy became disturbed. At length, over- 
 powered with the deep sleep of childhood, he stammered the words, 
 " Mother !" and " Father !" and " Good night." And then added, 
 more placidly, "Let me now have my sleep out quietly. To- 
 morrow, indeed, the Colonel shall teach me the solemn sentence ; 
 but it is quite right to sleep well, long, and peacefully before a 
 solemn lesson. Is it not ?" 
 
 And thereupon he stretched himself at length, and lay, as the 
 moon shed her pale beams upon him, like a marble statue at his 
 friend's feet. 
 
 Gyllenskiold felt tears flow over his cheeks, and murmured, as he 
 raised his eyes and thoughts to Heaven—" Oh ! thou all-merciful, 
 turn away the solemn words, before which my soul trembles ! In- 
 
 g 2 
 
6-i SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 deed, indeed : Death is Life. But. ah ! for this blooming angel- 
 boy ; earthly life is, as yet, so beautiful, so lovely! — 
 
 Here one of his officers entered, with a message of im- 
 portance ; and Gyllenskiold felt himself cheerfully enlivened 
 by the expectation of the morrow's battle and triumph. His 
 alarm about the solitary youth faded before his eager anxiety 
 for the management of the combat. He launched a boat imme- 
 diately, that he might prove with his own eyes the truth of the 
 intelligence he had heard ; and, in company with a few chosen and 
 fully armed soldiers, steered to the bushy promontory, to fix on a 
 good place to make the attack on the morrow. 
 
 The rocky coasts lay fearfully still before them, surrounded and 
 danced over by the foamy heads of the breakers. Relying securely 
 on their watchful sentinels, the wearied pirates had almost all of them 
 fallen into the deepest sleep. Groups of dark figures could be easily 
 discovered through the clearness of the night, as they were stretched 
 upon the slopes or summits of the lofty hills of the island. A few 
 sentinels were standing here and there, but they were also weary, 
 and leant carelessly upon their arms, so that they seemed rather 
 to be resting than watching. Meanwhile the roaring of the 
 breakers completely drowned the sound made by the oars of their 
 approaching enemy ; while, at the same time, the towering clouds of 
 spray, and, in some degree also, the close, leafy underwood of the 
 headland, continued to conceal them from sight. 
 
 The boat thus landed unnoticed, and scarcely had Gyllenskiold 
 with his quick glance marked the favourable position of the place, 
 than he immediately sent back the light boat, in order that, by quick 
 passages to and fro, it might fetch over as many of the crew as possible 
 before break of dawn ; for he had resolved, if it were practicable, 
 to spare his frigate the danger of sailing among the shallows of a 
 bay so little known. In vain did his soldiers implore him to go 
 back again now to the ship, and return with the last division, and 
 then, without needlessly compromising his safety, to lead 
 the united force to victory. He looked at them, as if 
 blaming them for supposing that he would do so; "Yet," 
 he added, kindly, " I thank you for having reminded me 
 of the last division — with this, and on no account sooner — 
 Hearken, my friends, who are now about to steer back to the ship; 
 
SOm-HK A HI K I j K 
 
 65 
 
 remember what I .say, and perforin it faithfully. On no account, 
 whatever let the young Frenchman, who joined us from the Mar- 
 seillan ship, come over before the last time. This is my express 
 command, let him and his bold companions object as they please." 
 
 And now with a perfectly light heart — for he hoped that all 
 danger would be over before the arrival of the last company — full 
 of secret yet brave delight, he ordered everything for the approach- 
 ing decisive combat. 
 
 But scarcely had the boat deposited two of its little cargoes 
 upon the shore, and had pushed oft" from the land, in order 
 to return for a third, than a gun from one of the sentinel 
 Swedes sounded through the silent night, and the winding cliffs of 
 the island re-echoed it again and again. In a moment the Moorish 
 robbers could be seen upon the hills, aroused from their slumber, 
 seizing their weapons, and arranging themselves in order for battle; 
 so that a sudden attack on the part of the few who had landed — and 
 Gyllenskiold, for one moment, did entertain that idea — would be 
 nothing but to leap from despair into utter destruction. No course, 
 therefore, was left him to pursue, but to conceal, as long as possible, 
 the small number of his followers among the bushes on the shore, 
 until there was a chance they might receive sufficient reinforce- 
 ments from the ship. 
 
 The shrubs and trees on the strand favoured this design, 
 and the quiet, cool valour of the northern soldiers led them 
 still to hope for a prosperous issue. The first wild attack of 
 the pirates was completely repulsed, and before the well-aimed guns 
 and pistols of the Swedes a considerable number of Musselmen, 
 either dead or severely wounded, covered the field, while the prin- 
 cipal part collected on the hill to prepare for a fresh attack. That 
 tins fresh attack must take place was beyond all doubt, for the 
 pirates must, by this partly won victory, have discovered the only 
 possible way that remained for the preservation of their bold enemies ; 
 for when the clear moonlight should discover to the terrified sentinels 
 how slowly, and with how few men the boat would steer through the 
 breakers, it was certain that they would immediately, with all the 
 force of despair, attack the soldiers who were already landed. 
 
 Calmly considering all these disadvantages, Gyllenskiold angrily 
 walked up to the sentinel, inquiring from him the cause of the 
 
 G 3 
 
60 
 
 SOPHIE AR1ELE. 
 
 foolish alarm gun. The bearded soldier calmly replied — "Colonel, 
 for that you must not chide me. It was no Moorish enemy, but a 
 friend from the ancient heroes of bygone days, come perhaps to 
 call you and me. and our companions, home to those blessed halls 
 above ; and would not you, my brave Colonel, gladly receive so 
 solemn, yet so welcome a message?" 
 
 Gyllenskiold bent his proud head affirmatively, and the Swede 
 related his official news in the following words : — 
 
 " From the foamy waves you see yonder, sprang up what 
 seemed to be the heads of men, but not as if they were swimming, 
 but walking upright through the waves, as reapers marching 
 through high luxuriant corn ; they came through the breakers 
 that every moment foamed more wildly, and mingled with them 
 were heads of women, with cheeks of grizzly red — how hideous in 
 the pale moonlight ! and there were heroes of noble bearing, with 
 crowns on their heads — " 
 
 " I know them ! I know them !"' said Gyllenskiold, with difficulty 
 repressing the shudder that passed through his inmost senses. 
 " You need not, at such a moment, describe merely unsubstantial 
 dreams !" 
 
 But the Swede interrupted haughtily — " In good truth, Colonel, 
 you do me wrong : I have neither slept nor dreamed, but watched 
 at my post as beseems an honourable warrior of our north coun- 
 try to do. And if at first I imagined the heads in the waves to be 
 ghostly inhabitants of the world of spirits, yet I soon became aware 
 that they were not mere shadowy forms. Erect and kinglike, one 
 of the crown-bearers came walking to the land. He had a deep 
 wound in the breast. He stood opposite to me, and bent his head — 
 whether to me, or to some one else, or to us all, I do not rightly 
 know ; but I presented my weapon to him, as to a royal personage 
 whether living or dead. That he did not belong to the Saracens 
 you might be perfectly certain, if you only once looked into his large 
 rolling blue eyes. But when he moved on, as though he would 
 pass my post, I lowered my weapon and said, ' Stop, if it please 
 your majesty, the soldier must fulfil his duty. Give me the pass- 
 word, or I must fire !' Then he laid his hand on his ponderous 
 sword, and advanced with giant strides. I fired ! and like a flash 
 of lightning, or a sweeping sword-stroke, it lighted the empty 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 67 
 
 space around me. Then the kingly form smiled as he floated away 
 upon a snow-white steed (when or from whence the noble creature 
 came I know not), and beckoned kindly to me, as if he would say, 
 4 Come joyfully after me, you will have many good companions.' 
 And how, I ask you, could a faithful soldier upon watch act other- 
 wise than I have done ? If any one was to blame, it was the old 
 crowned hero ; and you and I, my Colonel, and perhaps indeed 
 many more among us, may call upon him to answer to the charge, 
 before the sun rises over these southern waves." 
 
 " That is probable !" said Gyllenskiold, thoughtfully ; " the 
 Moors upon the hills are gathering in stronger and better arranged 
 order." 
 
 Once more Gyllenskiold glanced towards the ship, as if, by a 
 rapid movement, it was possible she might yet release him from the 
 threatening overwhelming force of the enemy. But her befriending 
 form rocked peacefully in the moonlight, and sail and pennant 
 drooped sleepily from the spars. A perfect calm paralysed all her 
 movements. Then over Gyllenskiold's lips passed the tune of a 
 song, the first lines of which, when a boy, he had heard sung with 
 peculiar emotion : — 
 
 " Bravely are we called to die, 
 
 And not to be deceived by hope I" 
 
 Loud and joyfully he called to his Swedes — " Bravely are we called 
 to die !" and resolutely they returned the salute, and pressed close 
 together, man to man ; a noble band united in the brotherhood of 
 death. The Saracens descended slowly and deliberately from the 
 hill, their two wings stretching forward in overwhelming force, so 
 that the whole body wore the appearance of their own banner of 
 victory, the crescent, which rose proudly in the midst. 
 
 One more look, as taking leave of Ariele's son, Gyllenskiold 
 turned towards his ship ; and, in the hope that he might once more 
 see the beloved form of the youth, he raised to his eyes a glass 
 given him by Farenberg, and constructed purposely for sea 
 voyages. Then suddenly a form appeared on the edge of the ship, 
 in a white flying mantle ; it was the same white mantle with which 
 he had before covered the slumbering Gustavus ; and, as if with 
 wings, the vision stretched forward. " The boy will throw himself 
 into the sea, in order to reach the shore !" thought Gyllenskiold, 
 
63 
 
 SOPHIE! ARIEL*;. 
 
 terrified ; * a practised swimmer to the prime of manhood would never 
 make the passage hither. And then the breakers ! And if he got 
 through them — to meet a bloody death here on land. " Still the 
 youth seemed to wish to spring into the water, but he was pre- 
 vented by those around him : he struggled angrily to free himself 
 from their hold. Suddenly he raised both hands, as if he were 
 vehemently imploring the silent night-heaven ; and lo, the pennant 
 of the ship began to fly, the sails to swell in the favouring breeze, 
 the busy crowd on the deck to increase. Then the frigate rocked 
 in the rising wind of the early dawn; and, rapidly advancing to the 
 scene of combat, it thundered a cannonade of shot into the wing 
 of the advancing Saracens. Howling, the broken lines fell back 
 one upon the other. " Forward !" cried Gyllenskiold, exultingly, 
 as he rushed with his Swedes from the bushy strand, and put their 
 terrified enemies to an irretrievable rout. 
 
 Chapter XXII. 
 
 The battle was completely over. The pirate ship had been taken, 
 its crew were either killed or dispersed. But in vain did the 
 Swedes seek for their brave leader, in vain did the youths of Mar- 
 seilles seek for their brave comrade Gustavus. Could the two have 
 perished in some way together? If so, the victory over these 
 hordes of barbarians would seem indeed to be most dearly pur- 
 chased. 
 
 Notwithstanding all the inquiries that were made for the noble 
 friends, no farther trace of them could be discovered than that the 
 youth Gustavus, after he had caused the ship to enter the bay by 
 his strange invocation of the breezes, had thrown himself over- 
 board full of mad desire for the combat, and reached the land. 
 Some declared they had seen his white mantle again after that 
 fluttering among a crowd of Moorish figures. But the exact place 
 of this encounter, after the tumult of the nightly battle, and in the 
 silence of the rising morning, they did not remember sufficiently 
 well to find again. Gyllenskiold had been seen for the last time 
 
SOPHIE ARIELE. 
 
 by his Swedes, rushing with sudden and to them incomprehen- 
 sible madness down a steep precipice after a number of the flying 
 enemy, so that it was not clear whether he had fallen or leapt. 
 By the time his less adventurous followers had gained the 
 level beach below, he and his adversaries had entirely disap- 
 peared. It almost seemed as if the surf had washed them away 
 together. 
 
 A low sobbing sound of lamentation, almost like that of a softly 
 weeping boy, who had only just ended his first angry, sorrowful 
 burst of passion, at length drew the eager soldiers to a place on the 
 woody shore, where traces of blood on the boughs indicated a 
 hardly fought battle, that was indeed scarcely over. Somewhat 
 further, two Moors lay dead on the sand, their heads cleft in twain. 
 After a few steps to the nearest winding of the cliff, the Swedes 
 found their noble leader, at least his corpse, with a fearful wound 
 upon his valiant breast, pouring out his heart's blood. 
 
 It was affecting to behold how the young Marseillais, Gustavus, 
 supported his sinking head, and shed besides such hot, scalding 
 tears ; while a snowy-haired old sailor, looking on in silence, sat 
 with folded hands at the feet of the departed hero. 
 
 The boy cried, full of lamentation, to the newly arrived soldiers — 
 " Ah ! woe is me ; mine is the fault ! It was in rescuing me, 
 that the pious, generous knight fell. Oh, what a cursed zeal was 
 it that drove me from the ship, and made me swim to shore ! Here 
 two Moors halted in their flight, and rushed in wild fury against 
 me, intending to make my death an offering to their revenge. 
 Alas ! would that they had accomplished their angry purpose ! 
 I lay already spent upon the ground, and only gave faint blows, 
 that fell rather in the air than upon my enemies (beetles, over- 
 powered by ants, struggle thus in the empty rage of despair), when 
 suddenly, from the neighbouring cliffs, my noble godfather, Gustavus 
 Gyllenskiold, saw my distress ; and, like a gloriously winged mes- 
 senger of heaven, he flew down upon my foes, and laid them low 
 in the sand upon the shore ; — they must be still lying there ; — but 
 when he turned towards me — oh, horror ! — then I saw that his gar- 
 ment and breast were dyed with the terrible wound which he had 
 received in the battle for my preservation ; and here he now lies ! 
 and here he will now die !" 
 
70 
 
 SOPHJE ARIELE. 
 
 He began again silently to weep, and one of v the soldiers, who 
 had just arrived, said somewhat roughly, and unfeelingly — 
 
 " Yes, indeed, that is what we get by it ! Here he lies now, and 
 here he dies, and our loss is and always will be the greatest. 
 Would that the French rascal had remained altogether upon his 
 Marseilles ship ! We should then have had our beloved, noble 
 colonel still safe and sound among us." 
 
 And the poor lamenting youth only began to weep still more heartily 
 and despairingly. But then the silver-haired sailor at Gyllenskiold's 
 feet arose, and said reprovingly to his angiy fellow- soldier — 
 
 " You — take heed ! What you have said was not exactly the 
 best thing that you could have said — throughout, it was not well ! 
 God forbid that our dear, dying Colonel should be aware of this ; 
 else you have given pain to his departing hero's soul ; and look ! a 
 painful quiver about his mouth makes me almost fear that it is so ; 
 so I will speak in his stead — will speak such words as would flow 
 from his brave soul, and would be proper for the protection and 
 happiness of this noble boy. Where would have been our brave 
 Colonel without him ? Where should all we, who first landed 
 upon the island, have been without him ? Stretched out upon the 
 earth ye would be lying, like those bloody Moors ; or shackled, 
 you would have been gnashing your teeth, or groaning in the 
 power of the pirates. For, while the calm held us bound with 
 our ship in idle view of your combat and your distress, this won- 
 derful boy called on the breezes to swell our sails, and they obeyed 
 his voice, and carried us softly and swiftly towards the shore, so 
 that we could easily fire upon your overpowering enemy I" 
 
 All looked astonished at the youth ; but he, drying his tears, and 
 pushing his fair locks from his open brow, said just as aston- 
 ished, " What then do you expect to find so strange in me ? You 
 are in error ; I have indeed invoked the breezes, invoked them full 
 of the deepest, most fervent anguish of soul ; but that their spirits 
 heard, or at any rate answered to my call, of that I know nothing. 
 I pray you do not perplex me by such wonderful words, which 
 even in my earliest childhood flitted about me deceivingly, and 
 which now in my deep, deep anguish of soul, occur to me again. 
 Truly I am no fickle child of the breezes ; alas, if it were so, 
 would the death-wounds of this dying hero cause me such un- 
 
SOI'IIIR A TIT ELF.. 
 
 71 
 
 speakable sorrow?" And again he wept bitterly; and, pushing 
 away from his forehead and temples the golden locks that fell over 
 them, he bent his blooming face over the quiet and motionless one 
 of his friend. 
 
 The old north-country man then said, " Whether consciously 
 or unconsciously he holds such strange dominion over the ele- 
 ments, matters but little ; to me it certainly appeared that it was 
 at the fairy call of this youth that our sails swelled. And were 
 it not so, it was still his words of fire, his noble earnest prayers, 
 his rapid and animating signs, lightening us all up like a flashing 
 meteor — above all, it was his wonderful poiver, which inspired the 
 dullest and most anxious among us with hope to venture every- 
 thing and strength to perform it, and urged us to run our ship into 
 the dangerous bay, and to preserve our heroic Colonel, and you 
 all. That is what this boy has done !" 
 
 They all bent with one accord before the weeping youth ; but he 
 said, looking up most sorrowfully, " Yes ; would that it had been 
 an act of preservation, then it might have passed for something 
 honourable. But there he lies, alas ! and there he dies !" 
 
 " Death is Life !" said Gyllenskiold, once more unclosing his eyes 
 in inexpressible serenity to the light of an earthly day ; and turning to 
 the youth, he continued in a firm and solemn voice, " See, my young 
 Gustavus ; now everything is clear to me. I saw in my last dream 
 your dear parents, and they declared to me what you should learn 
 from me before you go forth upon your journey. The sentence 
 might indeed have sounded too solemn, in the moment of separation, 
 for them to have spoken it to thee, although it is in reality a sentence- 
 full of gladness ; they referred you therefore to me. Oh, my young- 
 friend, in a fearfully dark path of error I entered your parents' house 
 for the first time. ' Life is Death I 3 cried for ever the horrible visions 
 of my decaying, dreamily darkening existence. * Life is Life !' the 
 sweetly peaceful days at Marseilles taught me. But in one in- 
 finitely more blessed hour there, I laid hold of a far higher truth. 
 1 Death is Life /' I then could say, and ' Death is Life /' your 
 beautiful mother sang to me, full of inspiration, at the moment 
 when we separated ; and now to you, sweet Gustavus, yet in the bright 
 spring-time of your earthly life, now when I am dying, I can say to 
 you, with the transporting assurance in my soul, ' Death is Life !' 
 
72 
 
 SOPKir. .VRTFT-E. 
 
 Not that, dear fresh "blooming youth, the joys of thy life should sink 
 for that reason towards the grave. So; but in order that they may 
 rise more swiftly to heaven, and may shine the more brightly in the 
 blissful certainty that — there is no death. Lo ! the solemn messenger 
 we are accustomed to call by that name comes to me, and my sinking- 
 eyes fail before his heavenly glance 5 this earthly world of dreams dis- 
 appears ; and dee]), deep within, the holy light from the divine 
 throne shines full upon me ; secretly, quite secretly, it glimmered 
 in me before. How strangely till now the shadows of dreams have 
 hidden and concealed it ! What will it now signify whether in this 
 ever-changing, enigmatic world we have borne crowns or garlands, a 
 shepherd's cap or a beggar's hood ? 
 
 " The old crown-bearer indeed beckons kindly to me from 
 above. But as long as I remained here in this dark world of 
 dreams I misunderstood him ; he meant by his signs to point to a 
 far different, a far richer crown. And the spirit of the air ! Oh, 
 Sophie Ariele, thou lovely, wise confidant of heaven ! how clearly 
 thou saidst we were very high-born ! "We are all watered by the 
 blessed fountains of the highest love !" 
 
 And Love was his last breath. He lay a beautiful corpse, smiling 
 sweetly under the brightly beaming light of morning, and 
 the flowing waves of the sea sang a soft lullaby to the last 
 slumber of their friend. i£ And Love," so the young Gustavus felt 
 it breathe through his soul, moved by the sweetest sorrow, " love 
 shall sound as the first jubilee of the departed warrior in the eternal 
 
 halls of victory !" 
 
 ***** 
 
 After the interval of some years, when Ariele's son brought home 
 this solemn news, Doctor Matthew, as soon as his weighty busi- 
 ness permitted, erected a monument to Gyllenskiold's memory at the 
 place in the garden where the three united souls had often felt 
 together a happy participation of joyful emotions. The emblem 
 and motto he required and obtained from Sophie Ariele; and at her 
 desire he ornamented the monument of his friend with the figure, 
 in raised alabaster work of a [dove, flying from out a sea of flame 
 towards heaven, with the inscription — 
 
 "Beath ts ftffc," 
 
THE 
 
 n a mountain village, not far from a large and 
 populous commercial town, the elderly wife of a 
 worthy retired merchant was sitting one after- 
 noon of a Christmas Eve, spinning at the win- 
 dow. As she turned her little wheel, she revolved, in thought, 
 the cycle of the past, and joined, on the extended thread, one 
 departed year to another. In this manner many a Christinas 
 festival again set up its little light before her; while that of 
 to-day awaited only, as formerly, the flash of joy by which it 
 should be kindled. " It was, then, alas ! another time," she 
 sighed, as, raising her eyes from her work, and to avoid the 
 afflicting retrospect, she looked forth upon the garden; but 
 a heavy fleece of snow, pressed down by thawing, watery 
 vapours, had fallen without, and lay along the earth, giving it 
 no robe of cheerful whiteness, but rather one of sullied mois- 
 ture, as its festal garb. The good woman let fall her thread, 
 and still moving the wheel mechanically with her foot, folded 
 her arms, leant back in her low-cushioned chair, and cast her 
 thoughts and eye over the garden-hedge, towards the church- 
 yard wall, that sheltered the grave of a little maiden who had 
 died in childhood. She said nothing, and might, perhaps, have 
 had only indistinct thoughts ; yet she felt a heavy melancholy. 
 
 H 
 
2 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 
 
 Solitary tears ran clown her cheeks, and quite obliterated all images 
 of Christmas joy. 
 
 But it was the heavy pressure with which the presence of an only 
 son, who, dragged from his early career in life, had become a prey 
 to sickness, that chiefly burthened her. When yet almost a boy, he 
 had been drawn away, by some auxiliaries, to the French ami)' ; and 
 now, nipped in his bloom, weary and wasted, was sent back again to 
 his paternal home. It was true his youthful nature seemed now 
 slowly to revive; but the genuine activity, the energy which resists 
 and overcomes opposition, that power, she was obliged to confess, 
 might never, or only through long, considerate care, be again with 
 difficulty restored. And what would be the end of the slippery 
 course of his mistaken life ? whither would it lead ? Outgrown as 
 to his earlier pursuits, spoiled for bodily exertion, for mental unfitted, 
 who would support the helpless one, when his father's eyes should be 
 closed, or her busy hands no more be able to ply their accustomed 
 labour ? She had now trouble enough to maintain the tottering 
 household, and since the ravages of the war, the slender income had 
 already been too scant, for her to think of any saving for the forlorn 
 one's future condition. " It is a misfortune," her husband was accus- 
 tomed to reply to similar complaints ; " but it must be borne." She 
 had also heard, on the previous Sunday, an excellent discourse on 
 the text — " Be not anxious for the coming morrow." Her heart had 
 thereby been comforted, and made more trustful. On returning 
 from the church, she had gratefully pressed her husband's hand, and 
 with the courage of inspiration, had spoken of overcoming present 
 sorrows, and of her confidence in better days. But that which 
 then raised her spirits, though it had not altogether vanished, had 
 yet been interrupted and weakened by numberless daily trials. 
 
 " He has well spoken," thought she, resting her head upon her 
 hand. " It is for me to endure ; and the hour may yet come when the 
 burden will be reckoned to me yet more heavy and oppressive. Still we 
 are bidden to be of cheerful heart — ' He who clothes and cherishes 
 the lilies of the field, and the fowls of heaven, has also for thee and 
 thine warm winter raiment and sustenance ; and besides, a joyful 
 day in store, when it shall be needed.' Yes, yes," she sighed, 
 shaking her head, "there, in my husband's chamber above, which 
 
THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 
 
 3 
 
 no one approaches within ten paces, where neither question nor 
 complaint intrudes, where it is warm and still and lonely, there also 
 abides the soul, tranquil and retired ; and whatever storm bursts in 
 upon it, it can also, by itself, contend with : but here, below, all 
 that is painful and trying has to be accomplished." While thus 
 gradually yielding to disquiet, her sadness was interrupted by the 
 approach of her sickly son : she heard him cough while yet at the 
 threshold. The sound, to-day, seemed to her more hollow than 
 formerly. Her bosom was painfully agitated : anxiously she be- 
 held his sorrowful figure, as he entered, reflected in a looking- 
 glass opposite the door. Yet she forbore to look on himself, as her 
 observant glance was ever sensitive of his presence ; and in order 
 to appear less anxious, she turned herself towards the window, at 
 the same time exclaiming, "Old Martha's gay mantle flutters about 
 her so widely in the snow-storm, as if she were hurrying with 
 something wonderful." 
 
 The young man, who had also gone up to the window, replied, 
 "Does the robust old woman still carry the letters round the 
 mountains ?" 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," said his mother. " Yes," she continued, 
 smiling, " here may be seen how one's humour fashions things in 
 one's-self and others. At the time thou wert absent, when I saw 
 between the bushes the tip of the mantle glimmering down the hill- 
 path, my heart beat so violently, as if — God forgive me — Provi- 
 dence itself were deciding on our weal and woe. Now, Martha is 
 to me — just as she is — only a letter-carrier, who can neither give 
 me much, nor take away." She said the last words with a careless 
 tone and demeanour, whilst the thought arose in her with strange 
 vividness — " What if the post should bring me, to-day, something 
 very pleasing and agreeable ! Perhaps, some quite unexpected, joy- 
 ful intelligence !" She had no conception of what it might be that 
 should so nearly concern her from afar ; but the thought, undefined 
 as it was, served to quicken her imagination with unusual activity. 
 
 " Dear mother," rejoined her son, whom her expressions had 
 arrested, " the future is a secret for every one : man often knows 
 not how much he expects from it, but, in the end, all hope for the 
 best. He who looks into it otherwise, does but plunge into a 
 bottomless abyss. 
 
 H 2 
 
-1 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 
 
 It affected the agitated lady indescribably, to hear him so speak 
 of the future. Whom did he mean ? his nearest kindred on earth, 
 or another, who perhaps lay nearer to him than he was conscious 
 of? " Benjamin !" she softly said, seizing and anxiously pressing 
 his hand. 
 
 He might well have felt what she was not able to express ; he, 
 however, let it remain so, and, in order to divert her attention, 
 hastily inquired, " What does busy Martha do there over the nar- 
 row bridge, at the little ruined shepherd's hut ? I think it stands 
 empty ; at least I am told so." 
 
 " In that you have been rightly informed," responded his mother. 
 " After the death of old David, who would not leave the decaying 
 cottage, no one has again occupied it. But who knows whether the 
 dexterous woman may not there have discovered a little corner for 
 the more convenient bestowal of some of the articles she brings with 
 her, until she has finished her rounds ? Such people understand 
 well how to make use of eveiy thing. I should like to know, how- 
 ever," she continued inquisitively, "what she really purposes." 
 Here she paused, as she attentively looked in the specified direc- 
 tion ; while Benjamin, tired, and having no particular sympathy for 
 the mysterious village incident, seated himself in an arm-chair. 
 " How, by accident, one thing springs out of another !" resumed 
 his mother, after a while. " See ! Benjamin, I look many times a day 
 towards the bridge, and beyond it ; must look thither, if I only direct 
 my eyes on the road. I do so, and think nothing of it; but to-day, 
 old stories, long banished from my thoughts, come again to me, to 
 make my heart still sadder, and this holy eve, which should be for 
 all one of joy, more lonesome and melancholy. Thou understandest 
 well what I mean," she added, wiping away a tear. 
 
 " No !" replied her son, astonished, and vainly endeavouring to 
 realize the import of her words. 
 
 "No?" inquired she, wondering. "But," she continued, "I 
 know that the loss of the good and beautiful Anna cannot affect 
 thy heart as it does mine. She was still a child when thou leftest 
 thy paternal home ; and when also thou taughtest her to read 
 and write, and wast so glad that we stood to the poor orphan 
 in her parents' room, thou wast yet a wayward boy, and sawest 
 little of the timid child. Afterwards, when she was so unaccount- 
 
THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 
 
 5 
 
 ably lost to us, thou wast far away, and time, and the many new 
 events of the present, have all too much effaced the distant images 
 for thee now to have any particular recollection of them." 
 
 "Yet, yet!" said the young man, striving, as well as he was 
 able, to recall what he had forgotten, " I very distinctly remember 
 the pretty child, whom you as tenderly cherished as if she were 
 your own. Ah, yes !" he added, with animation, ** I was then 
 fourteen years old, when I went to my uncle's residence, in 
 order to attend school, and Anna might have been eight or nine. 
 Since then, indeed, I have not again been here. First came my 
 removal, then my studies, afterwards service in the army. A 
 broad gulf lies between now and then." 
 
 " Therefore it is," replied his mother, resuming the thread of her 
 contemplations, " that thou canst not at all sympathize with me in 
 the sentiments which yonder little hut awakens." 
 
 " I have ever forborne," replied Benjamin, calmly, " to ask you 
 of the minuter circumstances of the poor orphan's disappearance, 
 from unwillingness to revive painful recollections in your soul." 
 
 * Kind son !" she smiled, with emotion, as with one hand she wiped 
 the tears from her cheeks, and extended the other towards him. 
 
 He kissed her hand, and said — " Yet tell me, dear mother, if it 
 will not pain you, how came Anna to forsake you r" 
 
 " Forsake ! Benjamin," exclaimed his mother, sensitively ; " she 
 did not forsake us ; she was torn from us — that I shall ever be- 
 lieve. But who they were that dealt us the blow — How crafty 
 villains have contrived to keep the wicked deed so long concealed 
 that is known to God only, who, in due time, will yet bring all to 
 light ; but this much I tell thee, that, from the first moment, the 
 child clung to me even as the ivy that creeps on yonder wall. I 
 know too well that her heart was rent asunder when they dragged 
 her away from hence." 
 
 " Dragged away ?" asked the young man, incredulously. " Have 
 you then any trace that such a deed of violence was done ?" 
 
 " No trace," she replied, vehemently ; " yet sooner would we that 
 the mystery were unexplained than mistrust a faithful heart. See ! my 
 dear," she continued, " as when I first beheld Anna's open counte- 
 nance, and a voice spoke within me, ' In her there is no guile,' so 
 she still remains ever before me, and no one shall be able to dis* 
 
 H 3 
 
6 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 
 
 figure or pervert the image. There," she proceeded, turning her- 
 self nearer to the window, and tapping, with extended finger against 
 the panes, "there, upon the narrow plank, sat the forlorn child, 
 careless and cracking nuts, as contented as if the world were hers, 
 whilst I went carrying to the dying grandfather his final meal. I 
 was startled when I cast my eyes upon her ; for before I had never 
 seen her, nor even known of her existence. As I was now about 
 crossing the bridge, and she kept running on, and then sitting 
 down in my way, I stopped and accosted her. She raised up her 
 head, shook the long fair ringlets from her brow, and fixing her 
 large eyes confidingly upon me, smiled, and reaching forth her 
 delicate little hand, offered me of her store of nuts, which she had 
 previously taken from her pocket. I thanked her for the present, 
 and inquired who she was, and whence she came ; whereupon, 
 abashed, she muttered something half-aloud between her lips, drew 
 up her little feet, and hastened away. I gazed after her ; she so 
 moved me, I knew not what to think of her. Perhaps, I thought, 
 she might belong to the old shepherd, who, from kindness, had 
 lately brought her hither. But what would become of the fair 
 violet amid the matted moss ? it would surely be stifled. As thus 
 thinking, I entered the little room, and said, 'Good day, father,' and 
 having set on the table the little provision I had brought, I sat 
 down by the side of the sick man's bed. ' He sleeps well !' I said, 
 softly, and remained quiet a while. I wished to wait till he should 
 open his eyes, and observe me ; but his slumber lasted long, while 
 my heart throbbed with anguish ; every moment I became more 
 uneasy. I then glanced round upon the walls, for I did not trust 
 myself to look upon the sleeper beside me. Above the bed hung 
 the shepherd's wallet, and by the side stood his tall staff, at the 
 lower end bound with iron, while from its top a long, faded ribbon 
 rolled down to the grey-headed man's pillow. There he lay stretch- 
 ed out at his length, his white hair and silvery beard gently quiver- 
 ing as he softly drew his breath. The silk band on the staff' was 
 now stirred by a rush of wind from the opened door, as the little 
 one entered. She timidly remained standing behind the old man's 
 bed, while I beckoned her cautiously to approach ; but my care 
 was superfluous. The locks around the chin and temples quivered 
 no more ; all was now over, the honest shepherd had ceased to live. 
 
THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 
 
 7 
 
 A shudder went through my soul ; I took the child hy the hand, 
 and led her to our home. Afterwards I learnt that the poor 
 child was an orphan, sent hither from a distant village, where her 
 grandfather still lived, who should have released the parish from 
 the obligation of bringing her up. This duty we now undertook, 
 and never regretted it, till the day that, her absence so wounded our 
 hearts j then I thought if I had never seen her, I should not now 
 have to bewail her. But I only punished myself with such thoughts ; 
 and so severe, Benjamin, were thy father's reproofs, that I shed 
 almost as many tears on their account as for our loss. However, I 
 did not long remain idle; I searched and inquired, hither and 
 thither, promising thanks and reward to any one who would give 
 me intelligence, but none I gained, more than I already knew. 
 
 The fair maiden had not, in truth, bloomed unobserved upon 
 our mountains ; and Anna was obliged for weeks together to keep 
 within the threshold, from fear of a tall, slim, sallow captain of 
 Dragoons, who followed her about at every step. At last her tor- 
 mentor left the neighbourhood; and in order, after so much dis- 
 quiet, to give the poor child some recreation, thy father took her 
 with him on a journey to the neighbouring city. He took her with 
 him, Benjamin, but he did not bring her back." 
 
 Thus she ended ; sighing deeply at the painful remembrance. 
 
 Her son, who had listened with fixed attention to the end of her 
 story, now asked impatiently how it had happened, and what had 
 befallen his father, that he so lost the object of his care. But his 
 mother could tell him no more than that both had arrived together 
 at the harbour, and there saw the merchantmen lying at anchor. 
 His father described to the observant maiden the pleasures 
 of a sea- voyage, and the intercourse of various nations. Anna 
 listened to him very attentively, and remained constantly by his 
 side. But it happened that some negro boys, belonging to the 
 ships, sprang ashore, thereby causing a tumult and outcry among 
 the children of the town. The throng and pressure became so 
 great that each one was obliged to stop and look before him. At 
 this moment the pastor, for Anna's better protection, grasped her 
 hand ; but he suddenly lost her, and she vanished from his sight. 
 He called her, he cried aloud, and worked his way after her through 
 the crowd ; but all in vain, she was lost. 
 
8 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 
 
 " Unaccountable ! " replied Benjamin, deep in thought, and 
 meditating on the incident ; while his mother, already diverted to 
 another subject by the approach of the nimble Martha, was atten- 
 tively watching whether, to-day, no joyful message should be 
 brought to her. 
 
 " Now surely ! " she exclaimed, " old Martha is passing us 
 by. Ah ! I thought the days of good fortune had long since 
 gone from us. On our night no joyful ray is to shine, 
 Benjamin !" she added with suppressed voice, amid stifled tears. 
 " Thy father's books from the reading-club are all that she is 
 giving in such haste to the maid ; nothing else, nothing for 
 us !" 
 
 " What else dost thou expect ? " inquired her husband, now 
 entering, as he set down on the table his lamp, which, as it was 
 dark, lie had carried in his hand ; at the same time, with a coun- 
 tenance unusually bright and joyful, approaching her. 
 
 " Ah nothing," she replied, with an air cold and constrained. 
 She avoided looking at him, from fear of betraying the involuntary 
 emotions of her heart ; she therefore rose from her seat, and pushed 
 the spinning-wheel, with more than needful precision, into its place. 
 
 " Nothing !" he repeated calmly. " Now I know that thou wert 
 looking out upon the road towards some one." 
 
 " That was only a thought," she replied. 
 
 " But thoughts have their foundation," he smiled. "They come to 
 us not for nothing and in vain. I venture to chink that the Holy 
 Eve has also hallowed thy heart, and that pious images, full of happy 
 fulfilment, have arisen upon thy soul." The excited and agitated 
 woman here held her apron to her eyes, and wept vehemently, 
 without having power to answer, though she wished to do so. 
 Sympathizingly. her husband seized her hand. For a while he was 
 silent, as if he wished for time to collect himself; then, gently 
 rebuking, he said, "Oh, if you would only have confidence in God!" 
 She let fall the apron from her eyes, raised them towards heaven, and 
 exclaimed with conscious agony, " Oh, I have held fast, and still 
 hold fast my trust. But — " 
 
 " But what ?" inquired he, earnestly. 
 
 She heeded him not, but continued passionately, " I am not un- 
 believing. No ! I do not doubt God's almighty power, But he 
 
THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 
 
 9 
 
 will pardon his weak creature, who, amid the pressure of accumu- 
 lated trials, groans, and sorrows, would rather close her eyes than 
 vainly task them to discover some ray of hope. And if thou wilt 
 not pity me" she added with hitter tears— " me, poor old woman, 
 to whom everything fails, and on the day when the child in the 
 cradle is joyful, have no joy, hecause I can prepare none for others; 
 yet is my grief seen by One ahove, who reckons tears and sighs, and 
 will dry the wet eyes and heal the broken heart." Here she sat 
 down exhausted, leaning her head on the shoulder of her son, 
 who struggling amid sympathy and embarrassment at the painful 
 scene, repeatedly pressed her hand, without mingling in the con- 
 versation. 
 
 " Strange !" resumed the husband ; " thou hast hope in this Great 
 Comforter, and nevertheless thou doubtest ! And as he spoke, his 
 countenance reflected a confidence which, besides the heavenly, be- 
 spoke the fulfilment of an earthly promise Benjamin now regarded 
 him attentively, while his mother also was involuntarily excited and 
 restless. " I do not, however, well perceive," resumed his father, 
 after a short pause, " what it is that just now so untunes thy mind 
 for the holy festival, unless it be the dream of which thou spakest to 
 me this morning, and which deluded thy imagination with expecta- 
 tions that thou now findest unfulfilled. Didst thou not see a Christ- 
 mas-tree, with numerous lights and varied many flowers, suddenly 
 standing amidst thy old house-furniture, our children's cradle and 
 their broken toys? and, on awaking, didst thou not find tears of joy 
 in thine eyes r" His wife here nodded assent, for great inward emo- 
 tion made her unable to speak. "Nowwert thou not thinking," he 
 smiled good-humouredly, " of some unexpected good fortune, and 
 that Martha would bring the happy intelligence by the post ? " 
 Here he paused as if awaiting her answer; but, as she was silent, he 
 proceeded : " Dreams are most commonly intended as a trial ; they 
 are the thermometer of a right faith ; they are generally adhered to 
 with a strange tenacity, while one seeks for something behind them, 
 and forgets the power that is almighty. But, to spare the distressed 
 heart of the afflicted wife, he took her fervently by the hand, saying, 
 "Forgive me, if to cause you a surprise, I have hitherto been silent 
 as to what will give you joy." She stared at him incredulously, and 
 
10 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 
 
 scarcely comprehended him, as he now said, " Martha has, how- 
 ever, brought something with her. God chooses his messengers 
 where and how he will. Only be comforted ; the Christmas-tree is 
 already lighted ! come with me and see it." 
 
 She had mechanically followed him into the middle of the room ; 
 now, however, she suddenly stopped, while doubt and expectation 
 were pictured in her countenance. Mistrustfully smiling, she said, 
 as she drew her arm away from her husband's, " Pray go ; thou 
 art jesting with me, or else thou hast some design, in order to 
 mortify me." 
 
 44 God forbid ! " exclaimed he, letting fall his folded hands in 
 astonishment. " Why has thy heart become so tenacious of suspi- 
 cion, and so stubborn against the kindness of God, that with this 
 promise thou thinkest only of an unseemly jest, or of harsh self- 
 willedness ? Only look at me. Thy glance is become uncertain. 
 Thou seest things unfairly and anxiously. I pray thee, only look 
 at me calmly, and see if there is in my eyes aught else than a joyful 
 heart." 
 
 She made no reply, and willingly allowed herself to be led to the 
 door; yet her timid step and convulsive movement showed her 
 anxious and ill at ease, and that she only watched an opportunity in 
 order to turn back. As she now met the maid at the threshold, 
 who was waiting with the lantern, Benjamin, by his father's desire, 
 threw over her shoulders her thin, time-worn, fur-mantle. They 
 then crossed the court-yard onto the road; while his mother, seized 
 by a strange imagination and inwardly trembling, clung faster to 
 her husband's arm. 
 
 "Great God !" her lips ejaculated, "art thou leading us then to 
 the church-yard ?" 
 
 " Hard by," was the short answer, which in the gloom sounded 
 to her as that of a spectre, and caused a crowd of bewildering 
 images to rush through her mind. The maid now, at her master's 
 bidding, held the lantern a little higher ; thereby the darkness was 
 somewhat interrupted, but where the light shone not, only made 
 darker. Every object around, as the church, the tower, and the 
 trees, all appeared larger through the gloom. 
 
 "This is a frightful path !" groaned the lady. 
 
TITT, CHRISTMAS TRF.E. 
 
 11 
 
 " Look forward ! " replied her husband ; " we are now crossing 
 the bridge, and going up the hill." 
 
 " What !" she cried, indignantly, " art thou leading us amid rub- 
 bish and ruins to the place of desolation, and deluding our senses 
 with the dazzling lights of Christmas ? For Heaven's sake ! let us 
 go no further !" she vehemently added, in the high excitement of 
 her feelings, and with a gesture of aversion. 
 
 Benjamin, who was also perplexed, hesitated to follow his 
 father. 
 
 " I tell you," exclaimed the latter, almost scolding, " there is no 
 cause for doubt. Have you forgotten the five baskets with bread 
 and the few fishes, for the thousands of believers on the mountains ? 
 Come, come! I promise you that to-day you shall yet be ashamed of 
 your cowardice ! " 
 
 So he led her on till they came to the dwelling of the deceased 
 shepherd, David. As they now stood before the latched door, 
 and her husband knocked, his wife listened to a secret whispering 
 inside, whilst she followed the motion of the many lights, whose 
 flickering flame glimmered through the chinks of the dilapidated 
 wall. Meanwhile, she had no time to give utterance to her joy and 
 wonder, for soon far different objects arrested her attention. On 
 the door now being opened, they entered, and a fragrant odour of 
 the yew-tree, of spiced cakes and Christmas candles came floating 
 towards them, with all the charm of the sweet, dear days of child- 
 hood. A glare, as of a thousand stars, filled the little apartment, 
 so that nothing was distinguishable but the flitting to and fro of a 
 young, beautiful lady, who like a kind fairy, in the midst of a nar- 
 row circle closed around her, was distributing her gifts, great and 
 small, and acknowledging with angel-tones the thanks and greet- 
 ings of the little ones. 
 
 '•'Anna! my Anna!" cried the wife, at the first sound of the 
 long missed voice ; and hastily disengaging her arm from her 
 husband, clasped her dear foster- daughter to her heart. 
 
 " Art thou my child — art thou ?" she inquired repeatedly, glanc- 
 ing at the noble beauty of the stranger's countenance. Then scru- 
 tinising the refined features, the taller stature, the noble carriage, 
 the richness of a gold chain, and the rings on her delicate fingers : 
 u art thou really she :" she again inquired. 
 
12 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS TREK. 
 
 The maiden, who with difficulty suppressed her tears, nodded 
 assent ; and in order to check the overpowering emotion, led her 
 foster-parents and youthful friend to the Christmas-tree, which was 
 standing in the middle of the room, surrounded with all that the 
 provident daughter had been able to procure for their entertainment 
 and delight. There lay baskets and caskets, with articles of clothing, 
 fine linen, rich furs, costly works ecclesiastical and secular, and the 
 finest flax, for the busy hands of her friend. She likewise received 
 a handsome red leather-purse, in which, as she curiously opened it, 
 she found a considerable sum, with this express designation — " For 
 the care of the sickly son." 
 
 " Child ! my dear child !" stammered the overpowered, astonished 
 woman ; "art thou so rich ? and are they good spirits that I have 
 to thank?" As she said this, she glanced, somewhat furtively, at 
 two dark-complexioned boys, who in their fire-coloured loose gar- 
 ments and coral ornaments, were, with strangely anxious looks, 
 straying amid the lights, and especially towards the fruits and sweets 
 and toys for the children. 
 
 " Be tranquil, my love," said the husband, calming the solici- 
 tude of his wife ; " I know, and will in due time inform thee of all. 
 For the present, delight thyself undisturbed, and let no anxious 
 thoughts sully thy joys." 
 
 " I do rejoice," she replied, sitting down. " Certainly, I very 
 much rejoice. But Anna, whence comest thou ? and where hast 
 thou been ? If all were magic, and thou a fairy-queen or child of 
 the fays" — 
 
 " Dear mother !" Anna interrupted her, smiling ; " we know not 
 what great things God can do. His wonders ever seem to us 
 magic." 
 
 " Right, my daughter," assented the foster father. " We take away 
 the honour from Him to whom it belongs ; and whilst we doubt in 
 Him, we give to folly and superstition a broad access to our reason. 
 Do not be foolish," he admonished his reddening spouse, familiarly 
 laying his hand on her shoulder. " Thou wilt also bethink thyself, 
 when thy mind is again in its right position, and there will then be 
 no place but for thanks and praise." 
 
 Benjamin, who meanwhile had contemplated with restless sympa- 
 thy the strange and yet to his recollection familiar form of the 
 
THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 
 
 13 
 
 young angel, as she really seemed to him, now asked whether all 
 along Anna had not invisibly been hovering around, in order to be 
 acquainted with their joys and sorrows ; and now, to gratify their 
 heartfelt longings, had returned to them in all her former truth and 
 reality. 
 
 She warmly replied, that ever since her return to her father-land, 
 it had been the sole aim of her life to inform herself of the fortunes 
 of her never-to-be-forgotten benefactors ; for whose sake, alone, 
 she had gone the long distance over the sea. 
 
 " Over the sea ? " asked the wife, as if recoiling in terror at the 
 monstrous idea. "There, where the men are of another complexion, 
 and the sun stands still day and night — hast thou been there, Anna ? 
 What villain has kept thee so long a captive ?" 
 
 "Nothing: nothing about it to-day," interposed her husband. 
 " Let it suffice that she is here. And let us be calm to hear the 
 recital." 
 
 "Ah !" replied his wife, " I think thou art well instructed, and 
 mayest easily exercise patience ; for, if I err not, Martha brought 
 thee, on the last post-day, a letter containing what we most desired. 
 Since then thou hast been, as it were, inverted ; and little prophetic 
 gift was needed to foresee some revolution in our wheel of fortune. 
 Thou needst not dissemble, old man :" she laughed slily, " and I was 
 only vexed that thou wouldst not explain thyself." 
 
 " So, so !" remarked he, smiling ; " whence, then, the dream, the 
 impatience, and the discord ? But come, children," he continued ; 
 " it was Anna's desire to greet us at her grandfather's dilapidated 
 hearth ; and to the fulfilment of this her earnest wish, I have, ac- 
 cording to my ability, with Martha's assistance, laboured in secret. 
 But now she shall be once more at home by our fireside : so con- 
 duct her after me. Thou, my son Benjamin, bring again our 
 daughter into our house." 
 
 Here he beckoned the youth with his young companion to 
 follow him ; whilst he, supporting the too happy mother, pre- 
 pared to leave the hut. But she once more cast a glance 
 behind her, and forced him also to look back ; at the same time 
 saying, " It was here, upon this spot, that I first found the dear 
 heart ; and here, also, as from the night of oblivion, has she returned 
 
 i 
 
14 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 
 
 to us. I know not how it happened, nor can I trace the connexion, 
 but this little hut has become to me as a temple that has shewed me 
 life and death, and through both has exalted my soul. There," 
 she continued, thoughtfully, pointing with extended hand towards 
 the illuminated table, " there stood old David's dying bed. The 
 shepherd's wallet and staff, with the faded ribbon which Anna's 
 grandmother gave to her young love, are resting with him under 
 the earth. Now, garlands of fresh evergreen are hanging on the 
 vacant spot. All has become new," she added, gratefully, clasp- 
 ing her hands. 
 
 " Also thy faith," whispered her husband, " let it never more 
 slumber or die," besought he, calmly pressing her to his bosom. 
 They were soon quietly seated around the arm-chair of the good 
 housewife, who had set out on the large dinner-table all her stores, 
 her glance now attracted by the gifts, now by the giver ; her pro- 
 vident mind already busy in thought, with cutting up the linen and 
 stuffs for the wants of herself and household, with counting over 
 the large sum of money, whereby she saw her beloved son restored 
 to vigour and comfort. The old man, who was reclining at his ease, 
 broke silence, by saying — " Now, dear daughter, let thy mother also 
 know the story of the past, and so let all mystery be solved." 
 
 Anna, as if struck by a sudden pain, dropped her eyelids, and 
 was unable immediately to find words for the recital. 
 
 Benjamin perceived what was passing in her mind, and as he 
 had already obtained 'the wished-for intelligence from his young 
 friend, he replied to his father, " Let us spare the fatigued one the 
 superfluous exertion. You have a letter from Anna, and I know 
 her writing is beautiful and clear. The lines contain quite enough 
 to make us content." 
 
 " Art thou so satisfied ?" said his father, laughing, or — now I 
 guess thou needest to learn nothing further ; but thy mother shall 
 hear the story from my lips. The dear maiden, at the moment when 
 I last perceived her, saw her pursuer, the captain of dragoons, amid 
 the crowd, approaching her. In her anxiety, she sprang aside 
 among the negro-boys, and seeking safety behind them, was hidden 
 as under a dark cloud. It was no contrivance, nor purpose, but 
 the working of terror that prompted her. In her anguish .she foj- 
 
THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 
 
 15 
 
 lowed the troop, which last was lost among the throng. But the 
 falcon , who had got her too well in his eye again to lose sight of her, 
 pierced through the dark maze in which she was entangled; and the 
 lads being overawed by his soldierly appearance, his threats and re- 
 proaches, he was on the point of seizing the trembling maiden, 
 when the negroes, piping aloud, called an old man, with white hair, 
 and firm, commanding aspect, to her assistance. This was the ship- 
 master, who, viewing with rising indignation the danger of the 
 young, excited child, now hastened to her rescue. ' Back !' he 
 exclaimed, as Anna unconsciously sank into his arms, fast clinging 
 to him ; ' back ! I will defend the helpless one with my last drop of 
 blood.'' In vain the captain endeavoured to make good his claim 
 to Anna with boasting words of falsehood ; in vain he swore to be 
 revenged of such resistance. The old navigator remained unshaken, 
 and, as at last the foaming Frenchman, availing himself of his mili- 
 tary dignity, gave orders to summon the watch, Anna's protector 
 drew his short broad sabre, which hung at his side, resolved rather 
 to make the last venture than expose innocence to insult. By this 
 defensive attitude he covered her retreat, while the nimble blacks 
 bore the stranger maiden to the ship, whither he slowly and 
 thoughtfully followed her." 
 
 " God be praised !" cried the pastor's wife, ardently embracing 
 her foster-child, as if she now saw her rescued from the threatened 
 misfortune. 
 
 " Do not rejoice too soon," admonished her husband. " in the 
 sphere where no one commanded but that brave old man, she 
 was indeed secure from the dragoon captain, but Heaven 
 willed for her yet another trial; for just as the ship was ready 
 for departure, unfavourable winds, and other untoward cir- 
 cumstances, caused a further delay before weighing anchor. 
 Then it sped away into the sea, and when Anna awoke from her 
 swoon, she found herself surrounded by black and white servants, 
 and reclining upon a couch in the most commodious part of the 
 cabin, comprehending no more than if she were dreaming, and 
 realizing the forgotten images of her childish imagination." 
 
 " What ! " cried the wife, interrupting her husband, " did 
 he take her with him into a strange country ? So the last event 
 
 I 2 
 
16 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 
 
 wan worse than the first. "Wherefore, then, before didst thou praise 
 the hateful sea-robber?" 
 
 " Dear mother," said Anna, appeasing her wrath, " do you blame 
 the brave, though somewhat despotic man, who, old, lonely, and 
 childless, was returning from his last voyage, more dreading a 
 useless, sickly old age, than even death ? He considered that he 
 had won my gratitude, and had bound me by perpetual obligation. 
 A daughter, a cherisher, the child of his choice he saw in me. 
 ' Thou canst have no heart within thee,' he often said, ' if thoulovest 
 not thy deliverer. Thou hast no parents, and one foster-father is 
 as good as another. None can do more for thee than I have.' " 
 
 " Nor was he, in his way, so very wrong," observed the old man ; 
 " certain it is, he meant well, and he did well. Like a princess has 
 our child lived in her splendid palace at Calcutta. The lustre of im- 
 mense riches surrounded her. Everything she had, except news from 
 her home ; for it is more than probable that none of Anna's letters 
 found their way over the ocean. It was only the death of the rich 
 factor that loosed her golden fetters. Now that he was obliged 
 to forego her presence, he no longer opposed her return to this 
 continent. By his will, wherein he had named her as his heiress, 
 he had ordered everything needful for her voyage, and suitable 
 accommodation. And now she is here," after a short pause; 
 " for the rest God will provide." 
 
 And he proceeded still further in the same kindly strain as he 
 had begun. Anna built upon the spot where stood old David's 
 hut a handsome, commodious mansion ; and when the next 
 returning festival demanded of the good village fair)' a Christmas 
 tree, it illumined the friendly hall of the new habitation, which, led 
 by Benjamin's hand, she that hallowed evening entered, thenceforth 
 not less a happy wife than a pious daughter. 
 
THE 
 
 very event has its time— so had the French revolu- 
 tion. Wherever wilfulness hreaks through the law 
 it gives something to see and to experience. In one 
 respect the whole world is a nation : people assem- 
 ble from all quarters, and join themselves to each other, in order 
 to share in what is newest. The prelude, even the early scenes of 
 that bloody catastrophe, corrupted the unprejudiced mind that did 
 not suspect the evil that lay behind. With quite incredible sim- 
 plicity, people ran to the fire, only to see it burn. One drama like 
 the other expands, agitates, and terminates in the accustomed 
 manner. It was for this reason that many travellers now met 
 together on the way to France. 
 
 On a December night, more disagreeable than inclement, in the 
 year 1790, a close-shut travelling- carriage was proceeding on the 
 road from Mayence to Strasburg; the post-horses were going for- 
 ward at a brisk trot. Well-kept roads left all the fewer hindrances 
 to be expected ; and two bright lanterns from the coach-box threw 
 down a distinct circle of light upon the ground. The more start- 
 ling was it that, on a sudden, the horses pranced aside, and the 
 postilion with difficulty kept himself and the carriage on the bal- 
 ance. The matter did not subside without much cursing and out- 
 cry, in which the servant, descending angrily from his elevated 
 seat, joined in full voice; with this difference, however, that he, in 
 
 I 3 
 
■1 
 
 THE REVOLUTIONISTS. 
 
 his wrath, gave back to the driver the abuse which the latter let 
 forth upon his horses. Owing to the noise thus occasioned, a 
 young, handsome man, within the carriage, drew his chin from 
 under a large over-lapping fur cloak, and knocking repeatedly at 
 the front window, without opening it, asked, as they were now 
 stopping, what was the matter outside. The postilion had, in the 
 meantime, dismounted ; and just as his master was directing to 
 him the question, exclaimed — " What ! a cabriolet in front, over- 
 turned in the middle of the road ! The horse with the broken-off 
 pole, must have run away ! Whoever sat there must indeed have 
 had a pretty fall !" 
 
 " Open ! Paul, open the door immediately !" was the cry from 
 out the unclosed coach window. " Perhaps those poor people are 
 losing their way, looking about here after the horse, and we can 
 help them." 
 
 Paul, who was already at the carriage, standing uncovered, and 
 turning the handle of the door, reminded his gracious master, at the 
 same time, that it was cold, damp, unpleasant weather ; that his 
 trouble would be fruitless, and that this delay on the road would 
 greatly retard their arrival at Strasburg. 
 
 " What is that to me?" replied his master. " Open I" 
 
 " Keep your seat," counselled the postilion, who in the mean- 
 time had more closely examined the remains of the damaged vehicle ; 
 " keep your seat ! it is dark as the grave all around ; one sees 
 only so far as the lamps throw a light. The unfortunates in the 
 thing there will surely have been wise enough not to hunt after the 
 beast in such darkness ; that would avail nothing. Probably they 
 have taken their luggage, and gone on, on foot. The carriage is 
 empty ; this small chest and an article of clothing, are all that they 
 have left." With these words he handed a lady's folded silk 
 mantle into the carriage, pushing after it the flat leather-covered 
 trunk, and adding — " At the next station we may probably obtain 
 information as to the owners." 
 
 Uneasy at having this strange package by him in the carriage, 
 the young man, whom Paul styled " Herr Colonel," drew himself 
 further into the corner, and yielding, not altogether unwillingly, to 
 the reasoning of the postilion, desired him only to be mindful that 
 they got forward. In an instant, they were again in motion. They 
 
THE REVOLUTIONISTS. 
 
 3 
 
 made their journey still more quickly than before ; it was as if the 
 short disturbance had made them all the more lively, and had taken 
 away from them the heaviness of the night. The postilion piped and 
 sang alternately; Paul, who was, as well as the other, a native of Alsace, 
 accorded with the custom of his people. The Colonel could not sleep, 
 but kept rocking himself to and fro ; whilst doing this, he observed 
 that a strong vapour of tuberoses filled the carriage. He searched 
 in every pocket, lest haply a small case containing this perfume 
 had accidentally opened. In feeling and grasping about, he caught 
 the mantle in his hands ; as he moved it the odour became 
 stronger. Thereupon, astonished and curious, he drew it nearer 
 towards the light ; and looked, as if questioning, at it. The black 
 sarcenet, with inlaid wadding, and bordered with lace of the same 
 colour, was new, fashionably made; the collar above adapted for 
 the slenderest, most delicate neck. Involuntarily the young tra- 
 veller let the ties which attached the folds together glide over his 
 fingers, which caused a crowd of undefined images to rush through 
 his mind. Smiling, he carefully laid aside the elegant covering 
 of an unknown, perhaps beautiful form, resolving as soon as pos- 
 sible to rid himself of it, as also of the chest. This latter was 
 about six inches deep, and a foot in diameter ; a yellow metal plate 
 concealed the lock, which seemed artfully wrought, and only to be 
 opened by a peculiar kind of key. The nearness of that strange 
 object caused the Colonel much disquiet; and scarcely had he 
 arrived at the next station than his first word was to inquire 
 after the travellers in the cabriolet. He caused the postilion to 
 describe it in the most precise manner, then he exhibited the mantle 
 which one of the persons who sat in the vehicle must have worn, in 
 order to give a clue to their recollection of the persons ; in short, 
 he neglected no means of gaining light upon the subject, and of 
 affording to those, of whom, notwithstanding all his trouble, he 
 could find no trace, the prospect of recovering their property. 
 
 With this special view he left with the postmaster a card with 
 the name — " Count Victor Medjerski, Colonel of a Polish regi- 
 ment of lancers," and added on the back, in pencil, "re- 
 mains three days in Strasburg, at the White Hotel, and in 
 case, by that time, no inquiry is made after them, will deliver 
 the found articles to the tribunal at Strasburg, to await the 
 
4 
 
 THE REVOLUTIONISTS. 
 
 claim of the rightful owners." This done, he went on to the 
 next change of horses, where he directed the same inquiries, and 
 left behind the same directions, but with as little success. He re- 
 peated this, with increasing disquietude, up to the barriers of Stras- 
 burg, where he at length arrived early in the morning, fatigued, 
 cold, and out of humour. He was surprised, on entering his 
 chamber, to find that he had involuntarily relieved the waiters of the 
 trouble of carrying up the little black portmanteau. He bore it under 
 his arm, and as he was now about to place it aside, he discovered 
 that, lost as he was in thought, the mantle also, hidden between the 
 folds of his cloak, was trailing around him. Almost ashamed, he cast 
 both aside, and his cloak upon them. 
 
 A city, such as that in which he now found himself, at so ex- 
 cited a period, could not fail, by the influx of foreigners, to occupy 
 his attention speedily in other ways. The political condition of the 
 country was that especially which had drawn the Polish colonel 
 hither. Partly from his own impulse, partly in the interest of a 
 popular party, he had undertaken the journey. Wealth, activity, 
 acuteness, with a combination of other fine qualities, rendered the 
 ardent youth adapted for observation, and the more so as nature 
 and habit had endowed his exterior with an air of dreamy indo- 
 lence, which, while it disarmed the circumspection of others, gave 
 full scope to the exercise of this quality in himself. He therefore 
 threw himself carelessly into the tumult of coffee-houses and 
 theatres, in order that he afterwards might be able to collect his 
 thoughts at the more temperate discussions of the hotel table. The 
 decree of the 27th November, against the priests who refused the 
 oath, held for the moment all eyes in stedfast gaze at what should 
 be the result of so decisive a procedure. If the example of great 
 and exalted firmness on the one side, quickened hope and courage, 
 so, on the other, thoughtless wit sharpened its scornful darts, infi- 
 delity and wild projects of liberty their bitter hatred against the 
 venerable victims of the new era. Wondering and anxious, the 
 former party beheld the king ; the latter watchfully followed on his 
 steps. He had declared himself against the apostates, and had 
 taken the persecuted under his protection. 
 
 All this enkindled the minds of the revolutionists. The newest 
 Parisian journals passed with wild haste from hand to hand ; loud 
 
THE REVOLUTIONISTS. 
 
 5 
 
 was the contention thereupon, and not seldom an empty dogmatism 
 brought one and another's written or spoken words to a bloody test. 
 So excited by one folly after another, the revolution raged in the 
 maddest manner among its adherents. Count Medjerski regarded 
 with increasing earnestness the astonishing effects of the moral dis- 
 order ; he felt disposed to have no judgment in the matter. Never- 
 theless, however, there were too many kindred elements at work 
 among the youth of those days for the daring mind of the Pole not 
 to be flushed ; for his heart was taught to beat more quickly at the 
 name of liberty. More excited than usual with much that he had heard 
 at the table, and what he himself had there spoken, he was pacing, 
 on the second night of his abode at Strasburg, amid rising projects 
 and proud expectations, up and down his chamber. His heart was 
 full, his blood was warm ; the more as a lively exclamation escaped 
 his lips, accompanied, too, by a vehement motion of his 
 hands and arms. In such agitation he came, at a turn, upon 
 something that, by a rustling noise, bespoke its nearness. The 
 sound went thrilling through his soul. He stopped, looked up, 
 and glanced at the tafleta mantle, which was hanging at its full 
 length from a beam in the wainscoting, and which seemed, with 
 its long-flowing, swelling folds, to encompass a human form. The 
 Colonel started. He had, amid the whirl of other weightier sub- 
 jects, forgotten the accidental occurrence. Involuntarily he ad- 
 vanced again with outstretched finger towards the silken stuff, as 
 if he wished to try whether that sound had arisen from the former 
 contact. The effect was naturally the same. " Hem !" thought he, 
 " dost thou urge me to a new investigation ? It is true that I have 
 as good as forgotten the whole matter ; perhaps I had here been 
 more fortunate in my endeavours." He now seriously resolved on 
 the morrow to try once more, whether in some way the 
 right clue could not be found. Besides, it was the last day of his 
 sojourn at this place, and consequently the extreme term which he 
 had fixed for returning the found articles. Thenceforward, the 
 owners, if such should appear, would have to do with the magistrate. 
 
 When a strange and sudden thought perplexes us, by intruding 
 into another circle of ideas, we are inevitably cast upon the double 
 struggle of retaining our vanishing impressions, as well as of 
 grasping those which have intervened ; the combination throws us 
 
6 
 
 THE REVOLUTIONISTS. 
 
 from our balance, and not seldom we fall into a feverish excitement, 
 which unnaturally heightens the occurrence, and gives to it in these 
 circumstances a painful dominion over the imagination. Such was 
 the Count's discomposure, on the flight of his bold plans of free- 
 dom, at the sight of the mantle, as he felt it impossible to disen- 
 tangle himself from the strange mixture of secret forebodings which 
 seemed invisibly to hang thereon. He walked repeatedly up and down 
 his chamber, rubbed his forehead with his hand, and at length 
 seated himself fatigued upon the bed, his head leaning upon his up- 
 raised arm, his gaze fixed upon the portmanteau over against him. 
 He did not directly fall asleep ; meanwhile slumber approached him, 
 in that sweet, perplexing, half-annulling of consciousness which, 
 while it gives no power to dreams, yet envelopes the senses with 
 the flocking clouds of night. In this twilight of the soul he thought 
 he saw a beautiful slender form, dazzling white, with long, fair hair, 
 and overhanging green veil, glide out of the casket and array itself 
 in the folding mantle ; the charming figure waved to and fro, as a 
 flower agitated by the wind ; at the same time he inhaled a strong 
 odour of tuberoses. Whilst he was wondering, he discovered that 
 what he had previously taken for a delicate maiden was a chalice- 
 flower, with a long stem, exactly resembling a tuberose; only of 
 larger dimensions. He felt at the moment an inward sensation, as 
 if falling from a height ; he looked around with astonished gaze, 
 and, still somewhat confused with the weariness of his first slumber, 
 was terrified at the inexplicable illusion. Scarcely had he risen and 
 collected himself than he sought to unravel the strange vision. 
 
 When, at mid-day, he went to the dining-hall, he met two ladies 
 on the staircase ; one of whom was aged, of dark countenance and 
 expressive features, and who, accompanied by a youthful beauty, ad- 
 vanced with short and hasty steps before him. The long, blonde 
 hair of the delicate creature, whom he took for the daughter of the 
 elder, covered, after the fashion of the time, half way down the 
 back ; and then again, in all its fulness and beauty, was gathered 
 up and fastened on the top : the little straw hat, with green veil, 
 which was placed rather aside and in front of the countenance, con- 
 cealed scarcely anything of the luxuriance behind. The Colonel, 
 who followed the ladies, had in this manner full opportunity to 
 admire the handsome figure and head-tire of the younger. While 
 
THE REVOLUTIONISTS. 
 
 7 
 
 the latter stopped, and turned to adjust the dress of her com- 
 panion, there met his gaze the soft features of the most delicately 
 marked profile that he had ever beheld: he also paused involuntarily 
 awaiting their further progress. Both seemed, however, to have 
 a similar intention ; at least, it was evident that it was not 
 without some embarrassment that they hesitated in their further 
 descent. To avoid the appearance of rudeness, the Count was 
 obliged to go forward; he did so, and proffering a salutation, 
 hurried by them ; he accompanied the hasty movement only by a 
 furtive glance at the fair, gentle, blushing maiden, whose downcast 
 look and attitude bespoke the expression of tranquil sorrow. Amid 
 a strange mixture of sympathy and, what seemed to him like recol- 
 lection, he paced the dinner-chamber, unconscious how the latter 
 feeling had possessed him, as he reflected that it was the perfume 
 of tuberoses which the ladies accidentally carried, that had here re- 
 called to him the little adventure of his journey. For a moment 
 he thought that, perchance, he had now met with the owners of his 
 burdensome treasure : he resolved to make further inquiries ; and, 
 in the first place, to give his skilful servant, Paul, the needful in- 
 structions for that purpose. Subsequently, however, many weightier 
 matters intervened ; especially a more intimate acquaintance with 
 a Frenchman of distinction, who had sacrificed name and station 
 for the young story of a new era, and had declared himself as a 
 champion of liberty. The interesting disclosures which the quondam 
 duke and peer of the realm was enabled to make, drew him off from 
 all else that went on around him ; so that it was only as it were by 
 mere accident that the matter again occurred to him. 
 
 Once aroused, however, and more affected by what had occurred 
 than was his wont, he could scarcely await the morrow, which 
 should afford him some means and opportunity for a decisive 
 step ; besides, it was really possible that the unknown ladies, 
 whose accidental meeting now seemed to him so significant, 
 might be the travellers in the cabriolet! What if they had hitherto 
 followed him, and, from timidity or other considerations, shunned 
 to make themselves known to a stranger ! If all had not de- 
 ceived him, the earnest, sharp eyes of the elder had been scrutiniz- 
 ingly fixed upon him when all three stood on the staircase, and 
 still rested on him when he, on entering the hall, as if accidentally, 
 
s 
 
 THE REVOLUTIONISTS. 
 
 looked backward. Unaccountable ! he now thought, that this had 
 not at once occurred to him, and that he had not at the same 
 moment used the occasion to obtain some information. But who 
 were the two, and what the cause of their timid shyness ? He had 
 dark conjectures, which yet he expressed all the less distinctly, as 
 his interest for the fair, gentle maiden, assumed ever a more de- 
 fined form ; and he felt, with each passing hour of the night, a 
 more lively impatience to seek after her. It might have been 
 about three o'clock in the morning, when the lock of a door in an 
 adjoining room was gently turned. The Colonel went forward a 
 step ; this somewhat increased the noise. " Who is there ?" he 
 cried with full-toned voice. The door opened as silently as if 
 touched by a zephyr's whisper. 
 
 " Hush !" said some one in a strange under-tone ; " hush ! we 
 are both alone, and it is for me to break silence. At last I must 
 speak." 
 
 The Count looked astonished and annoyed at the little, pale, 
 haggard man, who rudely pressed towards him, and with an air of 
 the most remarkable coolness approached him more closely. A little 
 high and proud, as was natural to his character, he thereupon replied, 
 stopping the other's way, " Who are you, sir ? and what would 
 you of me at this inconvenient hour, in so secret a manner ?" 
 
 " The first question," retorted the other, " is, between us, of no 
 importance; as to the second you will be in no doubt, when I 
 announce myself as the owner of the small trifles upon which, on 
 your journey, you had the goodness to bestow some attention." 
 
 " You the owner?" asked the Colonel, astonished. 
 
 " As I have had the honour to tell you," was the decisive answer. 
 
 The former, to whom it only now occurred that he had not acted 
 with due circumspection, in offering the articles without further 
 conditions, remarked, with a slight trace of scorn upon his lips, that 
 he might be pardoned should he hesitate to accede to a demand so 
 proposed. " Unquestionably, sir," he added, " you will be candid 
 enough to see that there is still some other proof required to induce 
 me to return what, as the property of a stranger, I am not autho- 
 rized to pass lightly from my hand." 
 
 The stranger stood with his arms folded, in a negligent attitude, 
 and looking about him with an air of indifference, exclaimed, 
 
THE REVOLUTIONISTS. 9 
 
 shrugging his shoulders, " Bah ! how many useless ceremonies 
 about such trifles. From your haste to be rid of the things, I had 
 not expected this punctiliousness." 
 
 " It needs not oflend you," replied Count Medjerski, " if, through 
 your interposition, I first recognised my own thoughtlessness." 
 
 "Ah!" cried the stranger, quickly raising his head; yet, as 
 bethinking himself, adding with jovial irony, " yes, truly, my way 
 of making visits has something striking in it ; meanwhile, how- 
 ever this may be, here I am. After all, you cannot but trust me 
 as well as any other person who may ask you for a little black chest 
 with yellow metal plate, and a lady's mantle, both of which you 
 have exhibited at all the stations, enough to authorize numberless 
 similar applications. I was curious as to your proof of the validity 
 of the claim." 
 
 The Colonel, irritated at the light scorn that made him feel his 
 want of deliberation, did not reflect a moment, but fixing his eyes 
 sharply and firmly on his unwelcome visitor, rejoined, " The proof, 
 sir, lies in the possession of the key belonging to the chest ; so 
 soon as this is opened before me, I am quite ready to surrender my 
 rights." 
 
 " Hem !" replied the stranger thoughtfully. " And if the key 
 should be lost, and the owner unable to comply with your demand?" 
 
 " Well, then indeed," hastily interrupted the other, " the chest 
 must be forcibly opened, and the claim to its contents be justified 
 by the owner first describing them, his statement being verified 
 by the inspection." 
 
 Here the stranger, in visible emotion, retreated a step, and stretch- 
 ing himself up in height towards the youth, with the strangest ex- 
 pression of pride and embarrassment, inquired, " How? could you 
 make that demand ?" 
 
 " And why not ?" was the confident answer. 
 
 " Why not ?" replied the former vehemently. " And if, through 
 an unnecessary curiosity, you should drag some precious secret into 
 light, heap insult and reproach upon more than one unpolluted 
 head, and for the sake of an untimely conscientiousness should ex- 
 pose your own conscience to far bitterer struggles? Young man," 
 he added, with increasing warmth, " young man, human rights, like 
 everything upon earth, have their Janus-face ; the Divine Word 
 
 K 
 
1 
 
 THE REVOLUTIONISTS. 
 
 alone is single. It tells us, ' Love thy neighbour as thyself.' Can 
 you love without confiding ? And what entitles you, after this com- 
 mand, to harbour greater suspicion against me than against your- 
 self? In times like the present, an action, an event, the conduct of 
 a man, often looks quite otherwise than as he is inwardly disposed. 
 My nocturnal surprise may astonish you ; but why explain it in the 
 most invidious manner r" 
 
 " Not that, sir," said the Count, interrupting him ; " but I abide 
 by the sense of your own words. In a time like the present, one 
 should neither be deterred nor yet deceived by outward appearances. 
 It may be that, through overhastiness, I have, in other ways, placed 
 persons in a painful perplexity, who have more reason to claim my 
 circumspection than you have. I must, therefore, require that you 
 will allow the condition just proposed to hold good. You will not, by 
 this, expose your secret, if such exists, to any further indiscretion ; 
 for I pledge my honour to observe the deepest silence, as to what 
 may be the contents of the little chest." 
 
 " If a word of honour is here of any avail," exclaimed the stran- 
 ger, angrily, " I can demand for mine as much regard as you for 
 yours. But, distrust against distrust ! I have no wish to enter into 
 stipulations, and am resolved, at any cost, to get possession of my 
 property, and stake my life upon the game. Therefore, sir," he 
 continued, after a momentary silence, " I give you four-and-twenty 
 hours for reflection. To-morrow night, about his hour, I shall 
 inquire your resolution ; and, should you remain in your present 
 mind, to determine immediately on the weapons, among which you 
 may then decide." 
 
 It seemed, at this moment, as if a third "person said something. 
 At least the Count thought he heard 'another voice besides 
 that of the one who stood before him. He therefore looked 
 around, and meanwhile the other left the room. The door 
 sprang silently into the lock. Nothing afterwards betrayed 
 the nearness of a living being. 'Hie incident was most mysterious. 
 The Colonel's sensibilities were vividly excited, yet he saw no 
 way out of the labyrinth. Perhaps, at first, he had been too 
 scrupulous as to the delivery of the strange articles ; but after the 
 turn the discussion had taken, he could not be a hair's breadth more 
 yielding. The necessity for thus acting was evident. With this he 
 
THE REVOLUTIONISTS. 
 
 11 
 
 had been able to content himself ; but the danger of lying under 
 a misinterpretation troubled him with the most painful uncertainty, 
 whether he should not avoid the unequal contest with a probably 
 much-oppressed man, and adopt a middle course to solve the mis- 
 understanding. Innumerable were the conflicting thoughts that 
 strove within him. Vexed at having met with so embarrassing an 
 adventure, which had, besides, a romantic and ridiculous aspect, he 
 wished rather to think no more of it ; and throwing himself on the 
 bed, fell asleep till the bright morning. 
 
 The cheerful flame on the hearth, at which the house-servant was 
 busy laying on wood, awoke him in an agreeable manner. He 
 looked up enlivened, and as everything now seemed to him more 
 natural and intelligible than during the night, his blood flowed more 
 tranquilly, and the warm glow of the room banishing thence all evil- 
 spirits, he saw in the somewhat ghostly visit only a piece of cunning 
 knavery — in him who practised it an adventurer — in the duel an in- 
 timidation. Thus determined, he laughed out boldly, as he thought, 
 at the high words, and the ill-concealed disquiet with which they were 
 uttered. The more he contemplated the diminutive man in the 
 coloured hues which the day-light reflected, the more he discovered 
 in him what was improbable and fictitious. It was, therefore, with 
 no particular interest that he inquired of the youth at the fire-place, 
 who might be the occupant of the adjoining room. 
 
 The lad looked at him, and, with an air as if doubting the ques- 
 tion, repeated, "Who occupies the adjoining room?" 
 
 Whereupon the Colonel nodding assent, the other, shaking his 
 head, assured him that for four days it had stood empty. 
 
 " Thou art mistaken," was the reply ; " only last night I heard a 
 noise in it !" 
 
 The youth, laughing, persisted in his assurance, and proposed, in 
 order to be quite clear on the matter, that the butler — who just then 
 was passing — should unlock the door, and let the gentleman be con- 
 vinced by his own eyesight. 
 
 Count Medjerski, willing to be satisfied, called to the butler, who 
 thereupon came in. The door being opened, showed a room quite 
 empty, and which, for a long time, had to all appearance remained 
 unoccupied. 
 
 " Incomprehensible said the Count, on entering; "I could 
 
 k 2 
 
12 
 
 THE REVOLUTIONISTS. 
 
 have sworn" — and he cast a scrutinising glance around without 
 saying anything further. 
 
 The familiar odour of tuberoses, which like something super- 
 natural floated towards him, bewildered his thoughts. He turned 
 away so perplexed, that on the butler triumphantly saying, " You 
 see now, sir !" he made no answer ; and left the two laughing 
 between themselves at his error. 
 
 " Intolerable !" said he, throning himself into an elbow-chair by 
 the fire-side ; " What mean these fooleries and mummeries ? To 
 me they are ill applied. Nothing is so distasteful to me as such 
 stage-tricks !" 
 
 Meanwhile, it appeared as if fate would try his patience with 
 more such tests ; for now, just as loud discontent and secret longings 
 divided his mind, a repeated knocking at the door aroused him to a 
 disquiet for which he could scarcely excuse himself. Yet he re- 
 mained silent, as Paid was not present ; and the concourse in taverns, 
 as everywhere, so also here, was insupportable. But this kind of 
 denial would not do. Without further inquiry there entered a man, 
 having on his head a round basket with apples and other winter fruits, 
 and making with both his vacant hands a variety of strange and un- 
 intelligible signs, after the manner of deaf and dumb persons. 
 
 The Count, who felt within the strife of sympathy and aversion, 
 did not oppose his entrance. He allowed him to approach nearer, 
 looked at and handled his wares, which he intimated might be placed 
 on an empty dish standing by ; after which, the other pocketing 
 the payment, signified with the wild vehemence of impotency, by 
 look, signs, and gesture, what he could not utter. Anxious for his 
 riddance, the Colonel warned him away with his hand, and having 
 turned his back upon him, the unfortunate, with repeated obeisances, 
 took his leave. 
 
 " Must not the fresh, smiling fruit, by their alluring glances, 
 invite him to life's enjoyment, who, nevertheless, is excluded from 
 it r" thought Count Medjerski, as he looked sorrowfully after the 
 mute. . 
 
 He seated himself again in his arm-chair, and played with the 
 apples on the plate. As his fingers glided to and fro, he perceived 
 that he held a billet in his hand, which had been sticking between 
 the fruit. " What is this ?" he exclaimed, holding the neatly folded 
 
THE REVOLUTIONISTS. 13 
 
 note closer to his eye. It was directed to himself—" A new Comedy I" 
 He smiled jestingly, uncertain whether he should break the seal. 
 Curiosity, and perhaps another motive, more hidden and dangerous 
 than that, induced him to tear off the envelope, and amid quick 
 heart-throbbings, he read the following : — 
 
 " An extraordinary fate demands extraordinary measures. Think here 
 of nothing that happens in the accustomed manner. Let every voice be 
 silenced but that of humanity. This cannot deceive you; and even though 
 it should, yet console yourself with this, that to be so deluded is an honour 
 that outweighs the value of temporal things, there, where we are estimated 
 according to the measure that we mete to others. Listen to the prayer of 
 an unfortunate, whom your obstinacy, sir, threatens to deprive of her last 
 protector. Deliver the articles in question this evening in the twilight, to 
 the dumb man, who will wait at your door until you admit him. I add 
 nothing further. If there be faith and confidence in your soul, they will 
 both prevail ; if not, what would avail the assurance that you will only 
 deliver to the rightful owner what belongs to her ?" 
 
 The Colonel gazed at the fine hand- writing. It was that of a lady, 
 written hastily, yet very distinctly. " Suppose she were so ?" 
 thought he. The beautiful form, the downcast eye, the troubled 
 mein ! All spoke the recollection to his heart. " And if not," 
 lie exclaimed, resolutely, " thy apparition, heavenly being, has 
 once made intercession, whether for thyself or some other ! 
 Yes !" he repeated, " I set all other considerations aside ; even 
 that of a jealous feeling of honour. Thou sayest, however, un- 
 known being, those warm emotions of the heart will still glow, when 
 the dream of life expires ! And what thou sayest" — 
 
 Here a noise, outside, in the passage, startled him. He hid the 
 paper in his bosom, and hastily locked mantle and chest in a cup- 
 board, putting the key in his pocket, as the young republican Duke, 
 inquiring after him with a loud voice, entered the room. He held 
 in his hand letters and papers, both of which he threw on the table, 
 and himself into the next chair. 
 
 " Truly," he exclaimed, " that sets the crown on the mad tricks ! 
 They are actually putting the weapons into the people's hands. 
 Will you believe it ? The Count of Provence has fled — the King is 
 making secret preparations to follow him— and the rebel priests are 
 paving his way. In all circumstances and affairs these persons find, 
 under some pretext, the way and means of evasion. No one, in this 
 way or that, is sure of meeting them, Nay, it is possible," he added 
 
 K 3 
 
14 
 
 THE REVOLUTIONISTS. 
 
 hesitatingly, half laughing, half arrested by the fancy, " it is possi- 
 ble that you, my dear Count, with all your outward shew of republi- 
 can enthusiasm, may be a masked priest, and he secretly pronouncing 
 over me the anathema/' 
 
 " You are jesting," replied the Count, "with too much bitterness 
 over an order that is equally adverse to your purposes, and opposed 
 to your convictions. You ought rather to honour the firmness 
 which makes every sacrifice to conscience." 
 
 " Every sacrifice :" cried the other repeatedly, indignantly start- 
 ing from his seat. " Oh, you little know to what these men are 
 forcing us. It matters naught to you that family bonds are rent 
 asunder, and the father-land split into manifold dissensions : you 
 have neither family nor father-land. Everywhere is your home, if 
 only you find room for crafty instigations. Me !" he exclaimed, 
 striking his breast with the same vehemence as he spoke the words ; 
 "me it is, that their perilous influence robs of life's repose. 
 Therefore, if only I scent the presence of one of your boxes, my 
 blood foams over with effervescing flame." 
 
 " I hope it is not my presence," said Medjerski, " that so discon- 
 certs your humour." 
 
 " No, Colonel," replied the Duke ; " but if all has not deceived 
 me, I have to-day met a very suspicious object quite in the neigh- 
 bourhood of your chamber, and truly in a singular guise." 
 
 " Explain yourself more distinctly," responded the other, drily. 
 
 " We will not allow it to be disagreeable," smiled the young 
 Frenchman, at the same time drawing nearer to the table, and tak- 
 ing one of the apples, as he remarked gaily, while eating it, " one 
 cannot now-a-days vouch for anything. Heaven only knows with 
 whom, in such a house as that in which we now are, we may not be 
 dwelling, under the same roof. Indeed, it is possible that even the 
 Count of Provence might be haunting about here in some disguise." 
 
 " Y'ou take him to be a very strange fellow," said the Colonel, as 
 a dark conjecture flashed upon him, and he felt almost terrified at 
 the undefined thought. This might in some degree have been 
 reflected on his countenance ; for the Duke, fixing his eyes upon 
 him, said — 
 
 " And you take it very seriously. But come," he added care - 
 lessly ; " it is time to go to the dinner-table. They have been some 
 
THE REVOLUTIONISTS. 
 
 rs 
 
 time assembling in the dining-hall, and my purpose in coming was 
 to fetch you.*' 
 
 Here he packed together the papers which he had previously 
 thrown down, and which, in the first excitement of the received in- 
 telligence, he had brought with him. As he was arranging them, 
 he put aside one not belonging to the rest. On this he cast only an 
 accidental glance, which sufficed, however, to chase the blood into 
 his cheeks, and then to leave them pale and colourless. Hastily 
 catching at the object of so overpowering an impression, he 
 stammered — 
 
 " How do you come by this handwriting r Since when ? I pray 
 you, whence ? And in what way did you get possession of a letter 
 addressed to you by that hand?" 
 
 The Count, who, without any dread of a possible betrayal, had 
 laid on the table, as of no importance, the empty cover of the lately 
 received note, now also changed colour. Disagreeably perplexed 
 by the idea that he might now be involuntarily entangled, either in 
 the secret play of a strange intrigue, or in the fate of persons wholly 
 unknown, he answered, not without a visible effort to collect 
 himself — 
 
 " I really regret, sir, that I am unable to give you any informa- 
 tion. No one can be more ignorant in the matter than I am, to 
 whom neither recollection nor conjectures afford any probable 
 trace of the author." 
 
 M Enough!" said the other, interrupting him; sf you wish to be 
 indebted to me for the answer. The entire web of a diabolical 
 artifice lies stretched out before me ! But be you assured I will 
 tear it asunder. The traitress who has confided in your protection, 
 is infallibly here. The wafer is still wet, that sealed the delicate 
 note." With these words, he passionately crushed the fateful paper, 
 and then with tremulous voice continued : " You have contrived me 
 for your game ! outwitted, scorned — " here his voice failed him ; 
 u yet, sir," he exclaimed angrily, e * you shall render me an account 
 upon the spot, here in this room, this very moment ! I care for 
 nothing more. Only with my life shall you dispute with me the 
 possession of the only property on which I lay any value. Well 
 now," he continued, quite out of himself; ' f do not long bethink 
 yourself. There are pistols, which, it is to be hoped, are well loaded. 
 
THE REVOLUTIONISTS* 
 
 A fortune-hunter," said he, laughing with bitter rage, " may not 
 go upon adventures without such precautions." 
 
 " Hold !" cried Count Medjerski, with a calmness that seemed to 
 mock the other's vehement passion ; f< I have allowed you to finish. 
 I could afford to do so. My name, as my person, is subject to no mis- 
 interpretation. You are involved in a singular error ; and still more 
 singular is it, that I am not in the least able to convince you of the 
 contrary. Now I should not perhaps wish it," he smiled with con- 
 strained mildness, " even were it in my power. As to all else, I 
 am ready to satisfy your demand ; only I must beg a few hours' 
 delay, as I have first to adjust a previous affair which still detains 
 me at this place." 
 
 " How, sir r" exclaimed the Duke impetuously ; " if you have 
 kindled the flame on both sides, and hope to extinguish one fire by 
 means of the other ? But be upon your guard ! I shall watch you. 
 And if I am obliged to unite against you with my bitterest foe, I 
 will hunt you from your prey." 
 
 " We do not understand one another,*' said the Colonel, coolly ; 
 (S wherefore more words ? May I beg ?" he continued, opening the 
 door ; " we were going to the dining-hall. I, for my part, feel very 
 hungry." 
 
 The Duke stamped with his foot. " At what hour shall I again 
 meet you here ?" he asked, with naming eyes. 
 
 " Early to-morrow morning, at seven o'clock," was the answer. 
 
 Both now greeted each other with a mute salutation. Medjerski 
 locked the door, and descended the staircase; the other rushed 
 angrily into his room. 
 
 Amid the thousand bewildering thoughts that, during the meal- 
 time, sped through the Count's mind, the question arose whether by 
 that seductive thread, he might not become entangled in the subtle 
 plans of the royalist party ; and even unconsciously serve as the 
 instrument of their plans. Who was the mysterious little man r 
 Distinguished, repulsive, thoughtful, bold, all bespoke a person of 
 high birth. Perhaps he was one of the retinue of the Count of 
 Provence ; perhaps some one high in confidence. But she ! she ! 
 who was she r His gloomy look, as these contemplations sank 
 within him, lay fixed on one spot. In restless agitation he had 
 several times thrust his hand into his bosom, and there feeling the 
 
THE REVOLUTIONISTS. 
 
 17 
 
 letter, had pressed it closer to his breast. It might be that a rustle 
 of the paper struck upon his neighbour's ear, for a voice behind him 
 said to him softly, " Burn quickly what you already should long since 
 have destroyed." He looked round astonished. An elderly lady 
 who had sat on the same side of the table, and had just left her seat, 
 was passing his chair. Beneath her large bonnet, his met an eye, 
 whose piercing and commanding expression he seemed to recognise. 
 " Was she not the companion of the beautiful maiden on the stairs I 
 and again" — He became quite confused. His nocturnal visitant- 
 he could have sworn it was the same countenance. 
 
 " You seem to know the lady ?" inquired a gentleman opposite. 
 
 " Slightly," he replied, in embarrassment. 
 
 " Perhaps an old, scolding aunt," laughed the other jokingly ; 
 " who, as she passed, whispered you a reproof." 
 
 " You are upon the right track," said the Colonel carelessly, who 
 felt uncomfortable at the strange interference. 
 
 " Now," said the other, who was the host, and a jovial man, 
 pleasant to everybody ; " the good lady meant no evil. She is from 
 the country, and often travels hither on her way to her rela- 
 tions beyond the Rhine." 
 
 " So her appearance is not strange to you ?" asked several at the 
 table, whose attention her whisper on passing had attracted. 
 
 " So little," returned the host, " that I know by sight all the 
 members of her family, and the reference to the Colonel was well 
 understood by me." 
 
 The latter, as entirely convinced of the contrary of what was now 
 said, as of his own existence, startled at first ; yet it was not long 
 before the idea occurred to him that the clever inn-keeper, in 
 the confidence of the incomprehensible secret, wished, in a skilfu 
 manner, to anticipate the inquiry to which he well knew the very 
 appearance of the lady, and still more her familiar approach to the 
 chair, would excite the attention of the curious. He was the more 
 confirmed in his conjectures, as the talkative man avoided his 
 glance, whilst he spoke at great length concerning the name, rank, 
 and relations of the singular lady. Hereupon, for a while, all made 
 themselves merry with the lady. Her several peculiarities, as her 
 sprightly manner, her bonnet and mantle pushed behind as she sat 
 at table, her way of holding her fan, her hasty and frequent resort 
 
18 
 
 THE REVOLUTIONISTS. 
 
 to a large snuff box, her taciturnity while eating, next to the com- 
 manding expression of her countenance, were the subject of much 
 conversation and laughter. 
 
 Medjerski laughed not. His breast was, in many ways, stormiiy 
 agitated. He could scarcely await the opportunity of speaking 
 alone with the host, who had so unexpectedly contributed to his 
 right understanding of the matter. At length the table was cleared, 
 the guests were scattered, and the host went to his business. The 
 Colonel availed himself of the general movement ; he left the hall 
 with the purpose of obtaining further light in the right direction. 
 To his vexation, he saw himself followed at every step by the man 
 who was deaf and dumb. He seemed determined, at his assigned 
 post, to execute conscientiously the commission he had received. 
 By the alarming vivacity of his features, and the confused hurry 
 of his finger-language, he expressed his impatience and ex- 
 pectation. The Colonel was so disturbed by his demeanour, 
 that, partly to be rid of him, partly to obtain liberty for fur- 
 ther measures; and, with the intention of sending some hasty 
 lines to reproach the strangers for his concerted meeting with 
 the mysterious night-walker, gave him a beckon, and ran with him 
 up the stairs. It being already dusky in the side passages, the 
 lamps not yet kindled, Paul absent, and both butler and waiter 
 busy below, the Count had some trouble in the darkness before he 
 could fit the door-lock with the key. Whilst he was still clattering 
 at the door, he heard short, hasty steps approaching, and a voice of 
 anxious emotion whispered — 
 
 " For God's sake ! into the very next room ! It was he ! I 
 recognised him. He is following us. I am undone !" 
 
 Medjerski had his hand upon the latch of the door, which, at the 
 same instant opened, as the fugitives followed by their pursuer, 
 rushed with them into his chamber, where, in the absence of lights, 
 they were standing together, all unknown to each other, paralyzed 
 by an involuntary terror, speechless, and in uncertainty, and only re- 
 called to a fearful consciousness, by the hollow, half-brutish efforts 
 of the dumb man's stammer. 
 
 It was not long before a voice from the midst which betrayed the 
 Duke's presence, exclaimed, " Ah. Natalie ! so it was reserved for 
 me to find you again r J 
 
THE REVOLUTIONISTS. 
 
 19 
 
 " In vain/' she stammered, scarcely mastering her senses u should 
 I endeavour to deceive you as to my person. Yet," collecting her- 
 self, she added in a firmer tone, " what right have you to this ? 
 Yes, sir, I am she, I am that. Natalie, who in better days was your 
 betrothed ; and who now, as an impassable gulf of convictions and 
 principles divides us, is flying with a relation from her father-land 
 to bury herself and her recollections in a distant cloister." 
 
 This explanation, which also sensibly affected the Colonel, so 
 entirely occupied the attention of the Duke, that the words ; " Now 
 quickly deliver the trunk to the dumb man, and then away with 
 this," were whispered by the maiden in Medjerski's ear, and he 
 was able to assist in fulfilling the purpose. Already the fateful 
 chest was in the destined hands, when Paul entered with two lights 
 so suddenly that the other, in his wild hurry, let fall his entrusted 
 treasure to the ground. At the same moment the lid sprang open, 
 and showed, with the portrait of the queen, letters and parcels that 
 betrayed in whose interests the owners were commissioned. Natalie's 
 companion hesitated not a moment. Stripping off the mask, the 
 Colonel's nocturnal visitant, holding in one hand a small crucifix, 
 which he carried on a rosary at his breast, in the other holding a 
 pistol towards the Duke, advanced to the picture, whilst his kind- 
 ling eyes, still more than his menacing voice, exclaimed — 
 
 " Back ! back ! in the name of heaven and earth !" 
 
 The Duke was visibly astonished ; yet the other knew how quite 
 to paralyze him, as with countenance fast set upon him, he 
 added — 
 
 " Apostate from the church, as from your anointed king ; sooner 
 or later, an offended conscience will avenge the wanton outrage. 
 Horrible youth ! my arm is, through higher power, furnished with 
 weapons. Wilt thou, however, betray me and this heroic maiden, who, 
 devoting herself to the service of her mistress, as well as to heaven's, 
 has hitherto been the stay of a persecuted priest, wilt thou, I say, be- 
 tray us ? Come on ! I will purchase every step with blood." 
 
 Natalie, in the meanwhile, had grasped the Duke's hand. She 
 said only, " Fare thee well !" with an expression of voice, with a 
 look and gesture so beseeching, as almost seemed to' sound, "Come 
 with me !" He looked at her quite disarmed, struck both hands 
 over his face, and neither saw nor hindered that she with the 
 
20 
 
 THE REVOLUTIONISTS. 
 
 ecclesiastic on her ami gently stole from the room, and soon after 
 left the house. 
 
 As now the two were left alone, they sank overpowered into 
 one another's arms. A few hasty words were all that elucidated 
 what still remained mysterious. Was it the sight of the beautiful 
 maiden ? was it the influence of a noble, pious disposition, that, 
 true to its faith, at no moment wavered ? Suffice it that the 
 Count's republican ardour so gradually cooled in Strasburg, that, 
 after a few days, he proceeded on his journey homeward. The host, 
 it seemed, had informed him as to several particulars ; he was well 
 i nstructed, and in the confidence of the ecclesiastic, who had re- 
 course to him, owing to that mischance with the broken cabriolet and 
 the runaway horse, in order to regain the lost property. How both 
 acted in concert is evident. 
 
 At a later period, would the reader know, Natalie had not taken 
 the veil, but the Duke forsook the rebel-party, and took the oath 
 under Conde's banners. After a time, on the hand of his youth's 
 love, he returned to France, where, in the year 1814, he again 
 sought Medjerski at the head of the Russian regiments. Who the 
 ecclesiastic was remained unknown. 
 
f ^^^^0R several years after the peace of 1763, there lived 
 illSvPc?' at Berlin tne widow of a bookseller, of the name of 
 Fonrobert, in a high, narrow, dark-looking house, 
 WM$^ situate at the end of " The Brothers' Street," ad- 
 joining St. Peter's Church Yard. The aged lady continued th e 
 business of her deceased husband with good success, by the aid 
 of a skilful and honest assistant. Herr Etienne, like his princi- 
 pal, was of the French settlement, and, besides the bonds of 
 nationality, was personally his relative ; and being a poor, but 
 useful member of the family in which he had been trained and 
 brought up, he was, at last, as intermediate between confidant 
 and servant, appointed head manager of the business. 
 
 During the agitations of the war-time, every species of com- 
 merce had suffered manifold shocks : but especially had the field 
 been narrowed for intellectual productions. The spread of 
 French literature, which occasioned such early success to the ac- 
 tive, sharp-witted foreigner, must, under the hostile influences of 
 the time, have experienced the most discouraging checks; so that 
 speculation was at a stand, and only diligence and carefulness 
 availed to extricate the business from its heavy and still increasing 
 burdens. Here it was that the sprightly, joyous Fonrobert, ever 
 more disposed to a rash forwardness than to a timid forbearance, 
 especially needed the calmness of his companion. Gentle and 
 
 L 
 
2 VALERIE. 
 
 even-tempered in all things, the latter took no useless step, made 
 no ambitious movement, did not reach far forward, though, un- 
 perceived, he by small degrees provided for the future ; and thus, 
 by such measures, retrieved his temporarily embarrassed vocation. 
 
 At a later period, Madame Fonrobert had every reason to be 
 thankful for such a procedure : she saw herself, after the sud- 
 den death of her only son, and that which quickly followed, of 
 her husband, supported by a friend, to whom she owed not only 
 the assistance of the moment, but the comfort of a station which 
 exactly corresponded to her modest and peaceful spirit. The mute 
 sorrow of her gentle soul desired nothing more from life than 
 quietness, and an unanxious resignation to the course of outward 
 events. In her first terror she would have fled altogether from the 
 cares of the domestic circle, for she had not the power actively to 
 contend with them ; she therefore blessed the hand of the faithful 
 Etienne, who had so easily conducted her out of those days of 
 darkest anguish to the old habits of her former life. Though all 
 within her was as if dead and palsied, yet, without everything re- 
 mained in place ; and, from henceforth, that which one day brought 
 might also be expected from the morrow. Gradually her sorrow 
 subsided into the depths of her soul, and nothing thereof remained 
 for the rest of her life but the need, from long habit, of an un- 
 changeable tranquillity. Nowhere could more order and regularity 
 be seen than prevailed in her house. She seldom left the little back 
 room which immediately adjoined the shop. Herr Etienne spent 
 the greatest part of the day in a small latticed apartment between 
 the two, for the double purpose of being to both places — as cir- 
 cumstances might require — immediately at hand. Here he 
 managed his correspondence, made his calculations, gave and 
 received commissions, and was in all these occupations scarcely 
 ever disturbed by the intrusion of her to whom he had devoted a 
 whole life, full of labour and exertion. Exactly as during the life- 
 time of her husband, did Madame Fonrobert now remain free from 
 all participation in the affairs of business — as formerly, she only 
 conversed with her kinsman at meal-times, and shewed herself fully 
 content when, now and then, from the nearness of the solitary 
 being, his dry, hectic cough convinced her that she was still con- 
 nected, through benevolence and gratitude, with the living world. 
 
VALERIE. 
 
 3 
 
 At six o'clock, in the harvest and winter seasons, the shop was 
 closed ; in the longer days this happened an hour later. As soon 
 as the closing' doors had creaked into the corners, the bolts been 
 driven, and the iron bars had rattled, the old servant maid arose 
 from her comfortable seat on the chimney hearth, in order to pre- 
 pare the light supper for her mistress. When she had served it, 
 and placed a seat against the little table, Madame Fonrobert, 
 taking a small hand-bell, gently rang it, which was the accustomed 
 signal to the already waiting company. Immediately the door 
 opened, when, almost un perceived, the quiet man entered, and 
 having made his greeting, noiselessly took his seat ; then laying 
 aside his manuscripts and printing toils, he tasked himself to get 
 up an enlivening conversation, which reminded both of better 
 days, and especially of a journey into France, in which Madame 
 Fonrobert had accompanied her husband. This brighter epoch of 
 her existence recurred to her as with the early dawn of youth, and 
 gave to its recalling images a surpassing warmth and liveliness. 
 Involuntarily, the generally inactive fancy of the dull, sickly 
 lady, was thus enlivened ; and though she was far removed from 
 encouraging the wish for similar enjoyments, yet she loved what- 
 ever might lead back her thoughts to the lighter materials of a 
 harmless gaiety. The repeated requests to continue the conversa- 
 tion — which always began with the words, " You know, Monsieur 
 Etienne" — were by him carefully regarded. He always knew what she 
 wished to be told, and was only silent when, having wiped her fork, 
 she laid it aside as a signal that the meal-time was over : then he 
 left his seat, helped the good Anna to remove the cloth, opened for 
 her the door, which she gently drew after her, filled the drink-cup 
 of the little Bolognese dog, that was frisking and sniffing by his 
 side, poured out for himself a glass of fresh water, which he held 
 in one hand, whilst with the other he took down from the chimney- 
 piece a little oblong chest, by which movement he could seldom 
 prevent the dominoes which it contained from clattering, and 
 Madame Fonrobert's exclamation, " Aha ! our play S" which some- 
 what displeased him, as he really only contemplated devoting the 
 little pastime to some useful purpose, but did not wish to be mind- 
 ful of the thing itself. As, however, the same misluck befell him 
 every evening, it came, at last, to belong to the established order of 
 
 L 2 
 
4 
 
 VALERIE. 
 
 things, and was not to be omitted. For one short hour, then, the quiet 
 play lasted, only interrupted by the short, husky cough of poor 
 Etienne. After nine o'clock there was seldom a light seen in the 
 widow's chamber. 
 
 Contrary to all custom, one rough and stormy evening in au- 
 tumn, the domino game of the two friendly combatants had been 
 prolonged, through various little stratagems and calculations of the 
 complaisant kinsman, beyond the appointed hour. Madame Fon- 
 robert was in her best humour : she amused herself in watching 
 for the failure of her wary opponent, and laughed almost audibly 
 whenever she had the good fortune to catch him. While she was 
 considering her play, she was suddenly terrified by the growling of 
 the little dog, which, from lying behind her on the sofa cushion, 
 sprang up, and as, from the approach of something strange, began, 
 first in a low tone, then more briskly, to bark. She looked about after 
 him in astonishment, and endeavoured to quiet him. But quick as 
 lightning the little beast flew by her, into a side-chamber that stood 
 open, and where the windows looked toward the street. Formerly 
 the deceased Fonrobert had occupied this room ; it was now empty, 
 yet the affectionate spouse loved to have it opened and lighted of 
 an evening. In the strangest emotion she followed the dog, which 
 kept springing from chair and table on to the window-board, and 
 barking out still more vehemently against the panes. Amidst the 
 noise hereby occasioned, there was plainly distinguishable the 
 moaning voice of a human being crying for help. At the same 
 moment the house-bell was rung with such violence, that Madame 
 Fonrobert, so accustomed to quietness, trembled in every limb, 
 and sinking on a chair, could imagine nothing else than that, in 
 the midst of peace, the enemy was breaking into the unguarded 
 capital. The same terror again agitated her, as again it rang, and 
 more vehemently. Herr Etienne had already a light, and the 
 house-key in his hand, when his relative, with disturbed mien, 
 stammered out, " Where are you going? to the robbers and incen- 
 diaries, who are storming the house ? For God's sake stay here — 
 stay here, Etienne !" 
 
 " Some one is calling for help," he replied softly, bowed, and in 
 an instant was out at the door. 
 
 "Now it is all over with us !" exclaimed Madame Fonrobert, as 
 
VALERIE. 
 
 5 
 
 Anna rushed into the room to inquire the cause of the unwonted 
 tumult. "The Russians and Hungarians are here again! they 
 will plunder all the houses ! and whoever opposes them is doomed 
 to death !" 
 
 "The Hungarians!" screamed Anna, as if demented, whilst she 
 covered her head with her upraised apron. With hurried steps the 
 book-keeper now approached them ; he thrust his head in at the 
 door, beheld the two frantic women, and in perplexity asked, in a 
 low and uncertain tone, " Dare I, madam ?— A helpless creature 
 begs for your protection." 
 
 " What can I do?" replied Madame Fonrobert, starting back in 
 terror. 
 
 " Protect grace and innocency," was the modest answer. 
 
 " Force their persecutors here to us ; who will then escape from 
 their revenge?" exclaimed the lady. 
 
 "Anguish and want are the persecutors," replied Etienne : 
 " these will remain without, if we allow the persecuted to come in." 
 
 With these words he entered the room, dragging after him, al- 
 most by main-force, a sobbing, trembling young maiden. 
 
 " What !" exclaimed Madame Fonrobert, quite angry, " is it a 
 child that lias made all this alarm ? and are you bringing the im- 
 petuous little creature into our quiet house r" 
 
 She said this and more, softly and hastily in her mother-tongue, 
 partly because she was accustomed to use this to her relative, and 
 partly not to be understood by the unwelcome guest. However, 
 immediately after the first words the little maiden raised her head 
 with an astonished air, and fixing upon her her fine dark eyes, full 
 of intelligent expression, replied quickly and passionately in the 
 same language — 
 
 " Ah ! do not fear, madam ; I do not wish to be burdensome to 
 any one here. I only ask for a glass of water to moisten the tongue 
 of a dying woman." 
 
 She could scarcely pass the last words over her quivering lips ; 
 whilst, at the same time, the beseeching and vehement motion of her 
 uplifted hands showed how ardently she desired the accomplishment 
 of that little wish. Herr Etienne hasted to do as she desired, whilst 
 Madame Fonrobert, most deeply agitated by the strange expression 
 of the beautiful child, repeated with every token of sympathy — 
 
 l 3 
 
6 VALERIE. 
 
 " A dying woman ! For God's sake where, then ? pray tell, my 
 poor maiden. Who is dying, and where ?" 
 
 Unable to repress her tears, she replied by pointing with upraised 
 arm toward the street ; and Etienne, drawing on his coat, ran with 
 her to the door. 
 
 " Go with them, Anna," said her mistress ; " see what happens, 
 and bring me word." 
 
 A murmuring and bustle in the street, occasioned by the concourse 
 of a multitude, drew, at the same time, Madame Fonrobert to the 
 window. She opened it, and heard from several voices — 
 
 " Death on the spot ! The thunder-clap must have struck her !" 
 
 " No one can know that, certainly," interposed a young man, who 
 with difficulty had made his way through the crowd, and who added 
 with, officious confidence, " Only into the nearest house with the 
 unfortunate ! There must be means employed for her preservation." 
 
 Starting, and vainly contending with the aversion to such a 
 strange and horrible sight, Madame Fonrobert beheld im- 
 mediately the stiff corpse of a lifeless female drawn over her 
 threshold, and into the very room where she was, as being the 
 nearest to the house-door. The faithful Etienne hastened towards 
 the painful object, and seizing with mute and pacifying gesture 
 both the hands of his benefactress, he seemed to invoke, in the 
 name of Providence, forgiveness for the misfortune which in so un- 
 foreseen a manner had befallen her. He gently urged her away 
 from the place where she was standing, and tried to turn her look 
 from that strange and startling countenance. But the terrified 
 lady once aroused from the peaceful course of her gentler feelings, 
 was riveted in fevered stupefaction on the object which infused into 
 her soul the deadliest anguish. Meanwhile, could any i hing recon- 
 cile her to the involuntary cause of so great disturbance of the 
 household, it was the still, resigned features of the softly sleeping 
 woman, whom no medical skill, no art of surgeon could awaken. 
 Quite sunk from the weakness of age, there lay on a hand-barrow, in 
 the middle of the room, surrounded by idlers and strangers, a small, 
 slender female form, with a foreign physiognomy, now as uncon- 
 scious as painless. Her glazed eye no longer regarded the stiff and 
 motionless child, that seemed to ask herself and the men around 
 her what had happened. A momentary silence, which even the 
 
VALERIE. 
 
 7 
 
 rudest did not venture to interrupt, held in restraint all ques- 
 tions and surmises. Here, however, the unfortunate one could not 
 remain. But who was she ? and on whom was the burden and 
 expense of the interment to fall ? Was she a poor person of the 
 town, or a nameless stranger of whom no one could give any ac- 
 count ? All this passed with lightning-speed through the minds of 
 the bystanders. 
 
 Most men think aloud, and, as the natural contemplations 
 occurred to each one, there ran through the little apartment 
 corresponding expressions to the ear of Madame Fonrobert, 
 who, undecided and anxious, watched the entire procedure. 
 As now, in the meantime, an officer of police entered, and made 
 preparations for removing the dead body to the Town-hall, where 
 it should remain exposed till some relative, or at least acquaint- 
 ance, might recognise it, and tell the name and station of the de- 
 ceased ; as he fixed the space of two days for this purpose, and 
 declared that in case of entire desertion, it would, as belonging to 
 the class of the common poor, be buried as such, the magnani- 
 mous lady stepped forward with the assurance that " she would not 
 suffer that any who as God's poor had passed her threshold, 
 in order, in her peaceful little house, quietly to fall asleep, should 
 thence be torn away to the rude gaze of starers, and at last, without 
 kindness or sympathy, be put under the earth. Here shall the de- 
 parted one remain undisturbed. Public notice can be given of the 
 event. If any demand her who have a nearer claim, then indeed 
 every stranger will be exempted from further obligation ; but 
 as the matter now stands, let that person be and remain her last 
 protectress, to whose care Heaven has commended her." 
 
 Madame Fonrobert spoke this warmly and rapidly. She was in 
 unwonted excitement; her self-denial had given her new courage. 
 She was quite absorbed in the strange affair, and heeded nothing else. 
 The police-officer bowed respectfully towards her ; Herr Etienne 
 occasionally kissed her hand with great emotion. The stranger 
 child beheld all with an air of astonishment. Her striking ap- 
 pearance next excited the observation of those present. Clad in a 
 short petticoat of variegated red silk, thickly quilted and in rich 
 folds, she was leaning against the staves of the hand-barrow. Her 
 black mantelet, drawn about her neck, hung loosely over only one 
 
s 
 
 VALERIE. 
 
 shoulder, thus displaying a full-flowered bosom-dress, with short 
 sleeves down to the elbows, and fringed with lace. Her wonderfully 
 beautiful thick black hair, glittered with several hair-pins, with which 
 it was fastened together ; and this was surmounted by a raised circular 
 gauze cap, such as was wont to be worn at that time by children 
 of distinction. From this mixture of affluence and poverty gleamed 
 a languid, half-opened eye, full of gloomy quiet and mute abstrac- 
 tion. The fine, delicate features were almost motionless, yet be- 
 trayed by their expression that sorrow which is too dignified to 
 vent itself loudly. Short and slender, the singular little figure 
 made it doubtful in other respects whether one should call her 
 beautiful and attractive, or only strange and extraordinary. It 
 was, besides, manifest that the poor maiden understood as good as 
 nothing of what was spoken around her ; this was clearly shewn 
 when the police-officer, after a short, private conversation with 
 Madame Fonrobert, stepped up to her and asked her whether the 
 woman that had so suddenly died was her mother. The little girl 
 looked embarrassed at Etienne, who complaisantly repeated to her 
 the question in French ; to which she replied — 
 
 " No, sir; but I never knew any other/' 
 
 " Who art thou, then, and where is thy home ?" he continued. 
 
 The child remained mute for some time, while from her fixed 
 staring eyes ran two big tears, without the muscles of her counte- 
 nance betraying any visible emotion. " Must I answer that :" she 
 then said, firmly and stedfastly. " This one would once have 
 answered for me," she added, softly, and with outstretched hand 
 pointing towards the dead. " Now — " She stopped ; her lips 
 quivered, yet she did not weep. 
 
 " Confide in me," said the kind Etienne, while at the same time 
 he led her backward a few steps, and urged her to sit down by his 
 side. " Tell me all, my dear child," he whispered to her secretly. 
 " I will then speak for thee ; and to those who have a right to in- 
 quire more closely after the circumstances of thy life I will com- 
 municate what is necessary for them to know, not more — on that 
 you may rely." 
 
 The child looked full at him. " I have nothing to conceal/' she 
 replied, proudly and drily ; " it only troubles me to think on the 
 past, and therefore I do so unwillingly." 
 
VALERIE. 
 
 
 
 Etienne, astonished at the cool and thoughtful answer, contem- 
 plated her more closely; and almost uncertain, as it seemed, whether 
 so much earnestness could well abide in the child-like little crea- 
 ture, he asked her, " How old art thou, young maiden ? I do not 
 comprehend thee." 
 
 " I am going into my eleventh year/' she replied, without regard- 
 ing the flattering import of the question. 
 
 " And who art thou ? may I further ask ?" said Etienne, urgently. 
 " Who were thy parents, and how earnest thou hither r" 
 
 She sighed, and then said plaintively — " I was born on the battle- 
 field of Minden, where my father fell under the Duke de Broglio, 
 and where my mother, in despair, had followed to look after his 
 corpse. A market-woman brought me up, and has informed me 
 that I am a Colonel's daughter, and that my mother was a German 
 lady." With these words she felt in her pocket, which was skil- 
 fully hid beneath the folds of her dress, and drew forth a small 
 packet, from which she carefully unfolded a fine handkerchief, and 
 shewed to Etienne a name inscribed with a Count's coronet. After 
 this she opened the little packet, and took out a bracelet, with the 
 miniature of a fine, manly countenance; which having contemplated 
 awhile, she handed with two descriptive papers to the good-natured 
 man who had declared himself as her protector. Etienne glanced 
 over the papers. One was the poor orphan's certificate of baptism, 
 and contained the names of two families that seemed to forbid the 
 notion of so young a creature living in want and misery. The 
 second paper threw light upon the other. The unfortunate spouse 
 of the handsome foreigner was, on his account, removed from he 
 family ; a secret marriage rendered their union equivocal before the 
 world, and she was exiled from her native land. In the deepest 
 anguish of soul, she Avrote this to the author of her affliction, whom 
 amid reproach and sorrow she had followed for some little distance, 
 when the news of that disastrous battle overtook her. Concealing 
 the letter in her bosom, she hastened to the battle-field. This and 
 what follows was added in worse handwriting on the margin of 
 the paper — probably the compassionate market-woman had under- 
 taken this task. She had noted that the unfortunate lady had ex- 
 pired by the side of her husband, after giving birth to the child ; 
 
10 
 
 VALERIE. 
 
 that she had confided the latter to her, and that never should little 
 Valerie be forsaken by her. 
 
 " Canst thou read?" asked Etienne, folding the papers together. 
 
 " Yes," was the short reply. 
 
 " And thou knowest — :" he continued, hesitatingly. She nod- 
 ded assent. " Forget it," said he, beseechingly. " It nought avails 
 thee to remain in this condition wherein thou hast been nurtured." 
 Valerie answered nothing. " But yet do tell me one thing," he 
 said, already on the point of reverting to other matters — " Wert 
 thou always in Germany ? or how is it that I see thee here ?" 
 
 "The good old woman," replied the child, smilingly, "begged 
 for me in France and other parts, where she ought never to have 
 led me. Now she wished to make trial of the great Frederic. The 
 family of my mother belongs to his vassals ; but death has destroyed 
 this plan also." 
 
 " Forget this too," Etienne again besought her ; " forget all !" 
 She answered nothing. He led her back to Madame Fonrobert, to 
 whom he made known the substance of his conversation with 
 Valerie, and induced the compassionate lady to receive her into the 
 house, which put a stop to the police inquiries ; and after the inter- 
 ment of the French mendicant, as the deceased woman was called, 
 the occurrence soon came to be forgotten. 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 The feverish excitement which, that evening, had set the even- 
 tempered Madame Fonrobert into an almost passionate condition, 
 left a languor which preyed in a distressing manner upon her 
 spirit. That readiness with which she had joined her first act 
 of benevolence to a second, and so added one self-conquest to 
 another, belonged obviously to a strange energy, which, with the 
 incident that produced it, also passed away. The following 
 morning, therefore, brought her a troop of disturbing contempla- 
 tions, of which one half sufficed to poison the life of the quiet- 
 loving woman. She was ashamed indeed to make known her 
 
VALERIE. 
 
 11 
 
 feelings : it seemed to her mean and ungenerous to betray untimely 
 regrets over an act of benevolence; yet, scarcely mistress of her 
 inward anguish, she poured forth a flood of bitter tears without 
 revealing the ground of her sorrow. So long as the careful Etienne 
 was occupied with the preparations for the funeral, and for the 
 reception of the new guest, he could pass over her discordant 
 humour ; but, with the return of the quiet belonging to his ordinary 
 way of life, it was impossible for him to look silently on such 
 a change. He ventured therefore, one lonely evening-hour, when 
 Valerie was sleeping in Anna's little chamber — he ventured the 
 timid question, " Oh, madam, has any bad news arrived, or has 
 any loss been sustained, to cause you sorrow ?" She silently shook 
 her head. " It is doubtless very bold," he continued, " that I 
 should wish to intrude myself into your confidence, but impute it 
 somewhat to the fear that, through some failure, I may have 
 deserved your displeasure ; and at least deem me worthy of the 
 favour of some explanation." 
 
 It is not that, my dear Etienne," replied Madame Fonrobert, 
 with weak and tremulous voice, " it is not that ; but, as you speak 
 of it, and we are now without burdensome affairs — which, alas ! will 
 henceforth seldom be the case — I will venture to tell you. I have 
 feared that we have been too hasty. Yes, I fear that we have 
 imposed upon ourselves a family-cross that will grievously oppress 
 us ; and which, Herr Etienne, will crush me to death." 
 
 While she spoke, he several times changed colour; and as, at 
 last, tears stifled her voice, he was obliged hastily to take two or 
 three pinches from his box, to refrain himself from weeping with 
 her. " How then," he at length said, ft does madam think that 
 little Valerie can wish to be burdensome to her ?" 
 
 " Burdensome !" she exclaimed. " Ah ! that is not the ques- 
 tion ; that she will and must be by her mere presence. But if 
 that were all — " She ceased. Perhaps she herself knew not fur- 
 ther what lay darkly within her mind. Yet suddenly there rose 
 involuntarily to her lips, " See you, Herr Etienne, I have the 
 feeling that this child brings unhappiness to us. I become so 
 anxious when near her, that I know not how to express it. In her 
 large eyes there is sometlung presaging sorrow. Only once contem- 
 plate her more closely ; hers is surely no child's look. She was; 
 
12 
 
 VALERIE. 
 
 born in an evil hour, upon a bloody bed, amongst the dying. 
 Think only, how many souls must there have fluttered about in 
 unrest, and been by angels and devils snatched away ; and, in the 
 midst of the confusion, hers wound its way into the light." 
 
 The perplexed book-keeper rose from his chair, in inexpressible 
 embarrassment, and paced up and down, twisting and rubbing his 
 hands. The strange words had excited in him a feeling of aversion 
 and indignation towards the innocent object of his inmost com- 
 passion ; and yet the more this feeling overpowered him the more 
 he was ashamed of it, and strove against it, which occasioned 
 him infinite suffering. " Besides," Madame Fonrobert continued, 
 s * the little unfortunate is, in her singular position, more matured 
 than other children at her age. It is only her form that is un- 
 developed ; and by what a hand has she been cultivated ? What 
 principles may she not have imbibed from vulgar associations ? 
 Think only what she could learn from such a creature, with what 
 else become acquainted than with what is immodest and untractable. 
 Herr Etienne ! Herr Etienne ! believe me, this good old house has 
 lost its peace." 
 
 " Then we will get rid of the stranger," he exclaimed, over- 
 powered with disquiet and anxiety, yet shocked at the hasty word 
 which consigned to so unhappy a fate one who was quite forlorn. 
 
 " That we cannot without injuring ourselves," she observed 
 thoughtfully. " What would the world judge of such an unjust 
 procedure ? And how we should lower the poor maiden in the 
 opinion of others !" Etienne felt more calm. " No," continued 
 his old friend, " the matter no longer concerns others. We 
 have been too precipitate, and must now await the end." 
 
 This we really meant you, and was a disguised reproach which 
 the too sensitive Etienne took very pleasantly, but was much vexed 
 therewith in secret. Therefore he kept silence, whilst he once more 
 thought over the matter. Many opposing considerations now hastily 
 occurred to him, which he seemed not before to have sufficiently 
 regarded. What if he really through a single evening should have 
 entailed on the house, which owed to his management its prosperity 
 and peace, a lasting disadvantage, and on his benefactress anxiety 
 and vexation. " I will take the entire burden on myself," said he 
 resolutely. " Valerie shall find in me a father, a teacher, and a pro- 
 
VALERIE. 
 
 13 
 
 tector; she shall have the little room above on the third floor, 
 which I have so long occupied ; the little chamber beside the shop 
 will do for me. The homeless wanderer does not need waiting 
 upon; she has been early schooled by want. By day she shall 
 work with me in the counting-house, and only during the short 
 meal-time need Madame Fonrobert be near her." He immediately 
 made the latter acquainted with his plan, released her from all 
 obligation, and declared himself as ready as he was bound to take 
 it all upon himself. But, to his great astonishment, this did not at 
 all satisfy her. The deadening impression which had fallen upon 
 her had deprived her dull imagination of all its quickening power. 
 
 " What will all that avail V* she replied. " What has been, has 
 been : the child will never again be absent from my thoughts." 
 
 At the same time she was not unwilling that Valerie should 
 occupy the little upper room, while Etienne should have pos- 
 session of Herr Fonrobert's, from which since the terror of that 
 evening, the delusive breath of earlier recollections had passed 
 away. A waiting-girl, who now and then attended upon Anna, 
 agreed to have her sleeping-room next to Valerie's chamber. And 
 thus the stranger child was accommodated with the least possible 
 disturbance to the customs of the household. For this she thanked 
 her benefactor from her heart. A stranger to everything, she had 
 no longing for the world ; besides, her disturbed frame needed rest. 
 She slept much, and even when awake dreamt of that with which 
 her deceased nurse had filled her childish mind. At table she 
 appeared reserved and distant towards Madame Fonrobert, who to 
 her was almost painfully kind and solicitous; and who, the more she 
 felt discommoded by the approach of her little guest, the more 
 redoubled her attentions towards her. They remained, however, 
 unknown to each other ; their intercourse was only kept alive by 
 that which had first originated it, namely, their language. 
 
 Valerie long desired to learn German ; she had a fine and agree- 
 able manner of expressing herself; the lighter tones of thought 
 glided so smoothly over her lips, and found in the harmonious play 
 of her features an accompaniment that seemed to render both in- 
 separable. Etienne at all times avoided imposing any strange and 
 disturbing notions on the unintelligible child ; he therefore let her 
 take her own way, and be as she was, quiet as to herself, buried in 
 
 M 
 
14 
 
 VALERIE. 
 
 her own feelings, sparing in their expression. What course her 
 education took it would have been difficult to estimate : outwardly, 
 she appeared unchanged ; thus she lived for years. She had no 
 play-mates, nor wished for any; nor could she attain any 
 taste for female occupations. Proper hours of study eluded her ; 
 yet she knew the most of what is usually taught to girls domestically 
 educated. The habit of sitting the greatest part of the day by the 
 side of Etienne, turning over the stores of the book-shop, and 
 reading historical and poetical works of a religious and moral ten- 
 dency, raised her above the mechanical condition of a common 
 elementary development. And if, in the confusion of accidental 
 impressions, her notions and judgments lay sometimes disordered, 
 they yet struck out upon a path in which it was very difficult to 
 accompany her. Least could the modest Etienne here follow her, 
 who could only proceed step by step, when he would understand 
 any direction, and whose sensitive mind was sickened by the 
 slightest ebullition of feeling ; and therefore he often sought Madame 
 Fonrobert's forgiveness for the haste with which he had recom- 
 mended the stranger to her generosity. It is true that his attach- 
 ment daily increased for the lovely and highly-born maiden, in 
 whom, much as he had contemplated her, he had not been able to 
 discover any fault which could reproach him for this inclination ; 
 and yet the more his satisfaction arose from Valerie's society, the 
 more ashamed he felt on that account, and the more carefully lie 
 measured and regulated his behaviour towards her. Indeed, he held 
 himself aloof just in proportion as he realized the nearness of her 
 presence. Madame Fonrobert, on her part, glad that matters went 
 so favourably for the peace of her household, disturbed no one in 
 ought that kept other considerations away from her. All these 
 circumstances, combined together, caused the soul of Valerie, in the 
 midst of the busy capital, to be as lonesome in the benevolent 
 family, as had she been on a desolate island, where only the echo of 
 her own voice from wild and uncultured nature had struck upon 
 her ear. She might have been about the age of fifteen, when 
 Etienne surprised her one day at a side book-case, containing only 
 German authors ; Valerie, a small volume in her hand, was reading 
 without observing him, half aloud, with all the signs of excited 
 
VALERIE. 
 
 IS 
 
 attention, mingled with terror and astonishment, the following 
 words :— 
 
 " Ah, see ! ah, see ! I suddenly 
 
 Behold a fearful wonder ; 
 A horseman's raiment all despoil'd, 
 
 And torn, and worn asunder ; 
 His manly head a skull become, 
 A naked skull ! Ah, frightful doom ! 
 His body, once so full and fair, 
 A shriveU'd skeleton lies there — " 
 
 Etienne interrupted her. "Do you understand what you are 
 reading?" said he. * Since when have you learned German, Made- 
 moiselle Valerie ?" 
 
 She let fall her hand which held the book, and contemplating 
 with dreamy look the images which then passed before her, she 
 said, " Oh, a long time, Herr Etienne ; the old servant always 
 speaks it to me, and lets me read in her song-book ; it is quite 
 familiar to me in the hearing, but I express myself awkwardly in 
 the strange language." 
 
 " And this frightful poem," continued he. " Who gave it you?" 
 
 " I took it myself," she drily replied, adding immediately, " I 
 believe it was written for me. It makes my hair stand on end ; 
 my skin is cold as ice, but my heart, Herr Etienne, my heart never 
 beat so warmly as at this moment." 
 
 His own heart felt strangely at these words. He perceived some- 
 thing inexplicable as his half-sunk eye met hers with its dark, 
 quivering beam. He started back, as if he had suddenly seen a 
 strange and unknown form stand before him, and endeavoured, 
 under a forced smile, to conceal the aversion which only more 
 strongly influenced him, as she now with passionate inspiration 
 again took up the book, and repeated with elevated tone : — 
 " Ah, see ! ah, see ! I suddenly — 
 
 " Lay aside that wild stuff, Mademoiselle," said the agitated 
 Etienne, beseechingly ; " you will only bewilder your imagination 
 with it." 
 
 " No," replied Valerie ; " I can explain it to myself, only hear : — 
 
 ' Loud wailings from the upper air, 
 
 And moanings from beneath ; 
 Leonora's heart with trembling fear 
 
 Shook betwixt life and death.' 
 
 M 2 
 
16 
 
 VALERIE. 
 
 Say now,*' asked the agitated maiden ; " is not that the history of 
 my mother ?" And then, she continued : " Was not thus the hour 
 of my birth ? — 
 
 1 And now, amid the shadows pale, 
 
 Beneath the pale moon glance, 
 The spectres chant a fearful wail, 
 
 And whirl their horrid dance.' " 
 
 " I conjure you," Etienne interrupted her, " throw the book 
 into the fire. It is madness that you are reading. Oh, the impru- 
 dent one," he sighed, " to impress on your weak brain such 
 horrible images of the past !" 
 
 " Do not blame the old woman," said Valerie ; " she has given 
 me here a kind home. And were this only a chamber of death, it is 
 a spot upon the earth," she added, with deep melancholy, " where 
 I feel at peace." 
 
 She had, in the meanwhile, concealed the book, without Etienne 
 venturing to hinder her ; he only shook his head, and gazed after 
 her as she went up stairs with it to her own chamber. He was 
 obliged to confess that, since her coming into the house, she had 
 not before so unreservedly disclosed her inward mind ; but had ever 
 avoided revealing it to a stranger's eye. But now astonished, and 
 ravished by an overwhelming power, the true voice of a wounded 
 and diseased soul had broken forth. Those hard, wild tones were 
 they that had ever struck dumbly within her ; at length she had 
 found words for their utterance. The voice of the mother whispered 
 them to her in the proper language. 
 
 Etienne involuntarily shuddered at this coincidence of strange 
 occurrences. For the first time, he could not to-day feel right in 
 his simple occupation. With a disturbed mind he took his place 
 later at the dinner-table, opposite Madame Fonrobert. He almost 
 felt thankful that Valerie did not make her customary appearance. 
 She had excused herself from illness, but he could easily guess the 
 true reason, which made him thoughtful and taciturn. 
 
 Madame Fonrobert observed the change in him. She probably 
 ascribed it to Valerie's absence, for what fluttered convulsively on 
 her lips, and was betrayed by an inward smile, seldom came out 
 openly, as she generally kept her thoughts to herself. Therefore 
 she only slightly hinted that her table companion had not become 
 
VALERIE. 
 
 17 
 
 more sprightly, and seemed to be pre-occupied by one exclusive 
 idea. 
 
 " It will be agreeable to her," she added, " when she can learn 
 to communicate her thoughts. " 
 
 At these words he looked at her with astonishment ; not under- 
 standing her meaning. 
 
 w 1 would," she continued, '* that you told me plainly what plans 
 you are projecting. Besides, it were better at once to take the first 
 step, and so spare me the trouble of further inquiries." 
 
 "Good God!" exclaimed Etienne, seized with anxious fore- 
 boding ; " what plans could I form, which in the least could 
 concern my personal interest ? And how have I deserved, 
 madam, that you should think me guilty of a secret intention ?" 
 
 " Gently, my friend, gently," she softly replied ; " the zeal which 
 you show for your justification could almost make me mistrustful 
 of your integrity. But I will not disquiet you. The simple ques- 
 tion now is, whether you think of occupying, in a short time, the 
 middle story, which since the deceased Herr Fonrobert's time has 
 remained shut up." 
 
 " I make a change in your house ?" asked the affrighted Etienne, 
 who did not comprehend what she intended. 
 
 " I thought," she replied, " if you should marry." 
 
 The words died upon his ear; he thought himself dreaming, 
 when she added — 
 
 " See ! Valerie is grown fully to the age of fifteen ; after my death 
 you are my heir. What will you that you delay the period when 
 you may be happy ? What I see in the future, I can also endure 
 at the present. And then, at least, I shall have the consolation of 
 knowing that matters will be hereafter as I have directed, and that 
 nothing new will subvert the ancient order." 
 
 "Is it possible?" stammered the bookkeeper, in a perplexity 
 which half arose from astonishment, half from inexpressible embar- 
 rassment ; " is it possible that you deem me guilty, at my age, of 
 so great a folly ? Ay, Heaven forbid me from harbouring wishes 
 for which I should only blush ! How ungenerous, willingly to 
 consign the blooming young maiden to a sickly, consumptive 
 husband, whose infirm health more weds him to death than to 
 life. Noj no, Madame Fonrobert, no more of this, I beg," he added 
 
 m3 
 
18 
 
 VALERIE. 
 
 quickly, as if he could not with sufficient haste dismiss an imagi- 
 nation to whose impression he could pay no regard. 
 
 Madame Fonrobert was silent awhile, without showing any signs 
 of surprise at his answer. After a long pause, during which Etienne 
 endeavoured to collect himself, she said calmly — 
 
 " Very good, my dear Etienne ; but what then will, in the end, 
 become of Valerie ? She has appeared to me for some time past 
 more melancholy and reserved than before ; she is too lonely here 
 with us." 
 
 " Indeed !" responded Etienne, hesitatingly. 
 
 " It will then be well," she continued, " for me to accept the 
 offer of my brother-in-law the surgeon, who, with his only daughter 
 is coming to Berlin from Cleves, and who wishes to lodge with me. 
 I would at once have agreed to this, but I wished first to know your 
 intentions ; for had you " 
 
 " I am not at all worth considering in any of your arrangements," 
 said he, hastily interrupting her, that he might not again be dis- 
 quieted with the proposal. 
 
 " My niece, Philline, is about the same age as Valerie," observed 
 Madame Fonrobert; " they will teach each other what they mutually 
 require to learn. Much can be regulated in our foster-child, through 
 intercourse with persons of her own age ; besides," added she, "the 
 new guests will be welcome to you, my friend, as age is ever 
 taciturn, and Valerie is a dreamer." 
 
 He could not but grant this ; and as he was glad to see her busied 
 with another object, he obtained leave to write immediately to the 
 surgeon, and to make the necessary preparations for his arrival. 
 The many particulars which the precise lady prescribed for this pur- 
 pose, and for the security of her own repose, gave her active 
 assistant abundant occupation. He thereby lost sight of the lonely 
 young dreamer, who kept apart in her own little chamber. To his 
 joy, however, he next morning found in its place in the bookcase, 
 the dangerous poem, which he had so unwillingly seen in the hands 
 of the excited maiden ; he immediately took it away, and locked it 
 up. Valerie smiled, when afterwards she observed this, but forbore 
 from any remark. 
 
 After several weeks, the surgeon arrived with his daughter. He 
 was an earnest, learned man, quite devoted to his studies, of stirring 
 
VALERIE. 
 
 industry, and untiring investigation. As soon as he had unpacked 
 and arranged his books, his chemical and surgical apparatus, every 
 thing stood in its place ; he found his own occupation in a spacious 
 room in the midst of embryos in spirits, skulls, skeletons, and 
 other scientific indispensables, so that his presence in the house 
 was but little noticed. 
 
 It was otherwise with Philline. Sprightly as a roe, communica- 
 tive, sportful, and ever ready to sacrifice herself and friends for a 
 joke ; now she pursued her pranks with the old tedious Anna, now 
 with her aunt's Bolognese dog ; with her aunt herself, and the pale, 
 coughing, house-spectre, as she was wont to call Etienne, while she 
 spared Valerie, whose coldness affrighted her, and towards whom, 
 therefore, she felt more reluctance than confidence. Their mutual 
 intercourse remained a long time sufficiently restrained. Weari- 
 someness, at last, induced Philline to seek her young companion 
 in her own little chamber. She found her sitting idly in a corner, 
 and repeating in a loud voice some verses, which her visitor did not 
 at all understand. The thought to play a comedy arose immediately 
 from this incident in the mind of the sportive Philline. She com- 
 municated her notion to the other, but as they were entirely without 
 the necessary means and characters, they contented themselves with 
 learning scenes from tragedies (for Valerie liked only the tragical), 
 and reciting them with much pathos before the deaf and silent 
 walls. The scanty pleasure, enlivened neither by the sympathy nor 
 admiration of beholding friends, could be of no long entertainment 
 for the social, sprightly Philline ; she was at all times restless and 
 ill at ease in Valerie's little room, and it was only not to disturb her 
 father that she had hitherto resorted thither to unfold her dramatic 
 talent. 
 
 Fully content with her accomplishments in the art, she resolved 
 to give both her father and the other members of the household an 
 astonishing proof of it. Valerie was not to be wanting. During 
 the hours when the surgeon took his circuit in the city, the 
 daughter desired to make all preparations for the little festival in her 
 apartment, and for this purpose invited Valerie to accompany her 
 there, which the latter had with singular anxiety avoided ; nor could 
 she to-day subdue her reluctance. Alternately changing red and 
 pale, she stammered out excuses, not one of which was compre- 
 
20 
 
 VALERIE. 
 
 bended by the other, who almost forcibly drew the trembling 
 maiden after her. But scarcely had they approached the door, 
 which was standing open, and which led to the surgeon's room, 
 and scarcely had Valerie cast a single glance therein, than, with 
 distorted countenance, she uttered a terrific cry, and rushed 
 breathless from the spot. Philline, first frightened, then angry, 
 followed her, scolding and blaming, and overwhelmed her with 
 such bitter reproaches, that the former in excited vehemency revealed 
 the reason of her conduct, which she had rather have kept secret, 
 saying, with bewildered look — 
 
 " Do with me what you will, but never can I pass the skeletons 
 which grin at me from your father's glass case." 
 
 Philline burst out into loud laughter. Familiar with the objects 
 of so great terror, she was as deficient in the notion of it, as in 
 sympathy with the emotion, and she knew not the sad circum- 
 stances of Valerie's birth in the field of carnage. 
 
 " Is it possible," she exclaimed, " that you are so little above 
 the prejudices of the lower classes as to be overcome in this 
 manner by the impression of what you are not accustomed to ?" 
 
 " Do not mock me," replied Valerie, deathly pale, and trembling 
 as an aspen leaf ; " I cannot help it. Once before, I stood at the 
 same spot, as your father was coming out. I had not time fully to 
 recollect myself. Quick as thought my eye had strayed towards 
 those horrid forms. I carried about with me the sensation of them 
 for days together." 
 
 At this Philline again openly laughed in her face. She under- 
 stood her so little, that she sported in the most heartless manner 
 with the most pitiable of all weaknesses, as she termed the poor 
 maiden's unconquerable aversion, and exposed her to the like blame 
 from all who had any regard to her tale of the laughable incident. 
 Etienne's tender soul suffered much from the strokes of the 
 inexhaustible raillery which befell the object of his protection, yet 
 he ventured not to defend her as his sympathy desired, from fear 
 that the fine texture of her mind might in another way be 
 discomposed by unpleasant emotions. Especially since his last 
 conversation with Madame Fonrobert, had his demeanour to- 
 wards the young girl been far more circumspect than before. 
 She also but seldom now came into the shop to look for a 
 
VALERIE. 
 
 21 
 
 book. When on one occasion Etienne remarked this to her, 
 referring at the same time to that poem which had once so much 
 inflamed her, she seemed vexed, and answered him shortly— "that 
 she did not want the volume any more." 
 
 This, and similar answers, had quite turned Etienne from his 
 former custom of being her defender on all occasions. He now, 
 therefore, took no part against Philline's attacks, which induced her 
 father to interpose. He felt deeply interested in the extraordinary 
 young creature, through a strange impression which she had made 
 upon him. He said he thought he saw something like a shadow 
 upon her brow, as if by accident a dark body were sportively 
 hovering over her ; a phenomenon he had often observed in persons 
 strangely organized, or who were destined by Providence to violent 
 events. With this opinion regarding her, he declared the jestings of 
 his daughter to be ungenerous, indeed, even silly, inasmuch as the 
 peculiar seat of innate aversions can as little be ascertained as that 
 of many secret diseases ; and, therefore, such manifestations 
 are rightly no more to be laughed at than are the contortions of 
 spasm. 
 
 This medical judgment, far from restraining Philline, only stimu- 
 lated her spirit of contradiction ; and whether it was to revenge 
 herself for the spoiling of her comedy, or by a bold joke, in defiance 
 of opposite counsel, to bring the laugh upon her own side, she 
 resolved, at all hazards, to cure Valerie of her imaginary fears. 
 One Sunday evening, when the old servant slept out at her daugh- 
 ter's, who dwelt outside the gate, Philline contrived during supper, 
 with the help of her own maid, to remove one of the skeletons from 
 her father's closet, and conceal it under Valerie's bed-clothes. Full 
 of the expected result, her merriment rose above all restraint ; 
 even Valerie was infected by it, who therefore later than usual 
 retired to her own chamber. 
 
 Madame Fonrobert detained her friend Etienne awhile longer. 
 She was agreeably excited by the favourable alteration which she 
 thought she saw in her foster-child, and communicated to her good 
 kinsman her observations thereupon. 
 
 " Philline works very well upon Valerie, Herr Etienne," said she, 
 with an air of self-satisfaction ; "very well. Did you see, to-day, 
 how unconstrainedly she fell in with the other's wit, and returned 
 
22 
 
 VALERIE. 
 
 it ? I think we may congratulate ourselves upon my resolution of 
 inviting here these pleasant people." 
 
 She looked smilingly over to Etienne, who, silent, and listening 
 with the greatest attention to an obscure noise, was standing aside 
 with his face toward the door. 
 
 <e You do not understand me well ?" she abruptly asked ; at the 
 same moment, however, starting up from the sofa, and seizing his 
 hands with the words — 
 
 " God ! my God ! what is the matter ? You are pale as death l" 
 
 " Nothing — nothing !" whispered Etienne ; " it is surely nothing ; 
 but I thought I heard some one screaming in anguish." 
 
 He had scarcely said this, when Philline rushed wildly into the 
 room, with staring look, shrieking vehemently — 
 
 " She has lost her senses ! Help, Heaven ! she is caressing the 
 skeleton, and speaking words of madness to it !" 
 
 More was not necessary to drive Etienne to Valerie's chamber. 
 Already before he entered, he heard her in quite an altered tone, 
 more scream than speak. She was repeating in a breath, the hor- 
 rible ballad, and at the place, 
 
 " Ah, see ! ah, see ! I suddenly 
 Behold a fearful wonder" — 
 
 she fell into such a wild ecstacy, that Etienne burst open the door, 
 thinking she would not survive the next moment. He found the 
 unfortunate one erect in bed, and embracing the skeleton in her 
 arms with a joy as if she had now found the happiness of her life. 
 The surgeon, who was present, and who ascertained the particulars 
 from Philline' s painful confession, found that, after the ill-planned 
 joke, she had stood before the door to observe Valerie ; and seeing 
 her, when undressed, quietly approachher bed, and express no terror 
 nor reluctance, she foreboded some misfortune. Full of anxiety she 
 then entered, and found her pitiably deprived of her senses, softly 
 whispering and playing with the object of her former horror. The 
 surgeon immediately gave up hope ; and Etienne soon perceived 
 that she had imagined herself to be her mother, who had again 
 found the long-lamented object of her love. Madame Fonroberfs 
 forebodings were now fully realized. The peace of her house had 
 departed. She herself did not long survive the last blow. The 
 
VALERIE. 
 
 23 
 
 surgeon also in a short time left the dwelling, in order to rescue 
 his daughter from entire ruin ; for, since that evening, health and 
 cheerfulness had both forsaken her. Her father was often heard to 
 repeat, that he had never thought that the bones of a dead warrior, 
 which he had once brought from the battle-field of Minden, could 
 have prevailed over the reason of two maidens. 
 
 Etienne was vividly penetrated with these words. Involun- 
 tarily, unanswerable questions pressed his spirit, yet he avoided 
 the wish vainly to inquire after the hidden cause of such myste- 
 rious connections. He bore his lot quietly and patiently. For 
 long years he remained the possessor of the little house, the lonely 
 supporter of the unhappy Valerie. Her gloomy lamp was every 
 evening seen glimmering from the bow-window. The passer-by 
 sent up to heaven a short prayer for her salvation. She herself sang 
 and toyed with her phantom, till once the moon shone in at the 
 open window, and lightened upon the coffin, in which her bones by 
 the side of those that had been disturbed, found rest and peace. 
 
Contents* 
 
 The Cfcravan . . • • a 
 
 Caliph Stork . 6 
 
 The Spectre Ship . . • • .16 
 
 The Severed Hand .... 25 
 
 Fatima's Rescue . • • > .39 
 
 Little Fly . • • • .55 
 
 The False Prince . . • • .70 
 
 The Cold Heart . . k • ®> 
 
popular Caks* 
 
 c^^^^J NCE "I 1011 a tnTie a ^ ar S e caravan was crossing the 
 ^^'/ii^^S^ desert. ® n tnat immense plain where nothing is 
 
 i tne came ^ s an( l tne silver necklaces of the horses 
 
 might he heard at a great distance ; a thick volume 
 of dust in its rear announced its approach, and when a breeze 
 parted the cloud, glittering arms and brightly-spangled gar- 
 | ments shone dazzling on the eye. Such was the appearance of 
 the caravan to a man who approached it on its flank. He rode 
 a beautiful Arab, with a saddle-cloth of tiger-skin; on the 
 crimson trappings hung silver bells, and on the head of the 
 courser waved a splendid heron's plume. The rider had a 
 stately bearing, and his garb corresponded with the magni- 
 ficence of his steed ; on his head was a white turban, richly 
 embroidered in gold ; his tunic and full trousers were of a 
 bright scarlet, while a richly-hilted scimitar hung at his side. 
 He had slouched his turban over his face, and this and the 
 
 B 2 
 
4 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 black eyes flashing from under his bushy eye-brows, together 
 with the long mustachio hanging under his high-arched nose, 
 gave him a certain look of wildness and of daring. When the 
 rider was about fifty yards only from the van of the cavalcade, 
 he put spurs to his horse, and in a few seconds arrived at 
 the head of the train. So unusual a circumstance was it to see 
 a single rider crossing the desert alone, that the sentinels, fear- 
 ing an onset, brought their lances to the guard. 
 
 " What are you about ?" cried the rider, on seeing himself 
 so martially received ; " do ye think a single man will attack 
 your caravan ?" 
 
 The abashed sentinels put their lances in the rest; their 
 leader, however, rode up to the stranger, and demanded his 
 business. 
 
 " Who is the master of the caravan ?" said the horseman. 
 
 " It does not belong to one owner," replied the former ; 
 " but consists of a number of merchants, whom we are escort- 
 ing on their way home from Mecca, because travellers are ex- 
 posed to annoyance from all sorts of marauders." 
 
 " Lead me to the merchants, then," said the stranger. 
 
 " That may not be at present," replied the soldier; " because 
 we have to move on without halting, and the merchants are at 
 least a mile in our rear. But if you will ride on with me till 
 we encamp for our noontide repose, I will then do your plea- 
 sure." 
 
 The stranger made no reply, but drew out a long pipe which 
 he had tied fast to his saddle, and began to smoke in large 
 puffs, riding on by the side of the leader of the van. The latter 
 knew not what to make of him — he did not exactly like to 
 demand his name ; and however he tried to lead him into con- 
 versation, he yet received no other answer than a short " Yes, 
 yes," to his " You smoke a good tobacco," " Your horse 
 steps well," &c. They at length reached the spot where they 
 were to repose at noon ; the leader had placed his people on 
 guard, while he himself kept by the stranger till the caravan 
 should come up. Thirty camels passed on, heavily laden, and 
 led by armed attendants. Next came the five merchants to 
 whom the caravans belonged, mounted on beautiful horses. 
 They were nearly all men of advanced age, with a staid and 
 sober look ; though one of them seemed much younger than 
 the rest, and merrier too and more lively. A large number of 
 camels and pack-horses closed the train. 
 
 Tents had been pitched, and the camels and horses drawn up 
 
THE CARAVAN. 
 
 in a circle round them. In the centre stood a large one of blue 
 silk ; to this the leader of the escort conducted the stranger. ! 
 On passing within the curtains of the tent, the five merchants 
 were seen sitting on gold-embroidered cushions, while black 
 slaves presented them with refreshments. 
 
 " Whom have you there ?" cried the young merchant to the 
 guard. 
 
 Before the latter could answer, the stranger addressed them 
 thus — " My name is Selim Baruch, and I am a native of Bag- 
 dad, on a journey to Mecca. I was taken prisoner by a band 
 of robbers ; and three days ago 1 clandestinely escaped from 
 captivity. The great prophet granted me to hear the bells of 
 your caravan in the far distance, and by that means I reached 
 you. Allow me to bear you company on your way ; you will be 
 bestowing your protection on no unworthy head, and if you 
 ever come to Bagdad I will richly reward your kindness, for I 
 am the nephew of the Grand Vizier." 
 
 The eldest of the merchants returned him answer. " Selim 
 Baruch," said he, " welcome to our shade ! AVe rejoice to 
 assist thee; but above all be seated, and eat and drink with us." 
 
 Selim Baruch took his place by the merchants, and ate and 
 drank with them. When their repast was over, the slaves re- 
 moved the service, and brought in long pipes and Turkish 
 sherbet. For a long time the merchants sat silently puffing 
 out grey volumes of smoke, and watching them circle and eddy 
 and then vanish in air; at last the young merchant broke 
 silence — " Thus have we been sitting these three days," said 
 he ; " on horseback or at table, without hitting upon anything 
 to beguile the time. Do you know of nothing, my friends, that 
 we can do to amuse ourselves ?" 
 
 The four elder merchants went on smoking, and seemed 
 wrapt in sober meditation; but the stranger answered — " If you 
 will allow me, I will make you a proposal. It seems to me, that 
 at every encampment one of us might tell the others a tale. 
 This would do very well to pass away the time. And that you 
 may see that the request is a fair one, I will be the first to 
 begin." 
 
 Gladly did the five merchants narrow their circle, leaving the 
 centre to the stranger. The slaves replenished the cups, filled 
 their masters' pipes afresh, and brought them burning coals to 
 light them by; and Selim having refreshed his throat with 
 a long draught of sherbet, began the " Story of Caliph Stork." 
 
THE STORY OF CALIPH STORK. 
 
 Chusid, Caliph of Bagdad, was sitting comfortably on his 
 sofa one fine afternoon ; he had been dosing a little, for it was a 
 hot day, and he looked quite pleased after his nap. He was 
 smoking a long pipe of rosewood, sipping now and then the 
 coffee poured out by his slave, and stroking his beard com- 
 placently, when the beverage was to his taste. In short, you 
 might see that the Caliph was on right good terms with him- 
 self. This was the time to address him, when he was always 
 gentle and affable ; and so every day, at this hour, he was visited 
 by his Grand Vizier, Mansor. To-day, too, the Vizier came to 
 see him; but, contrary to his usual wont, he looked very 
 thoughtful. 
 
 The Caliph took his pipe from his mouth, and said — " Why 
 dost thou make such a grave face, Grand Vizier?" 
 
 The Grand Vizier crossed his hands on his breast, bowed 
 down before his master, and answered — " Master, I know not 
 whether I make a grave face or not ; but down there by the 
 palace, there is a pedlar standing, and he has such beautiful 
 things, that I am quite vexed not to have much superfluous 
 cash in hand. 
 
 The Caliph, who had long wished to give his Vizier a treat, 
 sent his black slave down to fetch up the pedlar. The slave 
 soon returned with him. He was a stout little man, with a 
 swarthy face and tattered clothes ; he carried a case full of all 
 kinds of wares, pearls and rings, richly-mounted pistols, cups 
 and combs. The Caliph and his Vizier examined everything 
 narrowly, and the Caliph at last bought beautiful pistols for 
 himself and Mansor, and a comb for the Vizier's wife. But 
 just as the pedlar was going to close his pack, he caught sight 
 of a little drawer, and asked if it contained anything besides. 
 
THE STORY OF CAL1FH STORK. 
 
 7 
 
 The pedlar opened it, and discovered a box of blackish powder, 
 and a curiously written paper, which neither the Caliph nor 
 Mansor could read. 
 
 " I got these two articles of a merchant who found them in 
 the streets of Mecca," said the pedlar, "but I don't know what 
 they contain ; you are welcome to them for a trifle, for they are 
 of no use to me." 
 
 The Caliph, who was fond of having old manuscripts in his 
 library, though he could not read them, bought both writing 
 and box, and dismissed the man. " But," thought he, " I 
 should like to know what the writing is about." So. he asked 
 the Vizier if he knew no one who could decipher it. 
 
 " Most gracious lord and master," replied the latter, f * a man 
 lives near the great mosque, who is called Selim the Learned. 
 He understands all languages ; send for him now, and he will 
 perhaps he able to read these mystic characters." 
 
 The learned Selim was soon at hand. 
 
 " Selim," said the Caliph, " people say thou art very 
 learned ; just give a look at this writing, and see if thou canst 
 read it. If thou canst, thou shalt have a new garment from me 
 for feast days, and if thou canst not, thou shalt have twelve 
 slaps on the cheek, and five-and-twenty bastinadoes on the 
 soles of thy feet ; for thou canst no longer be called Selim the 
 Learned." 
 
 Selim bowed himself, and said — " O master, thy will be 
 done !" For a long time he pored over the manuscript, but of 
 a sudden he cried out — " This is Latin ! " 
 
 " Tell me what it is about," said the Caliph, imperiously; "if 
 it be Latin." 
 
 Selim began to translate as follows : — " Man, who findest 
 this, praise Allah for his goodness. Whoever takes a pinch of 
 the powder in the box, and says Mutabor, may change to any 
 animal he pleases, and understand too the language of the brutes. 
 If he wish to resume the human form, he must bow thrice to 
 the east, and repeat the word. But beware of laughing when 
 thou art transformed, or the spell-word will vanish from thy 
 memory, and thou wilt remain a brute." 
 
 Now when Selim the Learned had finished reading, the 
 Caliph was beyond measure overjoyed. He made the wise man 
 swear to tell no one the secret, presented him with a beautiful 
 garment, and dismissed him. Then turning to his Grand 
 Vizier, " That I call a good bargain, Mansor," said he ; " how 
 pleased I am with the thought of becoming a brute ! Be with 
 
8 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 me early to-morrow morning — then we will go into the country 
 together, take a little pinch from the box, and listen to what 
 they say in the air, and in the water, in forest and in field !" 
 
 Scarcely had Caliph Chusid dressed and breakfasted on the 
 morrow, when his Grand Vizier appeared, as he had been 
 ordered, to accompany him on his walk. The Caliph put the 
 box of magic powder in his sash, and commanding his retinue 
 to stay behind, he set off alone with the Grand Vizier. First 
 they passed through his spacious gardens, looking in vain for 
 a living thing that might enable them to try the charm. At 
 length the Vizier proposed their going further towards a tank, 
 where he had often seen a number of animals, especially storks ; 
 and these had always excited his curiosity by their grave 
 demeanor and chattering. 
 
 The Caliph was pleased with his Vizier's proposal, and went 
 with him towards the tank. On reaching it, they saw a stork 
 pacing gravely up and down, searching for frogs, and now and 
 then chattering to himself. At the same moment they beheld 
 another stork high up in the air come swooping down to the 
 spot. 
 
 "I'll venture my beard, gracious master," said the Grand 
 Vizier, " these two longshanks are having a pretty chat together. 
 What do you say to our turning storks?" 
 
 " Well said," answered the Caliph ; " but first we'll think a 
 moment how we are to turn men again. Ah ! I have it ! Bow 
 thrice to the east, and say ' Mutabor,' and then I'm Caliph again 
 and you Vizier. But remember ! no laughing, or we are lost !" 
 
 While he thus spoke, the Caliph saw the other stork hovering 
 over their heads, and then slowly lighting on the ground. In a 
 trice he drew the box from his sash, took a good pinch, handed 
 it to the Grand Vizier, who took one too, and both of them 
 called out ' Mutabor !' 
 
 Then their legs shrunk in, turning thin and red ; their beauti- 
 ful yellow slippers changed to the ungraceful feet of storks, 
 their arms ^became wings, their necks shot up from their shoul- 
 ders to the length of an ell, their beards vanished, and white 
 plumage covered their bodies. 
 
 " You've a pretty bill, Mr. Grand Vizier," said the Caliph, 
 after a long pause of astonishment. " By the beard of the 
 Prophet, I never saw the like in all my life before !" 
 
 " My most humble thanks to you," replied the Grand Vizier, 
 bowing ; " but if I might be so bold, I should say, your High- 
 ness looks almost prettier as a stork than as a Caliph. But 
 
THE STORY OF CALIPH STORK. 9 
 
 come along, if it be your pleasure to listen to our comrades 
 there, and see whether we really know their language." 
 
 In the mean-while the other stork had settled. He cleaned 
 his legs with his bill, laid his feathers straight, and made off to 
 the first one. But the two new birds made haste to get near 
 them ; when, to their astonishment, they overheard the following 
 conversation : — 
 
 " Good morning, Mrs. Longleg, what so early in the meadows r" 
 
 "Thank you kindly, my dear Clapperbill ! I've only been 
 getting myself a bit of breakfast. Will you take the shoulder 
 of a lizard, or the leg of a froglet?" 
 
 " My most humble thanks ; but to-day I've not a morsel of 
 appetite. Besides I've come to the meadows on very different 
 business. I'm to dance this evening before my father's guests ; 
 and so I want to practise a little in quiet here." 
 
 On this the young stork swaggered grotesquely over the field. 
 The Caliph and Mansor watched her in astonishment ; but when 
 she poised herself picturesquely on one foot, and flapped her 
 wings with an attempt at grace, they were masters of themselves 
 no longer, and a hearty fit of laughter burst from their bills. 
 They were some time in recovering themselves. The Caliph 
 did so first, crying, "Well that was a joke once in a way that 
 no gold could pay for ; what a pity the stupid animals were 
 scared by our laughter, or else they would have sung too to a 
 certainty." 
 
 But now it occurred to the Grand Vizier that laughing during 
 the transformation was forbidden. He communicated his fears 
 to the Caliph. " By Mecca and Medina ! a pretty joke it would 
 be, if I were obliged to remain a stork ! Do tiy to think of the 
 stupid word — I can't get at it !" 
 
 " We must bow to the east, and say ' Mu — Mu — Mu — .' " 
 
 They turned to the east, and went on bowing till their bills 
 almost touched the earth. But, oh, misery ! the spell-word had 
 escaped them ; and often as the Caliph bowed, and longingly 
 at his Vizier too cried * Mu — Mu — ,' yet every spark of recollec- 
 tion had vanished, and the poor Chusid and Mansor were and 
 remained — storks. 
 
 The spell-bound pair wandered sadly over the fields, quite at a 
 loss what to do in their misery. They could not get out of 
 their stork skin, nor return to the town and make themselves 
 known ; for who would have believed a stork, if he had said he 
 was a Caliph ? And even if the people of Bagdad had believed 
 it, would they have liked a stork for their ruler ? 
 
10 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 So they sneaked about many days, gaining a miserable sus- 
 tenance from the fruits of the field; though their long bills 
 prevented them eating with comfort : while for lizards and frogs 
 they had no appetite at all, for they were afraid of disordering 
 their stomachs. Their only pleasure in this unhappy condition 
 was that they could fly ; and so they often went off to the roofs 
 of Bagdad, to see what was going on. 
 
 For the first few days they noticed a great deal of disquietude 
 and mourning in the streets ; but about the fourth day after their 
 transformation, as they were sitting on the Caliph's palace, they 
 beheld a magnificent pageant in the streets below. Drums and 
 fifes sounded, a man in a scarlet mantle embroidered with gold 
 sat on a gaily caparisoned horse, surrounded by a brilliant 
 equipage ; half the city followed in his train, crying, " Hail 
 Mizra, Ruler of Bagdad!" 
 
 The two storks on the palace stared at each other, and 
 Chusid said — " Can you guess now why I was enchanted, Grand 
 Vizier ? This Mizra is the son of my mortal enemy, the mighty 
 magician, Cashnur ; who, in an evil hour, swore vengeance on 
 me. But still I do not give up all for lost. Come along with 
 me, faithful companion of my misfortune, we will take a pilgrim- 
 age to the grave of the Prophet ; and, perhaps, on that holy 
 spot the spell will be broken." 
 
 They rose from the roof of the palace, and flew off in the 
 direction of Medina. 
 
 But their flying was not quite the thing, for they had as yet 
 had very little practice. 
 
 " O Master," said the Grand Vizier, after a couple of hours' 
 flight, "with your permission I must beg to give in now; for 
 you fly much too fast for me. Besides it is already evening, 
 and we should do well to seek accommodation for the night." 
 
 Chusid yielded to his Vizier's petition ; and as they could 
 descry in the valley below a ruin, which promised them shelter, 
 thither they bent their course. The place where they lighted 
 for the night appeared formerly to have been a royal palace. 
 Beautiful pillars emerged from the ruins, and several apartments 
 in tolerably good preservation testified to the vast magnificence 
 of the building. 
 
 Chusid and his companion threaded the corridors, in search 
 of some dry spot or other, when of a sudden the stork Mansor 
 stood stock still : " Lord and master," said he in a low whisper, 
 u if it were foolish in a Grand Vizier, and still more so of a 
 stork, to be afraid of ghosts, I should not scruple to confess 
 
THE STORY OF CALIPH STORK. 
 
 11 
 
 that I feel very uncomfortable just now; for close by here I 
 distinctly heard sighing and groaning." 
 
 The Caliph now stood still too, and caught the sound of a 
 low sobbing, which seemed rather that of a human being than 
 of an animal. With expectation on the stretch, he was making 
 for the place whence the tones of sorrow issued, when the 
 Vizier seized him by the wing with his bill, and implored him 
 not to rush into new and unknown perils ; but it was all in 
 vain. The Caliph, who maintained a brave heart under his 
 stork wings, tore away with the loss of a few feathers, and 
 hastened into a dark passage. He soon reached a door that 
 seemed only ajar, through which he could distinctly hear 
 sighs and a low wailing. He pushed the door open with 
 his bill, but stood still in utter amazement on the threshold. 
 In the dilapidated apartment sparely lighted by a small 
 lattice, he beheld a large screech-owl sitting on the floor. 
 The big tears flowed fast from her large round eyes, and in a 
 hoarse voice she vented her lamentations from out her crooked 
 beak. But at the sight of the Caliph and his Vizier, who 
 also had sneaked up by this time, she uttered a loud cry of joy. 
 Gracefully did she wipe away the tears from her eyes with her 
 dappled wing, and cried out to the astonishment of the pilgrims, 
 in sterling good Arabic, " Welcome, storks ! you are a good 
 omen of release to me, for I once heard it prophecied that 
 storks were to bring me a great piece of good fortune ! " 
 
 As soon as the Caliph had recovered from his astonishment, 
 he bowed with his long neck, brought his legs into an elegant 
 position, and said, " Screech-owl, by what you say I may sup- 
 pose I see in you a companion of my sufferings ; but, alas ! your 
 hope of obtaining release by our means is all in vain ; you will at 
 once acknowledge our helplessness when you hear our story." 
 
 The screech-owl begged he would tell it her, and the Caliph 
 proceeded to relate what we already know. 
 
 When he had given the owl his story, she thanked him 
 heartily, saying, " Listen to my tale too, and hear that I am not 
 less miserable than yourself. My father is the King of India, 
 and I, unfortunate I, his only daughter, am named Lusa. That 
 magician, Cashnur, who enchanted you, plunged me too into 
 misfortune. One day, he came to my father, and begged my 
 hand for his son Mizra ; but my father, who is a violent man, 
 had him kicked down stairs. The wretch managed to gain 
 access to me in another form ; and once, as I was seeking i 
 refreshment in my garden, he presented me, in the disguise of 
 
12 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 a slave, a beverage which transformed me into this loathsome 
 figure. Swooning with dismay, he carried me hither, and 
 shouted in my ears with a terrible voice, * Here shalt thou I 
 remain in thy ugliness, spurned even by the brute animals, to ! 
 the day of thy death, or till some one voluntarily woos thee to | 
 be his spouse in this degraded form. Thus do I revenge 
 myself on thee and thy haughty father.' 
 
 " Many months have passed since then. In lone and sad 
 seclusion I live within these walls, abhorred by the world, and 
 a horror to the very animals. The beauty of nature is debarred 
 me, for I am blind by day, and it is only when the moon sheds 
 her pale light upon these ruins that the darkening veil falls 
 from my eyes." 
 
 The owl ended, and wiped her eyes with her wing, for the 
 recital of her sufferings had elicited tears. 
 
 The Caliph had been sometime in profound thought after the 
 princess had told her tale. " If I am not utterly deceived," 
 said he at length, " there exists a secret affinity in our misfor- 
 tunes ; but where am I to find the key to the riddle ? " 
 
 The owl answered, " Oh, sire, I have the like presentiment, 
 for once a wise woman prophesied in my early youth that a 
 stork would bring me great good fortune, and I think I know 
 how we may save ourselves." 
 
 The Caliph was greatly surprised, and asked what she meant. 
 
 " The magician who has made us both wretched," said she, 
 " comes once a month to these ruins. Not far from this room 
 there is a saloon ; there he is used to carouse with some of his 
 comrades : I have often listened to them before now. At such 
 times they tell each other of their infamous doings ; and on an 
 occasion of the kind he may perchance pronounce the spell- 
 word which you have forgotten." 
 
 " Oh, dearest princess," cried the Caliph, " say on ; when 
 will he be here, and where is the saloon ? " 
 
 The owl was silent a moment, and then she said, " Do not 
 take it unkind of me, but only on one condition can I grant 
 your wish." 
 
 " Speak, speak," cried Chusid, vehemently ; " command me, 
 make what condition you like." 
 
 " It is this : I should like to be released too; but this can 
 only be if one of you will bestow his hand upon me." 
 
 The storks seemed somewhat embarrassed at the proposal, 
 and the Caliph beckoned his servant to step out with him a 
 moment. 
 
THE STORY OF CALIPH STORK. 13 
 
 " Grand Vizier," said he, when they were outside the door, 
 "this is a blind bargain, but you might just as well take her." 
 
 " Indeed ! " replied Mansor ; " what, and have my wife 
 scratch my eyes out when I go home ! Besides, I am an old 
 man, and you are still young and single, and can better afford 
 to bestow your hand on a beautiful young princess." 
 
 " There's where it is," said the Caliph, with a sigh, while he 
 sorrowfully dropped his wings ; " who tells you she is young 
 and beautiful ? That I call buying a pig in a poke ! " 
 
 They mutually tried for a long time to talk each other over, 
 but at length, as the Caliph saw that his Vizier would rather 
 remain a stork than marry the owl, he resolved upon fulfilling 
 the condition himself. The owl was overjoyed : she confessed 
 they could not have come more opportunely, because in all 
 probability the magicians would meet that very night. 
 
 Accordingly, she left the apartment with the storks, in order 
 to lead them to the saloon : they went for a long while up a 
 dark passage, when, at last, a bright light shone upon them 
 from behind one of the half-mouldering walls. On reaching 
 the spot, the owl advised them to keep quite quiet. Through 
 the gap near which they stood, they had a view of a large 
 saloon. It was adorned all round with pillars and the most 
 costly decorations. A vast number of coloured lamps super- 
 seded the light of day. In the centre of the hall stood a 
 round table amply loaded with exquisite viands. A sofa, on 
 which eight men were seated, encircled it. In one of these men 
 the storks recognised the pedlars who sold them the enchanted 
 powder. His neighbour called on him for a recital of his 
 newest exploits. Among others, he told the story of the Caliph 
 and his Vizier. 
 
 " What word then did you give them r " inquired a brother 
 magician of him. 
 
 " A regular hard Latin one — e Mutabor.' " 
 
 When the storks heard this from the gap in the wall, they were 
 almost beyond themselves for joy. They ran along so quickly 
 on their long legs to the gate of the ruin, that the owl could 
 scarcely follow. Then the Caliph said, with emotion, to the 
 owl, " Preserver of my life, and of the life of my friend, as an 
 eternal acknowledgment of what you have done for us, take me 
 to be your consort." So saying he turned to the east. 
 
 Thrice did the storks bow their long necks to the sun, that 
 was just rising behind the hills. " Mutabor," cried they. In 
 a twinkling they were changed ; and in the deep transport of 
 
 c 
 
14 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 newly-bestowed life, master and servant lay laughing and weep- 
 ing in each other's arms. But what words can describe their 
 astonishment when they looked round ? A beautiful lady, in 
 splendid attire, stood before them. With a smile she gave her 
 hand to the Caliph. *' Do you know your screech-owl no 
 more ?" said she, for such she really was ; and the Caliph was 
 so enraptured with her beauty and grace, that he cried out it was 
 the greatest happiness of his life his having turned stork. 
 
 Without further delay, the whole three set off in the direction 
 of Bagdad. The Caliph found not only his snuff-box in his 
 clothes, but his purse as well ; so he brought everything ne- 
 cessary for their journey in the next village ; and in this way 
 they soon reached the gates of the city. There the arrival of the 
 Caliph excited the greatest astonishment : he had been given 
 out for dead, and so the people were highly delighted to see their 
 beloved ruler once more. 
 
 All the more violent was the outburst of their hatred against 
 the impostor Mizra. They marched to the palace, and took the 
 old magician and his son prisoners. The Caliph despatched the 
 old man to the same room in the ruins which the princess had 
 tenanted as owl, and had him hung there. But the son, who 
 knew nothing of his father's arts, had the choice of dying or 
 taking the snuff. As he chose the latter, the Grand Vizier 
 handed him the box. One good pinch, and the Caliph's spell- 
 word transformed him into a stork. The Caliph had him shut 
 up in an iron cage, and placed in his garden. 
 
 Long and happily lived Caliph Chusid with his consort the 
 princess : his merriest hours were always when the Grand 
 Vizier visited him of an afternoon ; then they often talked of 
 their stork adventure ; and when the Caliph was full of fun, he 
 condescended to mimic the Grand Vizier in his character of 
 stork. He would stride gravely up and down the room, with 
 his legs quite stiff, chattering, and napping his arms like wings, 
 and showing how Mansor turned in vain to the east, and cried 
 " Mu, mu, mu." This show was always a great treat to the 
 Lady Caliph and her children ; but when Chusid kept on chat- 
 tering and bowing, and screaming " Mu, mu, mu" too long, the 
 Vizier would smile, and threaten to tell the Lady Caliph what 
 they talked about at the Princess Screech-owl's door. 
 
 When Selim Baruch had ended his story, the merchants ex- 
 
THE STORY OF CALIPH STORK. 15 
 
 pressed themselves very much pleased with it. " Really," said 
 one of them, pushing aside the curtains of the tent, " the after- 
 noon has passed without our knowing it. The evening breeze 
 blows cool ; we might very well get over a good bit of our road." 
 
 His companions assented. The tents were struck, and the 
 caravan set out in the same array it had come up in. They 
 rode on nearly the whole night, for the days were sultry, but the 
 nights refreshing and starlight. At length they reached a con- 
 venient place for encamping, pitched their tents, and laid down 
 to rest. But the merchants provided for the stranger as if he 
 were their dearest guest. One gave him a cushion, another 
 coverlets, a third furnished him with slaves ; in short, he was 
 as well attended to as if he had been at home. The hotter hours 
 of noon had already begun when they rose again, and they unani- 
 mously resolved on awaiting there the close of evening. When 
 they had dined together, they again narrowed their circle, and 
 the young merchant turning to the eldest of them, said, " Selim 
 Baruch afforded us a pleasant afternoon yesterday; what do 
 you say Achmet to your telling us something, either out of your 
 long life, which must have a good store of adventures, or some 
 amusing tale ?" 
 
 Achmet was silent awhile, as if he were in doubt whether he 
 should tell this or that, or not ; at last he replied, " Dear friends, 
 you have proved yourselves faithful fellows on this journey of 
 ours ; and Selim, too, deserves my confidence ; so I will relate 
 you something out of my own life ; — a tale which I am not fond 
 of telling every one : it is the " Story of the Spectre Ship." 
 
16 
 
 THE STORY OF THE SPECTRE SHIP. 
 
 My father had a little shop in Balsora : he was neither poor nor 
 rich, and was one of those people who are not fond of venturing 
 anything, from fear of losing the little that they have. He 
 brought me up plainly and properly, and soon made me capable 
 of lending him a helping hand. Just as I was eighteen years of 
 age, and he was about making his first speculations of conse- 
 quence, he died, probably of regret, at having entrusted a thou- 
 sand pieces of gold to the sea. I soon had occasion to esteem 
 him happy in his death, for in a few weeks news arrived that the 
 vessel in which he had embarked his goods had foundered. This 
 disaster, however, could not damp my youthful spirit. I turned 
 everything my father had left me into money, and went forth 
 to try my luck abroad, accompanied only by an old servant of 
 his, who for old attachment's sake would not part from me and 
 my fortunes. We embarked with a favourable wind in the port 
 of Balsora. The ship in which I had taken my passage was 
 bound for India. We had followed the usual track for fifteen 
 days, when the Captain announced the approach of a storm. He 
 made a very serious face, for it seemed he was not sufficiently 
 acquainted with the Channel in those parts to meet a gale with 
 composure. He had all the sails taken in, and we drifted quite 
 slowly along. Night had closed ; it was light and cold, and the 
 Captain was beginning to think he had been deceived in the in- 
 dications of the squall : when all at once a ship, which we had 
 not before observed, shot close past us ; and wild shouting and 
 huzzaing sounded from the deck, which not a little astonished 
 me at that fearful hour before the tempest. But the Captain at 
 my side turned as pale as death. " My ship is lost !" cried he ; 
 " there sails Death !" 
 
 Before I could ask him the meaning of this singular exclama- 
 tion, the sailors came running up, screaming and shrieking — 
 
THE STORY OF THE SPECTRE SHIP. 17 
 
 " Did you see him ? Did you see him ? It's all over with us 
 now !" 
 
 The Captain, however, had consolatory verses read from the 
 Koran, and took the helm himself; but all in vain. The storm 
 rose perceptibly, and before the lapse of an hour, the ship struck 
 and grounded. The boats were put out, and scarcely had 
 the last sailor escaped, when the vessel sank before our 
 eyes, and I was launched a beggar on the sea. But 
 our misery did not end here. The storm raged more terribly, 
 and it was impossible to manage the boat. I had twined my 
 arms fast round my old servant, and we vowed never to 
 leave each other. At last day broke, but, with the first blush 
 of morning, the wind caught our boat and capsized it. I 
 never saw any more of my shipmates. The shock had 
 stunned me, and on waking I found myself in my faithful 
 old servant's arms, who had saved himself on the cap- 
 sized boat, and dragged me to him. By this time the gale 
 had abated. No more was to be seen of our ship ; though not 
 far from us we descried another, towards which the current was 
 drifting us. On nearing it I recognised the vessel to be the 
 same that had sailed by us in the night, and which had thrown 
 the captain into such a state of alarm. I felt a strange sensation 
 of horror at the sight of this bark. The captain's expressions, 
 which had been so fearfully confirmed, the desolate look of the 
 vessel, on which no one was to be seen, come as near or call as 
 loudly as we would, all this terrified me. However, it was our 
 only hope of safety, so we magnified the Prophet who had 
 wonderfully preserved us. 
 
 From the prow of the ship hung a long cable. With our 
 hands and feet we paddled towards it, and tried to lay hold of it. 
 At last we succeeded. I raised my voice aloud, but still all 
 remained silent in the vessel. "We then climbed up the cable ; 
 I, as the younger, going first. But, horror of horrors ! what 
 a scene presented itself when I stepped on deck. The 
 planks were red with blood ; from twenty to thirty corpses, 
 in Turkish habits, were lying on the ground; and at the 
 mainmast stood a man richly dressed, with sabre in hand, but 
 with a face pale and distorted, and his forehead pierced by a 
 large nail, which pinned him to the mast. He, too, was dead. 
 
 Fear riveted me to the spot; I scarcely dared to breathe. 
 At last my companion came up ; he, too, was awe-struck at the 
 sight of the deck, which presented nothing living, but only so 
 many ghastly corpses. In torture of spirit we called upon the 
 
18 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 Prophet, and then ventured to proceed further. At every step 
 we looked about, in expectation of beholding some more fearful 
 novelty, but all remained as before; far and wide, nothing 
 told of life but ourselves and the ocean. We did not even dare 
 to speak aloud, for fear the dead captain that was pinned to the 
 mast should turn his glassy eyes on us, or one of the corpses 
 move his head. After some time, we reached a ladder which led 
 to the hold ; here we involuntarily stopped, and looked each 
 other in the face, for neither of us ventured to give utterance to 
 his thoughts. 
 
 " O master," said my faithful servant, " here have been 
 terrible doings ; yet even if the ship below there be choke full 
 of murderers, I will rather surrender myself to their mercy than 
 live any longer among these corpses." 
 
 I thought as he did ; so we took heart, and descended with ex- 
 pectation on the stretch. But here all was still as death ; not a 
 sound but that of our steps on the ladder. We reached the 
 door of the cabin ; I put my ear to it, and listened ; but nothing 
 was to be heard. I opened it. The room had an appearance of 
 disorder ; clothes, arms, and other articles lay in promiscuous 
 confusion. Nothing was in its place. The crew, or at least the 
 captain, must have been carousing not long before, for every- 
 thing was lying about. We went from hold to hold, from 
 cabin to cabin, and everywhere found splendid stores of silk, 
 pearls, sugar, &c. I was beyond myself for joy at the sight ; 
 for, as there was no one on board, I thought I might appro- 
 priate all to myself. Ibrahim, however, reminded me that we 
 were probably very far from land, which we should never be 
 able to reach of ourselves without human aid. 
 
 We refreshed ourselves with the viands and liquors, which 
 we found ready to hand in rich profusion, and at last went 
 above again. But here we shuddered at the ghastly sight of the 
 corpses. We resolved to get rid of them and throw them over- 
 board ; but how awful were our sensations on finding that not 
 one of them would stir ! They lay as if fast spell-bound to the 
 flooring, and we should have had to raise the planks of the 
 deck to remove them ; but for this purpose we had no tools. 
 Neither could we loose the captain from the mast, nor wrest 
 his sabre from his cold stiff hand. We passed the day 
 in sad contemplation of our sorrowful plight, and as night 
 came on I allowed old Ibrahim to he down to sleep, while I 
 kept watch on deck and maintained a look out for some means 
 of escape. 
 
THE STORY OF THE SPECTRE SHIP. 
 
 JO 
 
 The moon at last rose, and I calculated by the stars that it 
 must be about eleven o'clock, when such an irresistible desire 
 to sleep overcame me that I involuntarily fell back behind a 
 cask on the deck. It was more stupor however than sleep, for 
 I distinctly heard the sea beating against the sides of the ship, 
 and the sails chafing and whistling in the wind. Suddenly I 
 fancied I heard voices and footsteps on deck ; I tried to rise to 
 see what it was, but an invisible power held my limbs in 
 thrall, I could not even open my eyes. Clearer and clearer 
 sounded the voices ; I thought a merry crew must be moving 
 about. Sometimes I thought I could distinguish the sonorous 
 voice of a commander, and I distinctly heard ropes and sails 
 pulled up and down. But by degrees my senses left me ; I fell 
 into a deep sleep, during which I seemed to hear nothing but 
 the clash of arms ; and I did not awake before the sun was 
 high in the meridian, and shining scorchingly on my face. 
 In astonishment I looked about me ; the storm, the ship, the 
 dead, all 1 had heard in the past night seemed to me a dream, 
 but when I looked up again everything was as on the day before. 
 The dead lay immoveable ; the captain was immoveably pinned 
 to the mast. I laughed at my dream, and got up to call my old 
 servant. 
 
 I found him sitting in deep thought in the cabin. " O, 
 master," cried he, on my entering, " I would rather make my 
 bed in the deepest abyss of the sea, than pass another night in 
 this bewitched vessel.." I inquired the cause of his trouble, 
 and he answered me thus : — " When I had slept a few hours, I 
 awoke, and heard people running backwards and forwards over- 
 head. I thought at first it was you, but there were at least 
 twenty of them scampering about ; and I heard them calling 
 and screaming. At last heavy steps came down stairs. Then 
 all consciousness deserted me ; apprehension returning only at 
 intervals for a moment or two, when I saw the same man who 
 is nailed to the mast up above sitting at that table, singing and 
 drinking ; and the one in the scarlet coat, that lies not far from 
 him on the ground, sat by him and helped him with his liquor." 
 Such was my old servant's report. 
 
 You may very well imagine, my friends, that all this made 
 me anything but comfortable; for it was no illusion; I had 
 heard the dead men myself. To be sailing in such company 
 was dreadful. 
 
 My Ibrahim in the mean time was immersed in profound 
 meditation. " Now I have it !" exclaimed he at last. The fact 
 
20 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 was, he had hit upon a charm in verse, winch his grandfather, 
 an experienced man and a great traveller, had taught him ; and 
 which was said to he of avail against spirits and enchantment. 
 Moreover, he said he knew how to keep off the unnatural sleep 
 that had befallen us ; namely, by our zealously repeating verses 
 from the Koran. The old man's proposal pleased me, and in 
 anxious expectation we saw the approach of night. 
 
 Now there was a little room near the cabin, and to this we 
 resolved to retire; we bored a number of holes in the door, 
 large enough to afford a full view of the adjoining apartment : 
 we then barred it up as well as we could, and Ibrahim wrote 
 the name of the Prophet in all four corners. Thus we awaited 
 the terrors of the night. 
 
 It might be about eleven o'clock again, when I began to feel 
 a strong inclination to sleep ; my companion therefore advised 
 me to say a few verses from the Koran, which really was of 
 assistance to me. All at once there seemed to be life above us ; 
 the ropes creaked, footsteps passed across the deck, and several 
 voices might easily be distinguished. \Ye had sat thus for 
 some minutes, with expectation on the full stretch, when we 
 heard something coming down the cabin-stairs, and the door 
 flew open. In came that tall, stately man, whom I had seen 
 pinned to the mainmast; the nail was still in his forehead, but 
 the sword he had sheathed. Another followed close behind 
 him, in less costly apparel ; I had seen him too lying with the 
 rest on deck. The captain, for he was not to be mistaken, had 
 a pale face, a large black beard, and wildly rolling eyes, with 
 which he looked all round about the room. I could see him 
 quite distinctly as he passed our door, though he seemed to 
 take no notice of our hiding-place. They both took their seats 
 at the table in the middle of the cabin, and talked loud, almost 
 screaming in fact, in an unknown tongue. They grew more and 
 more noisy and heated ; and the captain at last struck the table 
 with his clenched fist till the cabin rang again ; then, with a 
 wild laugh, the other sprang up, and beckoned him to follow 
 him. The latter rose, tore his sabre from its sheath, and they 
 both left the room. 
 
 \Ye breathed more freely when they were gone, but our tor- 
 ments were not near at an end ; they grew noisier and noisier 
 on deck ; we could hear them hurrying to and fro, and screaming, 
 laughing, and howling. At last they set up a truly hellish din ; 
 so that we thought the deck, sails, and all were coming down 
 upon us ; there was the clash of arms too, and shouting, and 
 
THE STORY OF THE SPECTRE SHIP. 21 
 
 then all at once a deep silence. After the lapse of several 
 hours, when we ventured to go above, we found all as before ; 
 not one of them had changed the position he lay in, and all of 
 them were as stiff' as ice. 
 
 In this state we passed several days on board the ship, and 
 
 i all this time it kept an eastward course, in which direction, as 
 I calculated, land would be ; but, many miles as it ran by day, 
 by night it seemed to measure back its course, for we always 
 found ourselves on the same spot at sunrise. We could not 
 otherwise explain this than by supposing that the dead crew 
 
 j sailed back every night with a fair wind. Now to guard against 
 this we took all the sails in before night, and applied the same 
 counter-spell as at the cabin-door; we wrote the name of the 
 Prophet on parchment, and the charm that Ibrahim learnt of 
 his grandfather to the bargain, and twisted it round the furled 
 
 ! sails. Anxiously did we await the result in our little cuddy. 
 The ghosts seemed to be more riotous this time than before ; 
 but, lo and behold, the next morning the sails were still furled 
 as we had left them. We only hoisted such sails as were 
 necessary to bear the ship gently forward, and so in the space 
 of five days we had got over a considerable track. 
 
 At length, on the morning of the sixth, we discovered land 
 at no great distance, and we thanked Allah and the Prophet for 
 our wonderful preservation. We coasted along for that day, 
 and the following night, and on the seventh morning we fancied 
 we could discern a town not far off: with great difficulty we let 
 go an anchor, which immediately held, put out a small boat that 
 was on deck, and rowed with all our might towards the town. 
 In half-an-hour we made a river, which emptied itself into the sea, 
 and then went ashore. At the gate of the town we inquired its 
 name, and learnt that it was an Indian town, not far from the 
 place I at first wished to arrive. So we repaired to a caravan- 
 sary, and refreshed ourselves after our eventful voyage. There 
 too I inquired for a cunning and intelligent man, letting the 
 landlord know that I should like one who understood something 
 of magic. He led me into a back street, and knocked at the 
 door of an obscure house ; I was told to enter, and directed 
 simply to ask for Muley. 
 
 In doors, a little old man, with a grey beard and a long nose, 
 came up to me, and inquired my business. I told him I came 
 in quest of the wise Muley, and he answered that he was the 
 same. I asked his advice as to what I should do with the dead 
 bodies, and how I should manage to get them out of the ship. 
 
22 THE CARAVAN, 
 
 He told me, that very probably the crew had been spell-bound 
 on the sea, for some outrage or other they had committed ; but 
 he thought the enchantment might be broken by bringing them 
 to land ; this, however, would be impossible, without taking up 
 the planks on which they lay ; that by the laws of God and man 
 the ship, with its whole cargo, belonged to me, because I had 
 found it, as it were ; yet I had better keep all this a profound 
 secret, just making him a little present out of my abundance, 
 and then he would help me with his slaves to get rid of the 
 dead. I promised him a rich reward, and we set off with live 
 slaves, well supplied with saws and hatchets. On our way, 
 Muley, the magician, could not sufficiently commend the happy 
 device of binding verses of the Koran round all the sails. He 
 said this was the only means of saving ourselves. 
 
 It was pretty early when we reached the ship. We set to at 
 once, and in an hour's time four of them were already in the 
 boat. Two or three of the slaves had to row ashore to bury 
 them ; but they came back and told us that the corpses had 
 saved them the trouble of that, by turning to dust the moment 
 they were laid on the earth. We continued sawing away the 
 bodies, and before evening all of them had been brought ashore. 
 One only remained on board, namely, the man who was nailed 
 to the mast ; in vain did we try to draw the nail, all our strength 
 was insufficient to make it stir even a hair's-breadth. I was 
 quite at a loss what to do, for we could not cut away the mast 
 to get the man ashore. Muley, however, helped us out of this 
 dilemma. He ordered a slave to be quick, and row to land for 
 a potful of earth. When this had been fetched, the magician 
 pronounced some mystic rhyme over it, and then poured the 
 earth on the head of the corpse. In a moment it opened its 
 eyes, fetched a long gasp, and the wound on its forehead began 
 to bleed. We now easily drew the nail, and the wounded man 
 sank into the arms of a slave. 
 
 " Who brought me hither ?" said he, after he had somewhat 
 come to again. 
 
 Muley pointed to me, and I stepped up to him. 
 
 " Thanks to thee, stranger," said he ; "thou hast released me 
 from a long round of torments. For fifty years my body has been 
 coursing these waves, and my soul been condemned to return to 
 it every night ; but my head has now touched earth, and I can 
 go in reconciliation to my fathers." 
 
 I begged him to tell us how he had come to this dreadful pass, 
 and he answered — 
 
THE STORY OF THE SPECTRE SHIP. 
 
 w Fifty years ago, I was a man of power and consideration, and 
 dwelt in Algiers. The lust of gain led me to fit out a vessel and 
 engage in piracy. I had plied this craft for a time, when I one 
 day took a dervise on board at Zante, who wished for a free 
 passage. My comrades and I were rough fellows, and cared 
 very little about the sanctity of the man, but rather jested and 
 jeered at him. Now once, when in holy zeal he was rebuking 
 me for my sinful course, anger got the better of me, in my cabin, 
 where I had been drinking somewhat largely with my pilot. 
 Furious at what the dervise had said, I rushed on deck, and 
 plunged my poignard into his breast. With his dying breath 
 he cursed me and my crew, denying us either life or death till 
 we should lay our heads on earth. The dervise died, and 
 we threw him into the sea, and laughed at his threats ; but that 
 very night his words were fulfilled. A part of my crew mutinied 
 against me. The combat was maintained with fearful fury till 
 my followers were killed and I nailed to the mast ; but the muti- 
 neers, too, died of their wounds, and so my ship soon became one 
 large grave. The film, too, came over my eyes, I breathed hard, 
 and I thought I was dying ; but it was only a cold numbness 
 that seized me. The next night, at the very same hour that we 
 had thrown the dervise into the sea, I and all my shipmates 
 awoke ; life had returned to us ; but we could do and say nothing 
 but what we had done and said on that fatal night. So have we 
 been sailing on for these fifty years, able neither to live nor to 
 die: for how were we to reach land? In maddening joy we 
 used to drive along with full canvass before the storm, in the 
 hope of going to pieces on some cliff or other, and laying our 
 weary heads to rest at the bottom of the sea. But nothing 
 would do. Now, however, I shall die. Once more receive my 
 thanks, unknown preserver ; and if treasures can reward thee, 
 take my ship as a token of my gratitude." 
 
 So saying, the captain dropped his head upon his breast, and 
 expired ; and in a moment, just like his companions, he fell to 
 dust. This we collected in a small box, and buried it on the 
 shore. I then sent for workmen from the town, who put my 
 ship in good repair ; and having, at a great profit, bartered the 
 merchandize I had on board for other goods, I hired sailors, 
 made a rich present to my friend Muley, and embarked for my 
 own country. However, I took a circuitous track, touching at 
 many islands and mainlands to find a market for my wares. The 
 Prophet blessed my enterprize ; and in nine months I put into 
 Balsora as rich again as the dying captain had made me. 
 
24 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 I now settled down in peace and quiet ; but every five years I 
 take a journey to Mecca, to thank the Prophet on holy ground 
 for his goodness, and to pray him to take the captain and his 
 crew into his paradise. 
 
 The next day the caravan had pursued its route without im- 
 pediment; and, after they had refreshed themselves at their 
 resting-place, Selim, the stranger, began to speak thus to Mu- 
 ley, the youngest of the merchants : — 
 
 " You are, to be sure, the youngest of us, yet you are always 
 cheerful; and I am sure you have some long tale or other 
 for us. Come, let us have it now, and cheer us up after the 
 heat of the day." 
 
 " I should be heartily glad to tell you anything that might 
 amuse you," answered Muley, "but youth should be modest in 
 all things ; so my elder fellow-travellers must take precedence. 
 Zaleucus, now, is always so grave and reserved : mightn't he 
 tell us what makes him so serious always ? Perhaps we may be 
 able to ease his sorrow, if such he have ; for we are glad to be 
 of service to a brother, even if he be of another faith." 
 
 The person called upon was a Greek merchant, of middle 
 age, handsome, and powerfully formed, but very grave. Al- 
 though he was an unbeliever — that is, not a Mussulman — yet 
 his road-companions were fond of him ; for his whole bearing 
 had inspired them with respect and confidence. For the rest of 
 the matter, he had only one hand; and some of his fellow- 
 travellers thought it was this which made him so grave. 
 
 To Muley's friendly challenge Zaleucus replied, " I feel my- 
 self highly honoured by your confidence, and will relate you 
 something in vindication of myself, if I appear more sombre 
 than other people. You see I have lost my left hand. Con- 
 nected with this is the tale I am about to relate ; and whether 
 I have cause for melancholy or not, you shall decide when you 
 have heard the " Story of the Severed Hand." 
 
25 
 
 THE STORY OF THE SEVERED HAND. 
 
 I was born in Constantinople. My father was a dragoman 
 at the Porte, and carried on a pretty lucrative trade in fragrant 
 essences and silken stuffs. He gave me a good education, 
 partly teaching me himself, and partly entrusting me to the 
 tuition of one of onr priests. He at first intended me to suc- 
 ceed to his shop ; but, as I displayed greater abilities than he 
 had expected, he decided, by the advice of some of his friends, 
 on making me a physician, because a physician may always 
 make his fortune in Constantinople when he has learnt some 
 little more than the common town-crier. Now, a great many 
 Franks visited in onr house ; and one of them persuaded my 
 father to let me travel into his country, to the city of Paris, 
 where medical learning is to be acquired gratuitously and to the 
 best advantage ; at the same time promising to take me, free of 
 expense, with him on his journey back. My father, who had 
 travelled himself in his youth, consented ; and the Frank told 
 me I nught be ready to start in three months. I was beyond 
 me for joy at the thought of seeing foreign countries, and could 
 scarcely wait the moment destined for our embarkation. At 
 length the Frank had brought his business to a close, and made 
 preparation for his journey ; when, on the eve of my departure, 
 my father led me into his bed-chamber. I there beheld fine 
 clothes and arms lying upon the table. But what more than 
 all attracted my notice was a large heap of gold ; for I had 
 never before seen so much together. My father embraced me, 
 and said, " Look, my boy, I have provided clothes for thee on 
 thy journey. Those arms, too, are thine : they are the same 
 my grandfather girt on me when I set off for abroad. I know 
 thou canst use them ; but never do so till thou art assaulted, 
 and then use them vigorously. My property is not large : and 
 look, now I have portioned it out into three parts — one is 
 
 D 
 
2(3 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 thine ; the second is for my maintenance and casual wants ; 
 the third shall be a sacred, inviolable store, kept for thy service 
 in the hour of need." So said my old father, while tears 
 gathered in his eyes : tears, perhaps, of evil presage ; for I 
 never saw him more. 
 
 My journey was a quick one. We were soon in the land of 
 the Franks ; and in six days more we reached the great city of 
 Paris. Here my Frankish friend took me a room, advising me 
 to be careful how I laid out my money, the sum total of which 
 was two thousand crowns. In that city I lived three years, and 
 learnt all that a clever physician inquires; though I should be 
 telling a falsehood were I to say that I liked the place, for 
 the manners of the people did not please me. Besides, I 
 had but very few friends there, though these were noble young 
 fellows. 
 
 At last, the longing for home grew powerful in me. All 
 this time I had heard nothing of my father ; and I therefore em- 
 braced a favourable opportunity of returning. 
 
 Just then, an embassy was despatched from the Frank coun- 
 try to the Sublime Porte. I engaged myself as physician in 
 the ambassador's suite, and arrived safe again in Stamboul. I 
 found my father's house shut up ; and the neighbours stared 
 when they saw me, and told me my father had died two months 
 before. The priest who had taught me in my childhood 
 brought me the key ; and, alone and forsaken, I entered 
 the desolate dwelling. I found everything as my father had 
 left it : nothing was wanting but the gold which he had pro- 
 mised to leave me. I questioned the priest on the matter, 
 and he bowed to me and said, " Your father died like a holy 
 man, for he bequeathed his gold to the church.'' This was then 
 and afterwards incomprehensible to me ; but what could I do ? 
 I had no witnesses to refute him with, and I might be glad 
 that he had not looked on the house and goods as a part of the 
 legacy. This was the beginning of my misfortunes. But from 
 that moment they came blow on blow. 
 
 My fame as physician was very far from spreading, because 
 I was ashamed of playing the mountebank ; and I was ever at a 
 loss for my father's recommendation, which would have been 
 an introduction for me to the richest and grandest people, who 
 now troubled their heads no further about the poor Zaleucus. 
 My father's stock, too, went off badly, for the customers had 
 dribbled away since his death ; and new ones are always har 
 to obtain. So once, as I was disconsolately pondering on dm 
 
THE STORY OF THE SEVERED HAND. 27 
 
 situation, it occurred to me, having often seen countrymen of 
 mine in the land of the Franks, who went about and disposed 
 of their wares in the markets of the different cities. I remem- 
 bered that people were glad to buy of them, because they came 
 from abroad ; and that, by such a trade, one's returns might be 
 a hundredfold. In a moment my resolution was taken. I sold 
 my paternal house, gave a part of the produce to the care of a 
 trusty friend, and, with the remainder, bought such articles as 
 are rare in the Frank country : shawls, silk stuffs, salves, and 
 oils. I then took my passage in a vessel about to sail, and in 
 this manner set out a second time for the country of my former 
 sojourn. It seemed as if fortune had again turned in my favour 
 the moment I left the castles of the Dardanelles behind me. 
 Our passage was short and pleasant. I visited the Frank towns, 
 large and small, everywhere finding a ready market for my com- 
 modities. My friend in Stamboul continually sent me fresh 
 supplies ; and day by day I grew more affluent. At length, 
 having saved so much that I fancied a greater speculation might 
 be safely ventured upon, I left with my merchandise for Italy : 
 though, by the bye, I must confess there was another thing that 
 was not a little lucrative to me : I availed myself of my skill in 
 medicine. On arrving in a town, I had bills issued to the ef- 
 fect that a Greek physician might be consulted there who had 
 already performed a number of cures ; and, of a truth, my 
 balsam and my drugs brought me in many a sequin. In this 
 way I at last reached the town of Florence : I proposed staying 
 some time at this place, partly because it was so much to my 
 taste, and partly because I wished to recover the fatigues of my 
 strolling life. I therefore took a ware-room in the quarter of 
 St. Croce, and two beautiful apartments, with a balcony, in a 
 neighbouring hotel. Without delay I sent my bills about, an- 
 nouncing myself as physician and merchant. Scarcely had I 
 opened my store before purchasers streamed to it ; and, in spite 
 of my prices being somewhat high, I sold more than others, 
 because I was obliging and civil to my customers. I had thus 
 passed four pleasant days in'Florence, when one evening, as I 
 was giving my usual look at the supplies in my salve-boxes 
 previously to closing my ware-room, I found a slip of paper in 
 one of them which I did not remember to have put there. I 
 opened it : it contained a mysterious invitation to repair that 
 night punctually at twelve o'clock to the bridge called the Ponte 
 Vecchio. I reflected for a long time who it could be that in- 
 vited me thither ; but, as I did not know a soul in Florence, I 
 
 D 2 
 
28 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 thought they might perhaps want to lead me secretly to some 
 sick person or other — a thing that had happened more than once 
 before. I therefore resolved to be at the rendezvous ; though, 
 for prudence' sake, I girt on the sabre which my father had 
 formerly presented me with. 
 
 When it was near midnight, I set out and soon reached the 
 Ponte Vecchio. The bridge was silent and deserted; and 1 
 determined on waiting till the person who had summoned me 
 should appear. The night was cold, the moon shone clear ; 
 and I gazed downward on the waters of the Arno, as they 
 glimmered far away in her light. The city churches now struck 
 twelve : I roused myself, and before me stood a tall man en- 
 wrapped in a red cloak, one end of which he held over his face. 
 
 I was at first somewhat dismayed, he appeared so suddenly 
 behind me ; but I instantly recovered myself and said, " If you 
 have appointed to meet me here, speak, what are your com- 
 mands ?" 
 
 The red cloak turned away, saying in a marked tone, "Follow." 
 
 I felt somewhat uneasy in mind at the thought of going alone 
 with this stranger; so I stood still, and said to him, "Then 
 good sir, you won't tell me first where you are off for, nor 
 give me a glimpse of your features, that I may see whether you 
 mean well by me or no." 
 
 The red man appeared quite unconcerned ; " If you won't 
 come, Zaleucus, stay where you are !" replied he, and went his 
 way. 
 
 Here my anger broke loose; "Do you think," cried I, "a 
 man like me will let himself be made a fool of by every jacka- 
 napes, or that 1 am to wait for nothing on such a cold night as 
 this." 
 
 Three springs, and I overtook him, seized him by the cloak, 
 and shouted still more lustily ; while I laid my other hand on 
 my sabre : but the mantle was left in my hand, and the stranger 
 vanished round the nearest corner. By degrees my passion 
 cooled ; at any rate I had the cloak, and this should serve as a 
 key to the singular adventure. I put it on, and turned my steps 
 homewards. I was scarcely a hundred yards from my door 
 when some one brushed close by me, whispering, in the Frank- 
 ish tongue, " Take care, Count, there is no doing anything to- 
 night." 
 
 Before I could look round, the person had passed, and I saw 
 nothing but a shadow sweep along the houses. That his words 
 concerned the cloak, and not me, was plain enough ; yet they 
 
29 
 
 threw no light on the circumstances. The next morning I con- 
 sidered what was to be done. At first I was inclined to have 
 the mantle cried, as if I had found it; but then the stranger 
 might have it fetched by a third party, and I should obtain no 
 clue to the mystery. Whilst engaged in these thoughts, I examined 
 the habit more closely. It was of thick Genoese velvet, of a purple 
 colour, edged with fur of Astrachan, and richly embroidered in 
 gold. Its costliness suggested a plan, which I resolved upon 
 executing. I carried it to my ware-room, and exposed it for 
 sale, at the same time setting so high a price upon it that I was 
 sure of not finding a purchaser. My purpose in this was to eye 
 every one narrowly who inquired the price, for I felt certain I 
 could distinguish the figure of the stranger among a thousand, 
 having caught a clear though momentary view of him when he 
 left the cloak in my hands. Many there were who were in- 
 clined to become its purchasers, for its extraordinary beauty 
 drew the attention of every eye, but none bore the remotest like- 
 ness to the stranger ; not one was willing to pay the high price 
 of two hundred sequins. The strangest thing was, that when I 
 asked this or that person whether there was no mantle like it in 
 Florence, one and all answered with a " No," and assured me 
 they had never seen such costly and elegant work. 
 
 It was fast drawing towards evening, when a young man who 
 had often been at my ware-room, and who that day had offered 
 largely for the cloak, at last came in, threw a purse full of 
 sequins on the table, and cried (( "Well, Zaleucus, I must have 
 your mantle, even if the bargain makes a beggar of me !" at the 
 same moment he immediately began counting out his gold 
 pieces. I was in a great dilemma ; I had only hung out the 
 thing in the hope of attracting the notice of the stranger, and 
 here was a young fool willing to pay the monstrous price I had 
 put upon it. But what could I do ? I gave in, for on the other 
 hand I was pleased with the thought of being so handsomely 
 compensated for my night's adventure. The young man put on 
 the cloak, and went away ; he turned back, however, on the very 
 threshold, in the act of loosening a paper that had been ap- 
 pended to the velvet ; he threw it to me, saying — " Here, 
 Zaleucus, here's something that I dare say doesn't form part of 
 the purchase." I took up the slip of paper with unconcern ; 
 but could I believe my eyes when I read — " To-night, at the 
 concerted hour, bring the cloak to the Ponte Vecchio ; there four 
 hundred sequins await thee." I stood like one thunder-struck. 
 So then I had fooled away my own good fortune, and completely 
 
 P 3 
 
30 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 missed my aim ; however, I was not long in thinking what was 
 to be clone. I snatched up the two hundred sequins, ran after 
 the purchaser, and said — " Take back your pieces, my good 
 friend, and leave me the cloak : it is quite impossible for me to 
 part with it." At first he thought I was joking, but when he 
 noticed that I was in earnest, he flew into a passion at my de- 
 mand, called me a fool, and so we came to blows. However, I 
 was fortunate enough to win the cloak of him in the scuffle, and 
 was just hurrying away with it, when he called in the police for 
 help, and took me with him before the authorities. The judge 
 was very much astonished at the charge, and awarded the gar- 
 ment to my opponent. I offered the young man twenty, fifty, 
 eighty — yes, even a hundred sequins over and above his two 
 hundred, if he would give up the cloak. My gold did what my 
 entreaties could not do. He took my gold pieces, while I turned 
 away in triumph, to be thought a madman by the whole of 
 Florence. But what the people thought was all one to me. I 
 knew much better than they did what I was to get by the 
 bargain. 
 
 Impatiently I waited the fall of night. At the same hour as 
 on the previous occasion, I went, with the cloak under my arm, 
 to the Ponte Vecchio. With the last stroke of the bell the form 
 emerged from the darkness, and stepped up to me. Without a 
 shadow of doubt he was the same man. 
 
 " Hast thou the mantle ?" said he. 
 
 " Yes, signior," replied I, " but it has cost me a clear hun- 
 dred sequins." 
 
 " I know as much," rejoined he, " look here, here are four 
 hundred." 
 
 He stepped with me to the broad balustrade of the bridge, 
 and counted out the pieces. Four hundred there were, and 
 brightly did they glitter in the moonshine. Their brilliancy 
 gladdened my heart. Ah ! I little dreamt that it was its last 
 beat of joy. I put the money into my pocket, and turned to get 
 a good look at the benevolent stranger ; but he had a mask on, 
 under which two dark eyes flashed fearfully. 
 
 " I thank you, signor, for .'your kindness," said I to him ; 
 " what do you require of me ? But I must tell you beforehand 
 that it must be nothing wrong." 
 
 " Quite an unnecessary fear," replied he, throwing the cloak 
 round him, " I need your aid as a physician, yet not for the 
 living, but for the dead." 
 
 " How can that be ? " cried I with amazement ! 
 
THE STORY OF THE SEVERED HAND. 
 
 31 
 
 " I came hither with my sister," he began, " from a distant 
 country ; " at the same time he beckoned me to follow him : 
 " I resided here with her at the house of a friend of our family. 
 My sister died yesterday, after a short illness, and her relations 
 have fixed her burial for to-morrow. Now, by an ancient usage 
 in our family, all the members of it should repose in the vault 
 of their fathers : several who died abroad were embalmed, and 
 now rest there. My sister's body I will leave to my re- 
 lations ; but I must, at least, take her head to my father, 
 that he may see her once again." This custom of cutting off 
 the heads of dear relations seemed rather horrible to me, yet I 
 dared to make no objection to it from a fear of insulting the 
 stranger. I, therefore, told him that I perfectly understood the 
 embalming of the dead, and begged him to conduct me to the 
 deceased. I could not, however, refrain asking "why all this 
 must be done so clandestinely and at night ? " He answered, 
 that his relations, who thought his design cruel, would interfere 
 in the day time ; but, if the head were once dismembered, they 
 would be able to say little more about it : to be sure he might 
 have brought me the head, but a very natural feeling restrained 
 him from dissevering it. 
 
 By this time we had reached a large and magnificent mansion ; 
 my conductor pointed it out to me as the object of our night 
 walk. We passed the chief entrance, entered by a small door, 
 which the stranger shut carefully after him, and then mounted, 
 in the dark, a narrow winding staircase. This led us into a 
 dimly lighted passage, by which we gained a chamber illumined 
 by a lamp suspended from the ceiling. 
 
 In this room stood a bed, on which the body lay. The 
 stranger turned away his eyes, and seemed trying to conceal his 
 years. He pointed to the bed, ordered me to dispatch my 
 business well and promptly, and then left the room. 
 
 I took out the knife which, as a surgeon, I always had with me, 
 and approached the bed. Nothing but the head of the body was 
 visible, but this was so beautiful that I was involuntarily seized 
 with the deepest sense of pity. The dark hair floated down in 
 long tresses, the countenance was pale, the eyes closed. I first 
 made an incision in the skin, in the way surgeons do when they 
 take off a limb ; and then, grasping my sharpest knife, with one 
 gash I cut through the throat. But, horror of horrors ! The 
 dead opened her eys, but closed them immediately, and, only 
 now, with a deep-drawn sigh, she seemed to breathe her last. 
 At this moment a stream of warm blood spirted on me from 
 
32 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 the wound. I felt convinced that I had been guilty of the 
 poor creature's death ! for that she was dead, there was not a 
 doubt — such a wound was beyond all cure. I stood for some 
 minutes in heart-broken dismay at what was done. Had the 
 man in the red mantle deceived me ? Or, was his sister in a 
 trance only ? The latter supposition appeared to me the more 
 probable one. But I did not dare tell the brother of the de- 
 ceased that a somewhat less hasty incision would have awoke 
 without destroying her ; so I was about to complete the dis- 
 memberment, when the dying girl groaned once more, stretched 
 herself in convulsive pain, and died. Then terror overcame me, 
 and I rushed suddenly out of the room. In the corridor out- 
 side all was dark ; for the lamp had gone out, not a trace of my 
 conductor was to be seen, and I had to grope my way by 
 guess-work along the wall to come at the winding staircase. I 
 discovered it at last, and half falling, half sliding, I descended 
 it. Below, too, there was no one. The door was ajar, and I 
 breathed more freely when I had gained the open street ; for, in 
 the house, I had felt strangely uncomfortable. Goaded by 
 terror, I ran to my lodgings, and buried myself in the cushions 
 of my couch, that I might forget the fearful deed which I had 
 committed. But sleep fled my temples, and it was morning 
 only that warned me of the necessity of composing myself. I 
 thought it probable, that the man who had led me to do this 
 impious deed, as it now appeared to me, would not betray me 
 to justice. I instantly, therefore, resolv.ed to go to my business, 
 in the ware-room, and to assume, as far as possible, an air of 
 unconcern. But, alas ! another circumstance, which I had not 
 before noticed, increased my trouble. I missed my cap, my 
 sash, and my knife too ; and I was uncertain whether 1 had 
 left them in the chamber of the slain, or lost them in my 
 flight. The first surmise, alas ! seemed the more probable one, 
 and so I might be discovered to be a murderer. I opened my 
 shop at the usual hour. My neighbour came to me, as he 
 used every morning to do ; for he was a chatty man. " Bless 
 me ! what do you say to the dreadful thing,'' he began, " that 
 occurred last night ?" I pretended to know nothing about it. 
 " What ! you don't know what the whole town is full of? Not 
 know that the fairest flower of Florence, Bianca, the Governor's 
 daughter, was murdered last night ! Ah ! I saw her yesterday 
 driving so happily through the streets with her bridegroom ; 
 for to-day they were to have been wedded. " My neighbour's 
 every word went like a dagger through my heart ; and often 
 
 I 
 
THE STORY OF THE SEVERED HAND. 
 
 33 
 
 did my torments return, for every customer that came told me 
 the story, each more frightfully than the last ; and yet not one 
 of them could relate anything so horrible as what 1 had seen. 
 About noon an officer of justice entered my shop, and begged me 
 to dismiss my customers. " Signor Zaleucus," said he, " pro- 
 ducing the articles I had missed, " are these things yours ?" I 
 considered a moment whether I should not wholly deny them ; 
 but, seeing through the half-open door my landlord and other 
 acquaintances, who were, likely, witnesses against me, I re- 
 solved not to make matters worse by a lie, and confessed to the 
 articles produced. The officer begged of me to follow him, and 
 conducted me to a large building, which I soon recognised to be 
 the prison. There, without further ado, he assigned me a cell. 
 
 My situation seemed a terrible one when I pondered on it in 
 my loneliness. The thought of having murdered, though un- 
 designedly, was continually returning ; nor could I conceal 
 from myself that the glitter of the gold had held my senses 
 captive, or I should not have fallen so blindly into the trap. 
 Covetousness, was my sin ; and severely was I to be punished for 
 it. Two hours after my arrest I was led out of my cell. I de- 
 scended several flights of steps, and at last reached a large hall. 
 At a long table hung in black, twelve, chiefly old, men were 
 sitting. On the sides of the hall were ranged benches, filled 
 with the first people of Florence ; in the galleries, which were 
 erected higher, stood a close throng of spectators. On my 
 taking my place before the black table, a man of a sombre and 
 sorrowful countenance rose from his seat. It was the Go- 
 vernor. He announced to the assembly that, as father, he 
 could not do judgment in this case, and would therefore vacate 
 his office in favour of the eldest senator. The eldest senator 
 was an old man of at least ninety years. His form was bowed, 
 and his temples graced with thin white hair ; but his eyes were 
 fiery still, and his voice strong and firm. He began by asking 
 me if I confessed the murder ? I begged him to hear me ; and 
 I recounted undauntedly, in an audible voice, all that I had 
 done and all that I knew. I observed that the Governor, 
 during my recital, turned rapidly pale and red ; and when I 
 had done, he broke out in a fury : " What, wretch !" cried he, 
 " so wilt thou charge on another the crime which thy covetous- 
 ness committed ?" The senator rebuked him for his interrup- 
 tion, as he had voluntarily ceded his authority ; adding that it 
 was not at all made out that I had sinned from covetousness, 
 for, by his own account, none of the deceased's property had 
 
34 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 been stolen. Yes ; he even went further. He informed the 
 Governor that he would have to account for the previous life of 
 his daughter ; for this was the only means of deciding whether 
 I had told the truth. With this, he adjourned the court for 
 that day ; wishing to gain further insight into the case from the 
 papers of the unfortunate girl, to be delivered to him by the 
 Governor. I was led back to prison, where I passed a dismal 
 day, ever occupied with the ardent longing that some con- 
 nexion or other might be discovered between the deceased and 
 the man of the red cloak. 
 
 The next day I entered the court full of hope. A mass of 
 letters was lying on the table. The old senator asked me if 
 they were my handwriting. I looked at them, and saw that 
 they must be by the same pen as the two notes which I had re- 
 ceived. I expressed as much to the senators : but they seemed 
 to pay no regard to me, saying that I might and must have 
 written both ; for the signature was beyond mistake a Z., the 
 initial letter of my name. The letters contained threats to the 
 deceased, warning her against the union which was about to 
 take place. 
 
 The governor seemed to have given strange orders as re- 
 garded my person. From that day I was treated With greater 
 mistrust and severity than before. In vindication of myself, I 
 appealed to my papers, which would be found in my room ; but 
 they told me a search had been made, and nothing found. 
 Thus, at the rising of the court, every hope vanished ; and, on 
 my being led into the hall on the third day, they read me my 
 sentence, to the effect that I had been convicted of deliberate 
 murder, and was condemned to die. To this dreadful pass had 
 things now come, that, deserted by all that was dear to me on 
 earth, and far from my home, I had to die in the flower of my 
 years by the axe of the executioner. 
 
 On the evening of this terrible day that had decided my fate 
 I was sitting in my lonely dungeon, uncheered by hope, and 
 with thoughts earnestly bent on death, when the door of my 
 cell opened, and a man entered, who looked at me for a long 
 time in silence. " So I see you once more, Zaleucus," said he. 
 By the dim light of the lamp I had not recognised him ; but 
 the sound of his voice awoke old remembrances in me. It was 
 Yaletti, one of those few friends whom I had known while study- 
 ing in the city of Paris. He told me he had come by chance 
 to Florence, where his father lived in good circumstances. He 
 had heard of my story ; and was come to see me once again, 
 
THE STORY OF THE SEVERED HAND. 35 
 
 and to learn how I could have heen guilty of so great a crime. 
 I told him everything as it had happened. He seemed very 
 much astonished ; and conjured me to hide nothing from him, 
 my only friend, that I might not pass away with a lie on my 
 tongue. I swore by all that was dearest to me that I had 
 spoken the truth, and I was only guilty in being dazzled by the 
 glitter of the gold, and in not recognising at once the impro- 
 bability of the stranger's tale. "Then you didn't know 
 Bianca," said he. I protested I had never seen her. Valetti 
 now told me that the affair was involved in great mystery ; that 
 the governor had been very hasty in furthering my condemna- 
 tion ; and the report spread about was that I had known Bianca 
 long before, and had murdered her to revenge myself for her 
 intended marriage with another. I remarked that all this 
 tallied exactly with my idea of the man of the mantle ; but that 
 I had nothing to prove his participation in the deed. Valetti 
 embraced me in tears, promising to do everything to save my 
 life, at least. I had but very little hope ; yet I knew that he 
 was a clever man and a thorough lawyer, and would leave no- 
 thing undone to save me. For two long days I was in un- 
 certainty : at last my friend appeared. " I bring you some 
 consolation," said he, " though of a painful kind. You will 
 retain your life and liberty, but with the loss of a hand." In 
 deep emotion, I thanked him for my life. He told me that the 
 governor was not to be prevailed upon to submit the affair to a 
 second examination ; but, in order not to appear unjust, he had 
 at last consented that, in the event of our finding a similar case 
 in the archives of Florentine history, my punishment should be 
 regulated by the one there awarded. His father and he had 
 been rummaging in the old chronicles day and night, and had 
 at length found a case exactly similar to my own. The sen- 
 tence was to this effect: "His left hand shall be cut off", his 
 property confiscated, and he himself be banished for ever." 
 Such was my punishment now to be ; and I was to prepare 
 myself for the painful hour that awaited me. I will forbear to 
 picture to you those horrible moments, when I laid my hand 
 on the block in the open market-place, and my own blood 
 gushed profusely over me. 
 
 Valetti received me into his house till I had recovered, and 
 then generously furnished me with money for my journey, for all 
 my hard earnings had become the spoil of justice. I sailed from 
 Florence to Sicily, and thence with the first ship to Constanti- 
 nople. My hopes all lay in the sum of money entrusted to my 
 
36 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 friend, and I begged of him moreover for leave to lodge with 
 him ; but how astonished was I when he asked me why I did 
 not take possession of my house. He told me that a stranger 
 had, in my name, bought a house in the Greek quarter, inform- 
 ing the neighbours that I should soon appear myself. I imme- 
 diately repaired thither with my friend, and was joyfully received 
 by all my old acquaintances. An old merchant gave me a let- 
 ter, which the man who had bought the house had left with him 
 for me. 
 
 In it I read as follows : — " Zaleucus, two hands are ever ready 
 to work without remission, that you may not feel the loss of the 
 one. The house you see, and all it contains, are yours, and as 
 much will annually be remitted to you as will place you among 
 the richest of your people. May you forgive him who is more 
 wretched than you !' 
 
 I could guess who had written it, and the merchant replied to 
 my further questions by saying that it was a man whom he 
 should have taken for a Frank, and who wore a red mantle. I 
 now knew sufficient to confess in secret that the guilty stranger 
 was not altogether destitute of noble feeling. In my new house 
 I found the appointments all of the very best, and in addition to 
 these a finer store of wares than I had ever possessed. Ten 
 years have passed since then ; more from habit than necessity I 
 continue my mercantile travels, though I have never since vi- 
 sited the land of my misfortunes. I have every year received a 
 thousand pieces of gold : yet, though I am happy in the thought 
 of the unfortunate man's munificence, he cannot for all that re- 
 deem my sorrow of soul, for ceaselessly there lives in me the hor- 
 rid picture of the murdered Bianca. 
 
 Zaleucus, the Greek merchant, had ended his story. The 
 others had listened to him with great interest, and the stranger 
 seemed particularly affected ; he had more than once uttered deep 
 sighs, and Muley even thought he had once seen tears in his eyes. 
 For a long time the story was the subject of conversation. 
 
 " And don't you hate the unknown one, who deprived you so 
 basely of so noble a member, and even put your life in peril ?" 
 said the stranger. 
 
 " There were hours formerty," answered the Greek, " in 
 which my heart accused him before God for bringing this sor- 
 row upon me, and embittering my life ; but I found comfort in 
 
THE STORY OF THE SEVERED HAND. 3/ 
 
 the faith of my fathers, which enjoins me to love my enemies; 
 and perhaps after all he is unhappier than L" 
 
 " You are a noble soul," cried the stranger, and he pressed 
 the hand of the Greek with emotion. 
 
 At this moment the leader of the guard interrupted them. 
 He entered the tent with a look of concern, and gave notice that 
 they would do well not to consign themselves to repose, for this 
 was the spot where the caravans were usually attacked, and his 
 lookers-out too thought they could see a body of horsemen in 
 the distance. 
 
 The merchants were sore taken aback at this intelligence ; but 
 Selim, the stranger, expressed his surprise at their alarm, and 
 said, since they were well protected, they surely need not fear a 
 troop of wandering Arabs. 
 
 " Yes, good sir," replied the leader of the escort, " if it were 
 only such rabble as that, we might lie down in peace ; but lat- 
 terly the terrible Orbusan has been showing his face again, and 
 that is a signal for us to be upon our guard." 
 
 The stranger asked who this Orbusan might be ; and Achmet, 
 the old merchant, answered — " There are all kinds of reports 
 rife among the people about this wonderful man ; some take him 
 for a supernatural being, as he often stands a fight with five or 
 six men at once ; others believe him to be a brave Frank, whom 
 misfortune has driven to these parts ; but of all this only one 
 thing is certain, namely, that he is a noted thief and robber." 
 
 " That you've no right to declare though," rejoined Lezah, 
 one of the merchants. " If he be a robber, he's a noble fellow 
 for all that, and such he proved himself to be to my brother, as I 
 could relate to you. He has brought his whole tribe into regu- 
 lar discipline ; and as long as he is roaming the desert, no other 
 dare let itself be seen. Besides, he doesn't rob like others ; he 
 only levies ward-money on the caravans, and he who pays this 
 with good grace pursues his way imperilled, for Orbusan is the 
 lord of the desert." 
 
 In this manner the travellers chatted in their tent ; the sen- 
 tinels, however, who had been stationed round the place of en- 
 campment began to be uneasy ; a pretty large body of armed 
 horsemen appeared at about the distance of a mile, and seemed 
 making direct for the camp. One of the escort, therefore, en- 
 tered the tent, and announced the probability of an attack. The 
 merchants took counsel as to what was to be done ; whether they 
 should move against them, or wait their onset. Achmet and the 
 two elder merchants were for the latter, but the fiery Muley and 
 
 E 
 
38 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 Zaleucus urged the former plan, and called on the stranger to 
 aid them ; he. however, quietly drew from his girdle a small 
 bine cloth worked with red stars, fastened it on a lance, and or- 
 dered one of the slaves to fix it on the tent. " He'd wager his 
 life," he said, " that when the horsemen saw that sign they 
 would pass on in peace." 
 
 Muley put no faith in the result ; however, the slave fixed the 
 lance over the tent. In the mean time the people in the camp 
 had taken up arms, and were now watching the horsemen in 
 anxious expectation ; but the latter seemed to have espied the 
 signal on the tent, for they suddenly diverged from their march 
 on the camp, and took a wide circuit clear of their flank. 
 
 The travellers stood awhile in astonishment, looking now at 
 the horsemen, now at the stranger ; the latter remained at the 
 door of the tent, looking with perfect indifference over the plain, 
 as if nothing had happened. Muley at length broke silence. 
 
 " Who art thou, mighty stranger," cried he, " who tamest 
 with a wink the wild hordes of the desert ?" 
 
 • - You make more of my skill than it is worth," answered Selim 
 Baruch. " I provided myself with this token on my escape from 
 captivity. What it means I know not myself; only this I know, 
 that he who travels with this badge is under powerful protection." 
 
 The merchants thanked the stranger, and called him their pre- 
 server ; and, in truth, the number of the horsemen was so great, 
 that the caravans would not long havebeen in a condition to resist. 
 
 With lighter hearts they now retired to rest, and when the 
 sun declined and the evening wind swept over the sandy plain, 
 they struck their tents and moved forward. 
 
 The next encampment was only about a day's journey from 
 the end of the desert, and when the travellers had again as- 
 sembled in the chief tent, the merchant Lezah began as fol - 
 lows : — " Yesterday I told you that the terrible Orbusan was a 
 noble soul : allow me, to-day, to prove this to you by recount- 
 ing the fortunes of my brother. 
 
 st My father was cadi in Acarci. He had three children ; I 
 was the eldest ; my brother and sister were much younger than 
 h When I had reached the age of twenty, a brother of my fa- 
 ther's summoned me to him ;"he made me heir to all his pro- 
 perty, on condition of my remaining with him till his death. 
 But he reached an advanced age, so that I returned home only 
 two years ago, quite ignorant of the fearful destiny that had be- 
 fallen my house, and the goodness of Allah in averting it." 
 
39 
 
 FATIMA'S RESCUE. 
 
 My brother Mustapha and my sister Fatima were pretty nearly 
 of the same age ; the former had at most the advantage by two 
 years. They loved each other tenderly, and jointly contributed 
 to do all that could relieve my infirm father of the burden of age. 
 Now, on Fatima's sixteenth birthday, my brother gave an enter- 
 tainment. He invited all her playmates, served them with ex- 
 quisite viands in his father's garden, and towards evening invited 
 them to a short trip on the sea, in a bark which he had hired and 
 festively decorated. Fatima and her play-fellows consented with 
 joy, for it was a beautiful evening, and the city — especially at 
 that hour of day — presented a splendid view from the water. 
 The girls were so pleased with their sail, that they prevailed on 
 my brother to keep out farther and farther to sea; Mustapha 
 yielded, but with reluctance, because a corsair had made his 
 appearance a few days before. Not far from the town, a head- 
 land juts out into the waves ; the girls wanted to gain it, in 
 order from that point to view the sinking of the sun in the 
 waters. While they were doubling the cape, they saw a bark at 
 no great distance, filled with armed men : auguring nothing very 
 pleasant, my brother ordered the rowers to put the boat about 
 and row to land. This anxiety seemed too well grounded ; for 
 the strange bark gave chace to my brother's, overtook her — 
 having the advantage in rowers — and then held on her course 
 between our boat and the shore. The girls, on seeing the danger 
 that threatened them, jumped up, shrieking and wailing. In 
 vain did Mustapha try to quiet them ; in vain did he charge 
 them to sit still, because their running about put the boat in 
 danger of capsizing ; it was all in vain. And at last, when, on 
 the nearer approach of the other vessel, they all rushed to the fur- 
 ther side of theiis, the latter turned over. In the mean time, 
 
40 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 the motions of the strange boat had been observed from the 
 shore, and, as for some time the people of the coast had stood 
 in fear of corsairs, this stranger had excited their suspicion, and 
 several boats put out to the assistance of ours. They only came 
 in time, however, to pick up the sinking crew ; and in the con- 
 fusion that ensued, the hostile craft had escaped, leaving the 
 other two crews uncertain whether they had picked up all or 
 not. At length they neared each other, when, alas ! my sister 
 and one of her playmates were found missing ; while in one of 
 the boats was a stranger, whom nobody knew anything of. On 
 Mustapha's threatening him, he confessed that he belonged to the 
 hostile bark, lying at anchor two miles to the east, and that his 
 shipmates in their hasty flight had left him in the lurch, while 
 he was helping to pick up the girls ; he said, also, that he had 
 seen two of them carried off to the ship. 
 
 My old father's grief was unbounded; and Mustapha, too, 
 was inconsolable. Not only had he lost his dear sister, and not 
 only did he reproach himself for being the cause of the disaster; 
 but the friend of Fatima, who shared her misfortune, had been 
 accorded him as bride by her parents ; and he had merely not 
 had courage enough to tell his father, because her parents were 
 poor and of mean extraction. But my father was a severe man. 
 When his grief had in some measure abated, he summoned Mus- 
 tapha to him, and addressed him thus — 
 
 " Thy folly hath robbed me of the comfort of my age and the 
 joy of my eyes. Go ! I banish thee for ever from my presence. 
 I curse thee and thy offspring; and then only, when thou bringest 
 me Fatima again, shall thy head be free from thy father's curse." 
 
 This my brother had not expected. Long before, he had re - 
 solved to go in quest of his sister and her friend ; and only 
 wished to crave the blessing of his father, when he was sent into 
 the wide world with his curse. But if grief had before subdued 
 him, the weight of this undeserved sorrow now steeled his 
 courage. 
 
 He went to the captive pirate, and asked him whither his ship 
 was bound ; and learnt from him that it was engaged in the 
 slave trade, and usually put in for the grand market at Balsora. 
 
 On his returning home to prepare for his journey, his father's 
 anger seemed to have somewhat subsided, for he sent him a 
 purse of gold to support him on his way. Mustapha took leave 
 in tears of the parents of Zoraida, his stolen bride, and set off 
 for Balsora. 
 
 He chose travelling by land, because no vessel went from our 
 
fatima's rescue. 
 
 u 
 
 little port direct to Balsora. He was, therefore, obliged to make 
 forced journeys, that he might not reach Balsora too late ; and, 
 having a good horse and no baggage, he had good hopes of arri- 
 ving at that town on the sixth day. But, alas ! on the evening 
 of the fourth day, as he was riding on his way alone, three men 
 suddenly fell upon him; and, as he noticed that they were strong 
 and well armed, and thought more of his money and horse than 
 of his life, he cried out to them that he would yield. They dis- 
 mounted, bound his feet together under his horse's belly, and 
 placing him between them, whilst one led his steed by the bridle, 
 they went oft' with him at a quick trot, without speaking a single 
 word. 
 
 Mustapha now gave himself up to sullen despair. His father's 
 curse seemed to the wretched man on the point of fulfilment ; 
 and what hope had he of saving his sister and Zoraida, now that 
 he had been robbed of all other resources, and had nothing but 
 his sorry life to apply to their deliver}' ? He might have ridden 
 on in this way with his mute escort for about an hour, when they 
 turned off into a little valley on their flank. It lay environed by 
 high trees, while a soft dark-green turf, and a brook that purled | 
 on through the middle of it, invited to repose. He beheld, 
 moreover, from fifteen to twenty tents pitched there, to the pegs 
 of which camels and beautiful horses were tethered ; while from 
 one of these sounded the merry tinkling of a guitar, accompanied 
 by two fine male voices. My brother thought that men who had 
 selected so pleasant a spot for encampment could have no ill 
 design against him, and therefore he fearlessly obeyed the orders 
 of his guides, who loosened his bonds and signed to him to dis- 
 mount. They led him into a tent larger than the rest, and 
 whose interior was prettily — almost elegantly — decorated. Costly 
 cushions, embroidered in gold, worked carpets, gilt braziers for 
 smoking, would, in any other place, have announced wealth and 
 comfort ; here they appeared but the fruits of daring plunder. 
 On one of the cushions sat a little old man ; in face he was ugly, 
 his complexion of a swarthy polish, and a repulsive cast of mali- 
 cious cunning in his eyes and mouth made him odious to look 
 at. Although this person tried to give himself a certain air, Mus- 
 tapha was not slow in remarking that the tent was not so 
 richly decked out for him j and the language of his guides served 
 to confirm his surmises. 
 
 " Where is the Strong One ?" inquired they of the little man. 
 
 " He is on a foray," replied he ; " but he has commissioned 
 me to supply his place." 
 
 e 3 
 
4? 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 " That was not clever of him," rejoined one of the robbers ; 
 ** for it must soon be decided whether this dog is to die or no, 
 and that the Strong One knows better than you." 
 
 The little man rose in the full sense of his dignity, stretching 
 forward to his utmost length to reach the ear of his opponent 
 with the tip of his finger, for he seemed very much inclined to 
 revenge himself with a blow ; but seeing that his endeavours 
 were in vain, he began to utter abuse, till the tent rang again ; 
 for truly the others paid liberally to his account. Then all of a 
 sudden the door opened, and in stepped a tall, stately man, 
 young and beautiful as a Persian prince : his apparel and arms 
 were simple, and of small account, saving a richly-set poniard 
 and a shining sabre ; but his decided glance and the dignity of 
 his bearing commanded respect, without inspiring fear. " Who 
 is it that dares to stir up a brawl in my tent ? " cried he. 
 
 For awhile there was a deep silence ; at last, one of those 
 who had brought in Mustapha related how it had arisen. The 
 countenance of the " Strong One," as they termed him, 
 seemed to glow with anger. " When did I ever put thee 
 in my place, Hassan r" cried he to the little man, in a terrible 
 voice. 
 
 The latter shrunk up for very fear, till he looked much 
 smaller than before, and sneaked out of the door. A well- 
 directed kick from the Strong One made him fly out in a most 
 ludicrous summerset. When the little man had vanished, 
 the three men led Mustapha to the lord of the tent, who 
 in the meanwhile had lain down on the cushions. " Here 
 we bring thee him whom thou commanded'st us to seize," said 
 they. 
 
 He eyed the prisoner a long time, and then addressed him 
 thus : " Basha of Zulieika ! thy own conscience will tell thee 
 why thou standest before Orbusan." 
 
 " O, my lord," replied Mustapha, " thou seemest to be in 
 error. I am a poor unfortunate, but not the Basha, whom thou 
 seekest." All in the tent were astonished at this speech. 
 
 " It can be of little avail to thee to use disguise ; for I can 
 confront thee with people who know thee well enough." 
 
 He ordered Zuleima to be brought in. An old woman was 
 led into the tent, who, on being asked whether she did not re- 
 cognise in my brother the Basha of Zulieika, answered, " Yes, 
 indeed ; and I swear, by the grave of the Prophet, that this is 
 the Basha, and no one else." 
 
 "Dost thou see, wretch, how thy cunning is turned to 
 
fatima's rescue. 43 
 
 nought?" began the Strong One, angrily. "Thou art too 
 miserable a creature for me to soil my good dagger with thy 
 blood ; but to-morrow, at sunrise, I will bind thee to the tail of 
 my horse, and gallop with thee through the woods, till his fire 
 sinks again behind the hills of Zulieika !" 
 
 Then my poor brother's spirit failed him. "This is the curse 
 of my harsh father!" cried he, in tears, "that consigns me to 
 an ignominious death! And thou, too, art lost, sweet sister; 
 and thou, too, Zoraida !" 
 
 " Thy dissimulation is of no avail,'' said one of the robbers ; 
 while he bound his hands behind his back. " Out of the tent 
 with you ! for the Strong One biteth his lip, and glanceth at 
 his dagger. If thou wilt live a night longer, come along with 
 you." 
 
 Just as the robbers were leading my brother out of the tent, 
 they met three others, driving a prisoner before them. They 
 entered with him. " Here, we bring thee the Basha, as thou 
 commandedst us," said they, leading the prisoner up to the 
 couch of the Strong One. 
 
 During this proceeding my brother had leisure to look at him, 
 and he was astonished himself at the likeness which this man 
 bore to him, though he saw that he was of a darker complexion, 
 and wore a black beard. The Strong One seemed very much 
 amazed by the appearance of the second prisoner. " Which of 
 you, then, is the right one ?" said he, first eyeing my brother, 
 and then his fellow-captive. 
 
 " If thou meanest the Basha of Zulieika," answered the 
 second prisoner, in a haughty tone, "I am he." 
 
 The Strong One gazed at him awhile, solemnly and terribly; 
 he then mutely signed to have the Basha removed. When this 
 was done he approached my brother, cut his bonds with his 
 dagger, and beckoned him to take his seat by him on his 
 cushion. " I am sorry, stranger," said he, " that I mistook you 
 for that monster ; ascribe it, however, to a singular dispensa- 
 tion of heaven only, that cast you into the hands of my brothers 
 at the very moment which was destined to seal the fate of 
 that villain." 
 
 My brother simply requested leave to continue his journey, 
 since every second's delay might be fatal to his plan. The 
 Strong One inquired his urgent mission, and on Mustapha's 
 telling him all, the latter persuaded him to stay the night in his 
 tent, since he and his horse must stand in need of rest, pro- 
 mising next day to show him a route which would take him in a 
 
44 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 day and a- half to Balsora. My brother agreed, was splendidly 
 entertained, and slept soundly till morning in the tent of the 
 robber. 
 
 On waking, he found himself alone in the tent, but he heard 
 several voices of persons in conversation outside the dpor, 
 among which he could distinguish those of the lord of the pa- 
 vilion and the little swarthy man. He listened awhile, and to 
 his horror heard the little man earnestly urge the other to put 
 an end to the stranger, because on being released he might be- 
 tray them all. 
 
 Mustapha immediately noticed that the little fellow owed him 
 a grudge, because he had been the cause of his yesterday's ill- 
 treatment. The Strong One seemed to consider matters awhile. 
 " No," said he; " he is my guest ; and the rights of hospitality 
 are sacred with me ; besides, he does not look like one who 
 would betray us." Thus saying, he put back the hangings of 
 the doorway, and entered. " Peace be with thee, Mustapha," 
 said he : " let us taste the morning cup, and then make ready 
 for departure." He handed my brother a cup of sherbet, and 
 after drinking they saddled their horses ; and, sooth, with a 
 far lighter heart than he had come with, Mustapha vaulted on 
 his steed. 
 
 They had soon left the tents behind them, and they then 
 struck into a broad path, leading into the forest. The Strong 
 One informed my brother that that Basha whom his scouts 
 had taken had promised them the free run of his territory ; but 
 some weeks before that, he had captured one of their bravest 
 men, put him to the most fearful tortures, and then hung him ; 
 He had long set liers in wait for him, and that day he was 
 to suffer. Mustapha ventured not a word of expostulation, for 
 he was glad enough to escape with a whole skin himself. 
 
 At the end of the wood the Strong One reined up his horse, 
 described the path my brother should take, offered him his hand 
 at parting, and then said, " Mustapha, \ thou hast been in a 
 singular way the guest of the robber Orbusan. I will not call 
 upon thee not to betray what thou hast seen and heard. Thou 
 hast unjustly endured the torturing fear of death, and I owe 
 thee compensation. Take this poniard as a memento of me, 
 and when thou needest aught of help, send it to me, and I will 
 hasten to thy succour. This purse, perhaps, may be of use to 
 thee on thy journey." 
 
 My brother thanked him for his magnanimity; he took the 
 dagger, but refused the purse : but Orbusan again pressed his 
 
fatima's rescue. 45 
 
 hand, let the purse fall, and dashed oft' with the speed of the j 
 storm into the wood. As Mustapha saw he had no chance of 
 overtaking him, he alighted to raise the purse ; hut how awe- j 
 struck was he at the extent of his entertainer's generosity ! i 
 The purse contained a great quantity of gold. He thanked Allah 
 for his preservation, commended the generous robber to his 
 mercy, and proceeded in more cheerful mood on the way to 
 Balsora. 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 Lezah ceased speaking, and cast an inquiring look at Achmet, 
 the old merchant. 
 
 " Nay, if things be so," said the latter, " I am happy to alter 
 i my opinion of Orbusan ; for of a truth he dealt handsomely by 
 your brother." 
 
 "He acted like a brave Mussulman," cried Muley ; "but I 
 hope you have not done your story yet. For I fancy we are 
 all curious to hear how your brother got on ; and whether or no 
 he released Fatima, your sister, and the beautiful Zoraida." 
 
 " If I don't tire you with it, I shall be happy to continue," 
 replied Lezah ; " for my brother's is really an eventful and 
 wonderful story." 
 
 At noon, on the seventh day after his departure from home, 
 Mustapha passed the gates of Balsora. As soon as he had 
 alighted at a caravansary, where the annual slave-market was to 
 commence, to his dismay he received a reply that he had just 
 come two days too late. The people regretted his delay, and 
 informed him that he was a great loser by it, for on the very last 
 day of the market two slaves had arrived, of such surpassing 
 beauty that the eye of every purchaser was attracted to them. 
 There had been a pretty scuffle and scramble for them, and they 
 had, finally, been sold at a very high price ; such a one, indeed, 
 as only their present master would not blink at. He made 
 further inquiries about them, and not a shadow of doubt 
 remained that they were the two unfortunates whom he was in 
 search of. He also learnt that the man who had bought them 
 lived forty hours' journey distant from Balsora. His name was 
 
4(3 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 Thiuli Cos, a grand and wealthy but somewhat elderly man, 
 formerly Capaddan Basha of the Grand Sultan, who had now 
 withdrawn into retirement with his accumulated riches. 
 
 At first, Mustapha thought of immediately taking horse, and 
 hastening after Thiuli Cos, who could scarcely be a day's journey 
 in advance. But when he reflected that he alone, without train 
 or equipage, could have no concern with so powerful a traveller, 
 and could still less relieve him of his plunder, he pondered on 
 some other scheme, and soon devised one. His having been so 
 dangerously mistaken for the Basha of Zulieika suggested the 
 thought of his entering the house of Thiuli Cos under this 
 name, and thus venturing an attempt at the rescue of the two 
 unfortunate girls. To this end he hired servants and horses 
 (and here Orbusan's money stood him in good stead), procured 
 costly attire for himself and retinue, and set out in this sort for 
 Thiuli's castle. In five days he reached the neighbourhood of 
 the mansion. It was situated in a beautiful plain, and was sur- 
 rounded by high walls, which were but triflingly overtopped by 
 the main edifice. 
 
 On his arrival, Mustapha dyed his hair and beard black, 
 smearing his face with the juice of a plant which gave it a 
 blackish hue, exactly like that of the Basha. He dispatched 
 one of his servants to the castle, who was to crave accommo- 
 dation for the night in the name of the Basha of Zulieika. 
 The servant soon returned, and with him four slaves in 
 rich apparel, who held Mustapha's horse by the bridle, and 
 led the way to the court of the castle. There they assisted him 
 to alight, and four others escorted him up a broad marble stair 
 j to Thiuli. 
 
 Thiuli, who was a merry old fellow, received my brother 
 with reverence, and had the very best placed before him that 
 his cook could prepare. After their repast, Mustapha gradually 
 led the conversation to the new slaves. Thiuli praised their 
 beauty, lamenting only that they were always so pensive ; though 
 he thought this would soon pass off. My brother was highly 
 delighted with his reception, and full of the fairest hopes, he 
 retired to rest. 
 
 He had slept about an hour, when he was awoke by the 
 dazzling glimmer of a lamp. As he drew up to a sitting posture, 
 he thought he must still be dreaming, for straight before him 
 stood that little swarthy fellow out of Orbusan's tent, with a 
 lamp in his hand, and his broad mouth distorted to a hideous 
 grin. Mustapha pinched himself in the arm, and twinged his 
 
fatima's rescue. 
 
 47 
 
 nose, to convince himself that he was really awake ; but the 
 apparition remained as before. 
 
 " What wantest thou at my bed-side ? " cried Mustapha, 
 recovering from his astonishment. 
 
 " Don't be at such a deal of trouble, now, Musta," answered 
 the little fellow ; " I think I guess well enough what you are 
 come here about. I could remember your worthy face pretty 
 well; though really, if I had not helped to hang the Basha with 
 my own hand, you might perhaps have taken me in. Hut as it 
 is, I am here to put a question to you." 
 
 " First say what brought you here," rejoined Mustapha, 
 furious at being betrayed. 
 
 4< I'll tell you," replied the other ; " I couldn't keep up a 
 good understanding with the Strong One, so I took to my 
 heels. But you, Mustapha, were — properly speaking — the 
 cause of our variance ; and so you must give me your sister 
 to wife, and I will aid your flight. If you won't, why then I'll 
 be off to my new master, and tell him a trifle about the new 
 Basha." 
 
 Mustapha was beyond himself with terror and fury. J ust now, 
 as he was at the sure goal of his wishes, this miserable wretch 
 must come and disappoint them. With a single spring he 
 leapt from his bed on his tormentor; but the latter, probably 
 suspecting punishment, let the lamp drop. It went out, and 
 he escaped in the dark, shouting lustily for help. 
 
 Now what was to be done ? for the present Mustapha must 
 give up his scheme, and only think of his own safety. So he 
 I rushed to the window, to see whether he could not leap out. It 
 was pretty high from the ground, and on the other side there 
 was a high wall to get over. He stood a moment in thought at the 
 window, when he heard voices approaching his chamber; they 
 were already at the door. In despair he gathered up his dagger 
 and his clothes, and threw himself from the window. His fall 
 was a hard one, but he felt that no limb was broken; he 
 jumped up, therefore, ran to the wall that surrounded the 
 court, surmounted it to the amazement of his pursuers, and was 
 soon in the open country. He fled till he reached a small wood, 
 and there threw himself down in a state of exhaustion. There 
 he considered what was to be done. He had been obliged to 
 leave his servants and horses in the lurch ; but his money he 
 had saved, as he carried it in his sash. In spite of all, however, 
 his inventive brain soon pointed out a way of releasing the 
 Captives. He went further into the wood, till he reached a 
 
48 
 
 village, where, for a trifle, he bought a horse, which soon bore 
 him to a town. 
 
 He there inquired for a physician, and they recommended 
 him an experienced old man. Mustapha prevailed upon him, by 
 the present of a few pieces, to give him a medicine which would 
 produce a sleep like death, and the effects of which might be 
 suspended in a moment. When he had obtained this nostrum, 
 he bought a long false beard, a black gown, and all sorts of 
 boxes and vials, so that he might with good grace pass for a 
 travelling physician, loaded his ass with the things, and journeyed 
 back to Thrall Cos's castle. He might be sure of not being 
 recognised this time, for the beard so changed him that he 
 scarcely knew himself. On arriving at Thiuli's he announced 
 himself as the doctor Chakaman Kabudibaba; and it turned 
 out as he expected. The sounding name recommended him 
 uncommonly to the old fool, and procured him an instant 
 invitation to his table. 
 
 Chakaman Kabudibaba presented himself before Thiuli ; and 
 they had scarcely conversed an hour, when the old fellow resolved 
 on intrusting all his slaves to the treatment of the clever phy- 
 sician. The latter could scarcely conceal his joy at the thought 
 of again seeing his dear sister, and with a beating heart he 
 followed Thiuli into the seraglio. They entered an apartment 
 that was prettily decorated, but with no one in it. 
 
 " Chambaba, or whatever is your name, dear doctor," said 
 Thiuli, "just keep your eye on that hole in the wall; each of 
 my slaves will stretch her arm out at it, and then you may 
 feel whether their pulses are healthy, or the reverse." 
 
 Mustapha's objections to this plan were all in vain ; get a 
 glimpse of them he could not. However, Thiuli agreed to tell 
 him how they usually were in point of health, or what ailments 
 they severally had. 
 
 Thiuli then drew a long list from his sash, and began to call 
 his slaves singly by name; and at every call a hand issued from 
 the wall, and the doctor examined the pulse. Six of them had 
 already been called over, and one and all declared healthy, 
 when he summoned Fatima, the seventh, and a white little 
 hand slipped out through the wall. Trembling with joy, Mus- 
 tapha seized it, and with a grave air declared the slave to be | 
 seriously ill. Thiuli was much concerned, and directed the 
 wise Chakaman Kabudibaba to be quick and prepare her a 
 medicine. The physician went out, and on a slip of paper 
 wrote as follows : — kS Fatima, I will save thee, if thou canst re- 
 
 " I 
 
fatima's rescue. 49 
 
 solve to take a draught which will make thee seem dead for two 
 days ; I possess the means of restoring thee to life. If thou 
 wilt, only say this medicine has been of no avail, and that will 
 he a sign of your acquiescence." 
 
 He soon returned to the room where Thiuli was waiting for 
 him. He brought with him an innocuous potion, again felt 
 the pulse of the sick Fatima, and at the same moment slipped 
 the paper under her bracelet, handing her the draught through 
 the hole in the wall. Thiuli seemed very distressed about his 
 slave, and put off the examination of the rest to a more conve- 
 nient hour. On quitting the apartment with Mustapha, he 
 said in a sorrowful tone, " Chudibaba, tell me frankly, what do 
 you think of Fatima's symptoms r" 
 
 " Ah ! master, may the Prophet give thee comfort ; she has a 
 slow fever, that may well be the death of her." 
 
 Here Thiuli's wrath broke its bounds. 
 
 " What sayest thou, cursed dog of a doctor? she for whom 
 I gave two thousand gold pieces shall die like a cow ? Mark 
 me, if thou save her not, I'll have thy head." 
 
 By this my brother saw he had done a stupid trick, and gave 
 Thiuli some little hope again. While they were wrangling thus, 
 a black slave came from the seraglio to tell the physician that 
 the draught had not taken effect. 
 
 " Summon thy whole skill to thine aid, Chakamda Babelba, 
 or whatever thy name is ; I'll pay thee what thou wilt," said 
 Thiuli, screaming — yea, almost howling with anguish, at the 
 thought of losing such a sum of gold. 
 
 " 1 will give her an elixir that will put her out of all pain," 
 replied the doctor. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; give her the elixir," sobbed old Thiuli. 
 
 In happy mood Mustapha went to fetch the sleeping potion, 
 and when he had given it to the slave, and showed him how 
 much was to be taken at once, he returned to Thiuli and said 
 he must go too, and fetch some healing herbs from the lake ; 
 and then he made haste out of the gate. On the banks of 
 the lake, which was not far from the castle, he took off his 
 disguise and threw it into the water, where it swam about quite 
 cheerily ; while he hid himself in the brushwood, waited the 
 fall of night, and then stole away to the cemetery of Thiuli's 
 castle. 
 
 Now Mustapha had been scarcely an hour absent from the 
 mansion, when Thiuli received news that his slave, Fatima, was 
 on the point of death. He sent in all haste to the lake to fetch 
 
 F 
 
50 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 the physician ; but his messengers soon returned alone, re- 
 porting that the poor doctor had fallen into the water and been 
 drowned ; that his black gown might be seen swimming about, 
 and now and then his imposing beard bobbed up out of the 
 waves. When Thiuli saw that no hope was left, he cursed 
 himself and the whole world, tore his beard, and dashed 
 his head against the wall. But all this was of no use, for 
 Fatima soon expired in the arms of the other women. On 
 the news of her death being brought him, Thiuli ordered a 
 coffin to be prepared with all speed, for he could not bear a 
 corpse in the house, and had the body carried out to the ceme- 
 tery. The bearers conveyed it thither, but put it hastily down, 
 and fled ; for they had heard sighs and groans among the other 
 coffins. 
 
 Mustapha, who had hid himself behind some of them, and 
 from his lurking place had frightened the bearers away, now 
 came forth, and lit a lamp, which he had brought with him for 
 the purpose. He then took out a phial containing the antidote, 
 and raised the lid of Fatima's coffin. But what horror seized 
 him when, by the glimmer of the lamp, other features than 
 those he had expected met his eye; neither my sister nor 
 Zoraida, but quite a different person lay in the bier. He was 
 some time in recovering tins new award of fate ; at length, how- 
 ever, pity got the better of his anger. He uncorked the phial 
 and administered the medicine. She breathed, she opened her 
 eyes, and seemed long in endeavouring to recollect where she 
 was. At last she remembered all that had happened, rose from 
 the coffin, and threw herself at Mustapha's feet. 
 
 " How can I thank thee enough, kind being," said she, " for 
 delivering me from my fearful captivity ?" Mustapha inter- 
 rupted her expressions of gratitude with the question ; how it 
 had happened that she, and not his sister Fatima, had been 
 rescued. The liberated girl gazed at him in astonishment. 
 " Now I understand," said she, " the manner of my release ; 
 but before it was unintelligible to me. Learn, then, that I was 
 called Fatima in that castle, and to me thou gavest the paper 
 I and the sleeping draught." 
 
 My brother requested the rescued one to give him intelli- 
 gence of his sister and Zoraida, and he learnt that both were 
 in the house ; but according to Thiuli's wont had received new 
 names, and that they then were called Mizrah and Nour- 
 mahal. 
 
 When Fatima saw that my brother was so depressed in spirit 
 
fatima's rescue. 
 
 51 
 
 by this mistake, she tried to cheer him, and promised, for all 
 that, to tell him a way of saving the two girls. 
 
 Animated with this idea, Mustapha took heart anew ; he 
 begged of her to name her plan, and she spoke as follows : — 
 " It is true that I was Thiuli's captive only five months, yet, 
 from the very first, I pondered on the means of escape, though 
 for me alone they proved too difficult. In the inner court of 
 the castle you will have noticed a fountain, that throws its 
 waters from ten different jets : this fountain soon caught my 
 attention. I remembered having seen a similar one in my 
 father's house, whose waters were conveyed through a spacious 
 conduit. Now, in order to find out whether the fountain in 
 question was constructed on the same plan, I praised its beauty 
 one day in Thiuli's presence, and inquired the architect. * I 
 built it myself,' cried he; 'and what you here see is the 
 smallest merit of it, for the water comes at least a thousand 
 yards from the brook, passing through a vaulted aqueduct, in j 
 which a man could walk with ease ; and for all this I suggested 
 the plan myself.' On hearing this, I often wished I had a 
 man's strength to remove a stone on the side of the fountain, 
 for then I could flee whither I would. Well, now I will show 
 you this conduit, and through it you may gain the mansion by 
 night, and release the two captives. But you must, at least, 
 have two men with you, to overpower the men who keep guard 
 over the seraglio." 
 
 Such was the liberated Fatima's scheme, and my brother 
 Mustapha, although twice frustrated, took courage once more; j 
 hoping, with the help of Allah, to accomplish the plan she sug- j 
 gested. He promised her to provide for her return home, if I 
 she would aid him in gaining entrance into the castle. But j 
 one thought gave him some concern — how was he to find two 
 or three trusty helpmates. Then he remembered Orbusan's 
 dagger, and his promise to hasten to his assistance whenever he 
 needed aid ; so he issued with Fatima from the cemetery, to go j 
 in quest of the robber. 
 
 In the same town in which he had disguised himself as doc- 
 tor, he bought a horse with his last pieces, and took a lodging 
 for Fatima at a poor woman's in the suburbs. He, however, 
 made off to the mountains, where he had met Orbusan for the 
 first time, and in three days he reached his destination. He j 
 ! soon descried the well-known tents, and unexpectedly presented ' 
 | himself to Orbusan, who gave him a friendly welcome. He in- i 
 | formed him of his abortive attempts, at which the grave robber 
 
52 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 could not now and then refrain from a laugh ; especially when 
 he pictured to himself Doctor Chakuman Kabudibaba. At the 
 little fellow's treachery he was furiously indignant, and swore 
 he would hang him up with his own hand, wherever he found 
 him ; at the same time he promised my brother to lend him his 
 services, as soon as ever he had refreshed himself after the 
 fatigues of his journey. Mustapha stayed the night, therefore, 
 in the robber's tent ; but at early dawn they set out, Orbusan 
 taking with him three of his bravest men, well mounted and 
 well armed. They rode on at a smart pace, and in two days 
 reached the little town where the liberated Fatima had been left 
 behind. Thence they proceeded to the little wood from which 
 Thiuli's castle might be discovered at a short distance, and in 
 which they encamped, and waited the approach of night. As 
 soon as it was dark, they stole, under Fatima's guidance, to the 
 brook end of the conduit, and soon found themselves on the 
 desired spot. At this point they left Fatima and a servant 
 behind with the horses, and prepared to descend ; before they 
 did this, however, Fatima went very exactly through her former 
 directions : passing the duct, they would reach the inner court, 
 there, right and left, were two towers, each in a corner, and the 
 sixth door, counting from the tower on the right, disclosed 
 Fatima and Zoraida, under guard of two black slaves. Well 
 supplied with arms and crow-bars, Mustapha, Orbusan, and 
 two of the others descended into the aqueduct ; they were soon 
 up to their middle in water, but for all that they pressed man- 
 fully forwards. In half an hour they reached the fountain 
 itself, and immediately laid to with their crowbars. The wall 
 was thick and firm, but it could not long resist the united 
 j efforts of four men ; and they soon had made a breach large 
 I enough for them to slip comfortably through. Orbusan passed 
 I it first, and helped the others after him. When all were in the 
 I court, they looked at the side of the castle, to see if they could 
 find out the door described to them ; but they were not agreed 
 which it was, for counting leftways from the right tower, they 
 found a door which had been walled up, and did not know 
 whether Fatima had skipped over this or reckoned it with the rest. 
 Orbusan, however, was not long in hesitation. "My good j 
 sword," cried he, " will open me every door," so he made for the 
 sixth, and the rest followed him. They opened it, and found six 
 black slaves lying on the ground asleep ; and were just on the 
 point of retiring on tip toe, because they saw they had 
 missed the right entrance, when some one rose in the corner, 
 
fatima's rescue. 
 
 63 
 
 and in a well-known voice shouted for help. It was the little 
 fellow from Orbusan's camp. Before the black slaves exactly 
 knew what was going on, Orbusan made a rush at the little 
 fellow, tore his sash in two, gagged him with it, and tied his 
 hands behind his back ; he then turned to the slaves, some of 
 whom had been half bound by his followers, and assisted in 
 completely overpowering them. They put their daggers to their 
 breasts, and demanded where Mizrah and Nourmahal were; 
 and the slaves confessed that they were in the adjoining apart- 
 ment. 
 
 Mustapha rushed in, and there he found Fatima and Zoraida | 
 awoke by the noise. With all despatch they gathered up their 
 trinkets and their clothes, and followed Mustapha. In the 
 mean while the two other robbers proposed to Orbusan to 
 plunder as they best could ; but the latter forbade them. " It 
 shall not be told of Orbusan," said he, " that he broke into 
 houses by night, to pilfer gold." 
 
 Mustapha and thejiberated girls now slipped hastily into 
 the aqueduct, and Orbusan promised to follow. When they 
 were gone, Orbusan and one of the robbers took the little 
 fellow, and led him out into the court ; they then wound a 
 silken cord that they had brought with them round his neck, 
 and hung him up on the highest point of the fountain; and 
 having thus punished the treachery of that little wretch, they 
 descended into the aqueduct themselves, and followed Mus- 
 tapha. With tears in their eyes the girls thanked their 
 generous preserver, Orbusan ; but he only urged them to pre- 
 cipitate flight, for Thiuli Cos was likely to have them pursued 
 in every direction. 
 
 It was a touching parting next day of Mustapha and his 
 released ones from Orbusan ; of a truth, they will never forget 
 him. Fatima, however, the first who was freed, went in disguise 
 to Balsora, and there embarked for her native place. 
 
 After a short and happy journey my friends arrived at home. 
 The joy of meeting again was almost the death of my old father : 
 the day after their arrival he gave a great entertainment, in 
 which the whole town bore part. My brother had to tell his 
 story to an assembly of friends and relatives, who unanimously 
 praised him and the noble robber. When he had ended, my 
 lather rose, and led Zoraida to him : " So then would I revoke," 
 said he in a solemn voice, " the curse from ofF thy head ; take 
 her here, as the reward which thou hast won by thy unwearied 
 zeal : take too my paternal blessing, and may our town never be 
 
54 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 wanting in men, who in brotherly love, in talent and enthusiasm, 
 shall resemble thee." 
 
 The caravan had now reached the end of the desert, and 
 delightedly did the travellers welcome the green fields, and the 
 rich foliage of the trees ; the sweet sight of which they had been 
 deprived of for so many days. In a beautiful valley there was 
 a caravansara, which they chose for their night quarters ; and 
 though it seemed to offer little comfort or refreshment, yet the 
 whole party was more cheerful and confiding than ever ; for the 
 thought of having escaped all the perils and hardships attendant 
 on a journey through the desert had opened every heart, and 
 tuned their minds to mirth and joy. Muley, the young mer- 
 chant, danced and sang songs, till he won a laugh even from 
 the grave Zaleucus. But not contented with cheering his' com- 
 rades by the dance and the song, he gave^them the story he had 
 promised ; and began as follows : — 
 
55 
 
 THE STORY OF LITTLE FLY. 
 
 In Nicea, my dear native city, there lived a man who was 
 called " Little Fly;" I can remember him very well, although 
 I was very young at the time, especially as I was half beaten to 
 death by my father on his account. This Little Fly was an old 
 fellow enough, when I knew him; but he was only from three 
 to five feet high, with a figure too of the most comical cast, for 
 his body, small and natty as it was, had to carry a head much 
 larger and thicker than the heads of other people ; he lived all 
 alone in a large house, and even cooked for himself: nor would 
 people in the town have known whether he was alive or dead, 
 for he only went out once a month, had not a thick smoke risen 
 from his chimney at the hour of dinner. Of an evening, to be 
 sure, he was often seen walking to and fro on the roof: yet, 
 from the street, they used to think it was only his great head 
 running about. My companions and I were mischievous fel- 
 lows, fond of teasing and laughing at every body; so it was 
 always a high day with us when Little Fly went out. We met 
 regularly before his house, and waited till he came ; and then 
 when the door opened, and first the huge head, with the still 
 huger turban, peeped out, and the rest of the little body fol- 
 lowed, bedizened in a threadbare cloak, wide breeches, and a 
 broad sash, with such a long dagger hanging to it, that we 
 couldn't tell whether Fly dangled on the dagger, or the dagger 
 on Fly ; when he came out in this trim, the air rang with our 
 huzzas, we threw up our caps, and danced like mad creatures 
 about him. Little Fly, however, greeted us with a solemn nod, 
 and went his way slowly down the street, shuffling all the time 
 with his feet, for he had large wide slippers on, such as I had 
 never seen before. We boys always ran after him, shouting 
 " Little Fly, Little Fly !" We had a droll little rhyme too, 
 
56 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 which we now and then sang in honour of him : it ran 
 thus : — 
 
 " Little Fly, Little Fly, 
 
 Large enough's thy whereabout — 
 Onee a month thou goest out ; 
 Thou'rt a dwarfy brave and small, 
 And thy head's a mountain tall ; 
 Turn thee round then to our cry, 
 Run and catch us, Little Fly." 
 
 AVe often had our fun in this way, and to my shame I must 
 confess I was the worst of the bunch ; for I twitched his cloak, 
 and I once got behind him, and trod so close upon his great 
 slippers, that plump he fell. This was a most laughable prank 
 to me, but my laughter soon ceased when I saw Little Fly go 
 towards my father's house; he went straight in, and stayed 
 some time. I hid behind the door, and saw him come out 
 again, my father showing the way, while with the greatest 
 complaisance he gave him his hand at the door, and with a 
 number of bows bade him farewell. I felt anything but com- 
 fortable ; I therefore remained a long time in my hiding-place ; 
 but at last, hunger, of which I had a greater horror than of 
 stripes, drove me out, and with a humbled air and a drooping 
 crest I presented myself before my father. 
 
 " You have been insulting worthy Fly, as I hear," said he, 
 in an angry tone. " I will tell you this man's story, and then 
 I am sure you will not laugh at him again ; but first, and after- 
 wards, you shall have commons." 
 
 Commons were five-and-twenty stripes, which he was only 
 too exact in scoring. To this end he took a long pipe tube, 
 screwed off the amber mouth-piece, and belaboured me worse 
 than ever. 
 
 AVhen the measure of the five-and-twenty was full, he 
 ordered me to mark what he had to say, and began Little Fly's 
 story. 
 
 " His father, whose proper name is Mucrah, was a poor but 
 respectable man here in Xicea. He used to live almost as 
 
 1 secluded as his son does now. To the latter he had a dislike, 
 because he was ashamed of his dwarfish figure, and so he had 
 him brought up in ignorance. In his sixteenth year Little Fly 
 
 • was still a playful child ; and his father, a grave man, was always 
 scolding him for being so stupid and silly, when he ought long 
 ago to have been out of leading-strings. 
 
THE STORY OF LITTLE FLY. 
 
 57 
 
 " But one day old Fly had a bad fall, of which he died, 
 leaving his little son poor and ignorant. His cruel relations, 
 to whom his father owed more than he could pay, turned the 
 poor little fellow out of doors, and advised him to go out into 
 the world, and try his fortune. Little Fly answered that he was 
 ready to start ; he only begged his father's clothes, and these 
 were granted him. Now his father had been a tall, stout man, 
 and so the clothes would not fit. Fly, however, soon knew 
 what to do : he cut away the over length, and then put the 
 things on. But he seemed to have forgotten that in width too 
 he ought to have reduced them : hence comes the strange garb 
 which he wears even to the present day. The huge turban, the 
 broad sash, the wide trowsers, the blue little cloak, all these are 
 heir-looms of his father's, which he has worn ever since his 
 death. When he was dressed as I have said, he stuck his 
 father's long Damascus dagger into his sash, seized a little stick, 
 and trudged out at the city gate. 
 
 " He wandered on cheerily the whole day, for, to be sure, he 
 had gone forth to seek his fortune. When he saw a potsherd 
 on the ground glittering in the sun, he was sure to put it in his 
 pocket, in the idea that it would change into the most beautiful 
 diamond. When he beheld the cupola of a mosque shining 
 like fire, or a lake sparkling like a mirror, he made off to it in 
 ecstacy, for he thought he had got into an enchanted land. 
 But ah ! those cheating phantoms vanished on approach, and 
 too soon was he reminded by his tired limbs and craving 
 stomach, that he was only in the country of mortals. Two 
 days he had travelled on in this way, hungry and sad, and in 
 despair of finding fortune : the fruits of the field had been his 
 only food, the hard earth his bed ; when on the morning of 
 , the third day, he beheld from some high ground a large city. 
 \ Clearly shone the half-moon on its battlements ; gay flags 
 j waved upon the house-tops, and seemed to beckon Little Fly to 
 I come to them. In amazement he stood still, surveying the 
 city and the country round. ' Yes, here Little Fly will make his 
 } fortune,' said he to himself, 'here or nowhere ?' and he cut a 
 caper in the air, in spite of his weariness. He then summoned 
 all his remaining strength, and walked towards the town. It 
 | had seemed quite near, yet he did not reach it before noon, for 
 I his little limbs almost refused to do their office, and he was 
 : forced to sit down under a palm-tree and rest himself. At last 
 ; he arrived at the city gate. He put his cloak straight, tied his 
 A turban more prettily, widened his sash, and stuck his dagger 
 
more awry ; then he wiped the dust off his shoes, grasped his 
 little stick, and went manfully in. He had passed along a great 
 many streets without a single door opening, or any one calling 
 out, as he had expected : ' Little Fly, come in ; eat, drink, and 
 rest thy feet.' 80 he was just giving another longing look at 
 a fine large house, when a window opened, and an old dame 
 looked out, crying in a singing tone : 
 
 ' Come, make haste ; come, make haste, 
 Of my cooking to taste ; 
 I've been laying the cloth, 
 So make free with the broth, 
 Quick, neighbours, quick ; 
 It's so hot and so thick.' 
 
 " The house door opened, and Fly saw a number of dogs and 
 cats go in. He stood some moments in doubt whether he should 
 obey the invitation ; but at last he took heart, and entered. A 
 pair of young kittens were just before ; so he thought he would 
 follow them, because most likely they knew the kitchen better 
 than he. 
 
 " On going up stairs, he was met by the same old dame who 
 had looked out of the window. She looked at him churlishly, 
 and asked his business. ' Why, you asked every one to come 
 and taste your broth,' answered Little Fly, ■ and because I am so 
 hungry I am come too.' The old woman burst out laughing, 
 and said : ' Where are you from, you odd little fellow ? The 
 whole town knows that I cook for no one but my dear cats, and 
 sometimes invite their neighbours to keep them company, as you 
 see.' Little Fly told the old dame how hardly he fared after 
 his father's death, and begged of her to let him eat, for once, 
 with her cats. When he had eaten and refreshed himself, the 
 old crone looked at him for some time, and then said : ' Little 
 Fly, stay in my service ; you wall have little to do, and shall be 
 well kept.' 
 
 " Little Fly liked the broth ; so he consented and became 
 Dame Ahavzi's servant. He had an easy, but a queer sort 
 of a place. When the old dame went out, he had to take 
 care of the cats ; when they dined, he had to help them to 
 he different dishes, and of a night lay them in silken cushions, 
 and tuck them up in velvet quilts. There was some little 
 dogs in the house too, that he had to attend to : though there 
 was not such a fuss made with them as Avith the cats. The 
 latter Dame Ahaviza made as much of as if they were her own 
 
THE STORY OF LITTLE FLY. 59 
 
 children. Upon the whole, Fly lived as lonely a life as in his 
 father's house ; for, saving his mistress, he saw nothing but cats 
 and dogs the whole day. 
 
 " For a time the little fellow had a pleasant life of it. He 
 always had plenty to eat and to drink, and little to do ; and 
 the old dame seemed very pleased with him : but by degrees 
 the cats grew naughty. When the old woman went out, they 
 leapt about the room like creatures possessed, threw every 
 thing about, and broke many a beautiful piece of ware that lay 
 in their way. But the moment they heard the old creature 
 coming up stairs, they sneaked off to their cushions, and 
 wagged their tails at her as if nothing had happened. Then 
 Dame Ahavzi used to fly in a passion, when she saw her room 
 all odds and ends, and lay all the blame on Fly; and he, 
 poor fellow, could say nothing ; for, protest his innocence how 
 he would, she much sooner believed her demure-looking cats 
 than her servant. 
 
 " So Little Fly began to be very sad, to think that, even here, 
 he had not found the good fortune he sought ; and he secretly 
 resolved to leave Dame Ahavzi's service. But, having expe- 
 rienced on his first journey, how ill people fare without money, 
 he made up his mind to get hold, some way or other, of the 
 wages which his mistress had promised, but never paid him. 
 
 a Now, in Dame Ahavzi's house there was a room which was 
 always kept closed up, and of which he had never seen the in- 
 side ; but he had often heard the old crone rummaging about 
 in it, and, for the life of him, he longed to know what she had 
 hid there. While he was thinking about money for his journey, 
 it occurred to him that the dame's treasures were very likely 
 concealed there ; but the door was always locked, and so he 
 could not get at the hoard. 
 
 " One morning, when Dame Ahavzi was out, one of the little 
 dogs that had always been treated very snappishly by the old 
 woman, and whose good graces Fly had eminently won by all 
 sorts of kindness, pulled him by his wide trousers, making such 
 gestures as showed that he wished him to follow him. Fly, 
 being fond of playing with the dog, did follow, when, lo and 
 behold ! the little dog led him into Dame Ahavzi's bed-room 
 to a little door which he had never noticed before. The door 
 was soon opened. The little dog went in, and Fly followed, 
 when how delighted he was to find himself in the very room 
 which had so long been the object of his wishes ! He looked 
 about everywhere, to see if he could find some money ; however, 
 
60 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 he found nothing; there were nothing but old clothes and 
 strangely shaped cups, and such like utensils, lying about. One 
 of these particularly drew his attention : it was of crystal, and 
 beautiful figures were carved upon it. He took it up, turning- 
 it round and round ; but — oh ! how terrible ! — he had not no- 
 ticed that it had a very insecure lid. The lid fell and broke in 
 a thousand pieces. 
 
 " For a long time Little Fly stood panic- struck. Now his fate- 
 was decided ; now he must fly, or the old crone would beat 
 him, and perhaps kill him. In a trice his journey was re- 
 solved upon, and he was only looking round once more, to 
 see if none of Dame Ahavzi's things would be of service to him 
 on the way, when a. pair of immense slippers met his eye. To 
 be sure they were not very handsome ; but his own could not 
 stand another journey, and these others pleased him by their 
 size ; for, if he once had them on, people would, in all con- 
 science, be able to see that he was out of his childish toggery. 
 So he kicked off his old shoes, and stepped into the great slip- 
 pers. A little stick, too, with a beautifully cut lion's head, 
 seemed to him to be standing far too idle, in a corner ; he took 
 this with him too, and then hurried out of the room. He 
 gained his own garret, put on his little cloak, set his father's 
 turban on his head, stuck the dagger in his sash, and left 
 house and town behind him as fast as his legs would carry him. 
 He ran on and on, in fear of the old woman, till he was almost 
 spent with fatigue. In his whole life he had never gone so 
 fast ; he even fancied he should never stop running, for an un- 
 seen power seemed to hurry him along. At last, he remarked 
 that this must have some secret connection with the slippers ; 
 for they kept darting forward and forward, and bearing him 
 with them. He tried every way to stand still, but without suc- 
 cess : so he cried out, in the greatest distress, as people do to 
 horses — 'AVo!— Wo! — Wo!' On this the slippers stopped, 
 and Fly flung himself exhausted on the earth. 
 
 " The slippers pleased him vastly ; so, at last, then, he had got 
 something to help him along in the world on his quest of good 
 fortune. He fell asleep, in spite of his joy, out of pure ex- 
 haustion ; for Little Fly's body, with its very heavy head, could 
 not stand much. In his dreams the little dog appeared to him, 
 that had helped him to his booty in Dame Ahavzi's house, 
 and said to him — ' Dear Fly, you don't yet quite understand 
 the use of the slippers. Do you know, if you turn round three 
 times in them, on your heel, you may lly away wherever you 
 
THE STORY OF LITTLE FLY. 61 
 
 like ; and with the little stick you may find treasures, for 
 where gold is hid it will give three knocks on the ground, and 
 where silver is, two.' Such was Little Fly's dream ; and, when 
 he awoke, he thought of the wonderful dream, and made up 
 his mind to make a trial on the spot. He put on the slippers, 
 stood on one foot, and began to turn round on his heel. But ] 
 any one who has tried to do this trick three times running, in 
 a very large slipper, will not be surprised that Little Fly did not 
 succeed at first, especially when he. remembers that his heavy 
 head toppled first on this side and then on that. 
 
 "The poor little fellow fell plump on his nose once or twice ; } 
 yet he would not be discouraged repeating the attempt, and at 
 last he succeeded. He went round on his heel like a whirligig, 
 wished himself in the next large town, and see— the slippers 
 flapped up into the air, sped with the swiftness of the wind 
 through the clouds, and before Little Fly knew what he was 
 about, he found himself in a large market-place, where a mass 
 of booths had been put up, and throngs of men were passing 
 up and down. He went about among the people, but he soon 
 found it better to seek out some less frequented street, for, in 
 the market, one person or the other would tread on his slippers 
 and nearly trip him up ; or he would run his long cumbersome 
 dagger against this man or that, and narrowly escape hard 
 blows. 
 
 " So Little Fly now really set about thinking what would be 
 the best for him to do, to earn a little money. To be sure he had 
 a little stick which could point out hidden treasures to him ; but 
 how was he to find a place where gold or silver was buried ? 
 Besides, in case of need, he could have made a show of himself 
 for money ; but he was too proud for this. At last his lightness 
 of foot occurred to him. ' Perhaps,' thought he, * my slippers 
 may gain me a living.' And so he resolved to hire himself as 
 running footman ; and, expecting that the king of the city would 
 pay his services best, he made inquiries at the palace. At the 
 gate stood a sentinel, who asked him what he wanted there. On 
 his replying that he wanted a place, he was directed to the over- 
 seer of the slaves. To this man he made his business known, 
 begging him to get him a place among the king's messengers. 
 
 " The overseer took a glance at him from head to foot, and 
 said, " What ! with your little feet, scarcely a span long, you 
 want to be a royal runner ? Be off with you, I'm not placed here 
 to waste my time on every fool.' 
 
 " Little Fly, however, assured him he was quite in earnest, and 
 
62 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 that he was ready to run a race with the fastest of them. All 
 this seemed very laughable to the overseer. He bade him be 
 ready for a race in the evening, took him into the kitchen, and 
 saw him well supplied with meat and drink ; and then he went 
 to the king, and told him about the little man and his offer. 
 The king was a merry fellow, so he was very pleased that the 
 overseer had kept Little Fly for a bit of fun. He gave him or- 
 ders to make arrangements in a meadow behind the palace, that 
 the race might be viewed with convenience by his whole court ; 
 and charged him once more to take great care of the dwarf. 
 Then he told the princes and princesses what a sight they were 
 to see that evening. They again told their servants, and to- 
 wards evening the expectation of every one was on the stretch ; 
 and all who had legs to carry them went streaming towards the 
 meadow, where scaffoldings had been raised, that they might see 
 the boastful dwarf run his race. 
 
 " When the king and his sons and daughters had taken their 
 places on the platform, Little Fly stepped forward, and made the 
 grand people a most graceful bow. There was a general shout 
 of joy when the little fellow showed himself. Such a funny 
 figure had never been seen there before. The little body with 
 the huge head, the little cloak and the wide trowsers, the long 
 dagger in the broad sash, the tiny feet in the immense slippers 
 — no 1 it was too droll a sight for the people to keep from burst- 
 ing with laughter. But Little Fly would not be put out by their 
 laughing. He took his place ; and, resting on his little cane, 
 awaited his rival. 
 
 " The overseer of the slaves, by Fly's express desire, had 
 picked out the fastest runner. The latter now came forth, took 
 his stand by his little rival, and they both waited for the signal. 
 As had been agreed upon, Princess Amarza waved her veil; and | 
 like two arrows shot off at the same mark, the two racers flew 
 along over the meadow. At first Fly's opponent had far the 
 best of the start ; but the little dwarf made bravely after him 
 on his slipper-work, overtook him, passed him, and was at the 
 goal long before the other came up panting for breath. Sheer 
 amazement held the spectators for some moments speechless ; 
 but when the king clapped his hands, they all shouted at once, 
 ' Hurrah to Little Fly, the winner of the race !' 
 
 " In the meantime, Little Fly had been led up : he threw him- 
 self at the king's feet, saying, * Most mighty king, I have here 
 given thee only a slight proof of my skill ; wilt thou now ac- 
 cord me a place among thy runners ?' 
 
THE STORY OF LITTLE FLY. 63 
 
 " But the king answered ' Nay ; thou shalt be my own body- 
 runner, and always be about my person, good Fly. Every year 
 thou shalt receive a hundred pieces of gold as wages, and dine 
 at the table of my chief servants.' 
 
 " So Fly at last thought he had found the good fortune he had 
 so long been in search of, and was cheerful and glad at heart. 
 He was delighted, too, at the special regard of the king, for he 
 employed him on his fastest and most secret errands ; and these 
 he dispatched with the greatest exactness and the most incon- 
 ceivable swiftness. 
 
 ■* But the other servants of the king were not his friends, be- 
 cause they did not like to see themselves supplanted in their 
 master's favour by a dwarf who understood nothing but run- 
 ning fast. So they formed many a conspiracy against him to 
 work his fall ; but they all failed to shake the great confidence 
 which the king reposed in his privy body-runner ; for to this 
 dignity he rose in a very short time. 
 
 " Fly, who was no stranger to these proceedings against him, 
 did not meditate revenge. No : he had too good a heart for 
 that ; but he thought of some means of making himself neces- 
 sary to, and beloved by, his enemies. His little staff, which in 
 better times he had forgotten, now occurred to him. If he 
 could find treasures, he thought, the courtiers would soon be- 
 come attached to him. He had often heard that the present 
 king's father had once buried a great deal of his treasure when 
 the enemy invaded his land. It was said too, that he had died 
 without being able to tell his son the secret. From that time 
 forth, therefore, Fly always took his little staff with him, in the 
 hope of some day passing the place where the money of the old 
 king had been buried. 
 
 " One evening chance led him to a remote part of the palace- 
 garden, which he very seldom visited, when, all of a sudden, he 
 felt the stick jerk in his hand, and strike three times against the 
 ground. Now he knew well enough what this meant ; so he 
 drew his dagger, scratched marks in the surrounding trees, and 
 stole back into the palace ; there he procured a spade, and 
 waited till night favoured hi3 design. 
 
 " This treasure-digging, though, gave Little Fly more trouble 
 than he had thought for ; his arms were much too weak, his 
 spade too large and heavy, and he worked about two hours 
 before he had got a couple of feet deep. At last, he struck 
 against something hard that sounded like iron; this made him 
 dig on more stoutly, and he had soon brought to light a large 
 
 G 2 
 
64 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 iron lid. He went down into the liole to see what it might be 
 that the lid covered, and there it was, a large pot filled with 
 gold pieces. But his little strength was not enough to lift the 
 pot, so he put as much in his trousers and his girdle as he 
 could carry, filling his cloak at the same time; and then he 
 covered up the rest with great care, and bore it on his back ; 
 but really, if he had not had his slippers on, he never could 
 have stirred from the spot, the burden of gold weighed him 
 down so ; as it was, he reached his room without being seen, 
 and hid his hoard under the cushions of his sofa. 
 
 " Now, when Little Fly found himself possessed of so much 
 gold, he thought the tables would turn, and that he should gain 
 many patrons and warm adherents among his enemies at court ; 
 but that was proof enough that good Fly could not have had a 
 very careful education, or else he would not easily have reckoned 
 on gaining true friends by money. The money that he now 
 dealt out by handfuls excited the envy of the other servants at 
 court. Ahuli, the master of the kitchen, said he was a coiner ; 
 Achmet, the overseer of slaves, said he had talked the king out 
 of it ; Arkaz, the treasurer, who was his bitterest enemy, and 
 who would himself have been glad to make a gripe at the king's 
 treasure, said outright, he had stolen it ; so, to make matters 
 sure, they conspired together, and the upper butler one day 
 presented himself sad and downcast before the king. His 
 mournful gestures were so striking that the king asked him 
 what was the matter with him. 
 
 " ' Ah ! ' answered he, * it makes me sad to think I have lost 
 the favour of my master.' 
 
 " * What art thou raving about ? Carchuz,' rejoined the king ; 
 c since when have I not let the sun of my favour light upon 
 you ? ' 
 
 " The upper butler answered that he loaded the chief body* 
 runner for instance with gold, but gave nothing to his poor 
 faithful servants . 
 
 " Hie king was very much astonished at this news : he inquired 
 into Little Fly's distribution of gold, and the conspirators soon 
 raised in him a suspicion that Fly, in some way or other, had 
 stolen the money out of the treasury. 
 
 " This turn of affairs was very pleasing to the treasurer, who 
 was at no time fond of giving in an account. The king there- 
 fore ordered Little Fly's every step to be secretly watched, in 
 order, if possible, to catch him in the fact. Now, in the night of 
 this fatal day, when finding his store brought very low by his 
 
THE STORY OF LITTLE FLY. 
 
 68 
 
 generosity, Little Fly took his spade, and stole into the palace- 
 garden, to fetch a new supply from his hidden treasure; the 
 sentinels, led on by Ahuli, the master of the kitchen, and 
 Arka, the treasurer, followed at a distance ; and just as he was 
 going to empty the gold from the pot into his cloak, they fell 
 on him, bound him, and led him immediately before the king. 
 The latter, sour at the interruption of his sleep, received his 
 poor chief body-runner very ungraciously, and began his trial 
 at once. They had taken the pot quite out of the ground, and 
 placed it with the spade and the cloak full of gold at the king's 
 feet. 
 
 " The treasurer gave evidence to having surprised Little Fly 
 with his guards, just as he had buried the jar of gold in the 
 ground ; upon which the king asked the accused whether it was 
 true, and where he got the pieces from. Little Fly, in the 
 consciousness of his innocence, declared he had found the pot 
 in the garden, and that he did not want to bury it, but to dig 
 it out. 
 
 " All present laughed hard at this excuse ; but the king, in the 
 greatest rage at the supposed audacity of the little fellow, cried 
 out — ' What, wretch ! thou wilt palm so stupid and shameful a 
 lie upon the king, after robbing him ? Treasurer Arka, I 
 demand of thee to tell me whether thou recognizest this sum of 
 gold lor the same which is wanting in my treasury ?' 
 
 " The treasurer answered that he was quite up with his 
 accounts ; that for some time, as much as that and still more 
 had been missing from the royal treasury, and he could take 
 oath that this was the stolen coin. 
 
 " The king therefore ordered Little Fly to be put in heavy 
 chains, and led to the dungeon in the tower ; but he gave the 
 gold to the treasurer, for him to carry it back to the treasury. 
 
 " Pleased with the happy issue of the business, Arka 
 went away, and told over his shining pieces at home; but, 
 wicked man ! he never made known that a slip of paper was at 
 the bottom of the jar, with these words written on it : — ' The 
 enemy has overrun my land, so I here hide a part of my treasure. 
 The curse of the king light on him who finds it, and delivers it 
 not to my son. — King Sadi.' 
 
 " Little Fly gave way to doleful thoughts in his dungeon ; he 
 knew that death was the punishment awarded to theft com- 
 mitted on the royal estate ; yet he did not like to betray the 
 secret of the little staff to the king, because he had good reason 
 to fear he would by that means be deprived of both that and 
 
 G 3 
 
66 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 the slippers. His slippers too could be of no use to him, for as 
 he was locked to the wall by a heavy chain, he could not turn 
 upon his heel, torment himself as he would. But next day, 
 when sentence of death was announced to him, he thought it 
 would be better after all to live without the little staff*, than 
 to die with it ; so he craved a secret audience of the king-, 
 and divulged the secret. The king at first put no faith in 
 his confession ; but Little Fly promised him a proof of it, if 
 he would reverse his doom. The king pledged him his word, 
 had some gold buried without letting Little Fly see where, and 
 ordered him to go and look about with his staff*. In a few 
 moments he had found it, for the little staff" struck markedly 
 three times on the ground. Then the king saw that the trea- 
 surer had cheated him, and sent him, according to eastern 
 custom, a silken twine, to strangle himself with. But to Little 
 Fly, he said — ' To be sure I promised thee thy life, but it 
 seems to me thou possessest not this secret of the little staff* 
 only ; so thou shalt remain a captive for life, if thou wilt not 
 confess what it has to do with thy running.' Little Fly, who, 
 with one night in the tower, had lost all taste for longer en- 
 durance, confessed that all his skill lay in the slippers ; but still 
 he did not tell the king anything about the turning round three 
 times on his heel. The king slipped on the slippers himself, 
 to make a trial, and ran like one mad about the garden ; often 
 would he have stopped, but he knew not how to bring the slip- 
 pers to a stand still ; and Fly, who could not deny himself this 
 little revenge, let him run until he fell down quite exhausted. 
 
 " When he came to himself again, he was very angry with 
 Little Fly for having permitted him to run till he was quite out 
 of breath. * I have pledged thee my word to grant thee thy 
 life and liberty; but within twelve hours thou must quit my 
 kingdom, or else I will have thee tied up by the neck.' But 
 he had the slippers and the little stick laid up in his treasury. 
 Poor as ever, Little Fly wandered out of the land, cursing the 
 folly which had cheated him into the belief that he might play 
 a great part at court. The country out of which they had 
 turned him was, fortunately, not large ; so in eight hours he 
 had reached the borders, although walking without his dear 
 slippers was grievous drudgery to him. 
 
 " As soon as he had passed the frontiers, he quitted the com- 
 mon road, to seek the loneliest thicket in the woods, and there 
 live by himself ; for he was out of sorts with all mankind. In 
 a thick forest he came to a place which seemed exactly suited to 
 
THE STORY OF LITTLE FLY. 67 
 
 the plan he had formed. A clear brook, skirted by high and 
 shady rig-trees, and a soft lawn, invited him to rest there ; and 
 he threw himself down with the resolution not to touch any 
 kind of food again, but there to await his death. Full of sad 
 thoughts about death, he fell asleep ; but when he woke, and 
 hunger began to torment him, he bethought himself that hun- 
 ger, after all, was a dangerous matter, and looked about for 
 something to eat. 
 
 "Delicious ripe figs were hanging on the trees under which he 
 had been sleeping; he climbed up to gather some, ate them 
 with a keen relish, and then went down to the brook to quench 
 his thirst. But how great was his alarm when the water 
 showed him his head graced with two huge ears and a long, 
 thick nose. In alfright he put his hands to his ears, and in 
 reality they were more than half an ell long, — ' I deserve ass's 
 ears,' cried he 'for I have trodden my good fortune under 
 foot like an ass." He wandered about among the trees ; but 
 he was once more obliged to take the figs, as there was 
 notliing else to eat on the trees ; and strange to say, — when it 
 occurred to him, after eating the figs a second time, that his 
 ears might perhaps have room under his large turban, — he felt 
 that they were gone ! He ran back to the brook in an instant, 
 to convince himself it was so, and sooth it was.; his ears had 
 recovered their former shape, and his long, ugly nose was no 
 more to be seen. Then he noticed how all this had happened — 
 from the first fig-tree he had got the long nose and ears, and 
 the second had cured him; with joy he saw that his good 
 destiny had once more given him the means of prospering. He 
 therefore gathered as much as he could from every tree, and 
 went back into the country he had just before quitted. There 
 he put on other clothes, so that it was impossible to recognise 
 him, and then went on towards the town where the king lived. 
 He soon arrived there. 
 
 " It was just the season at which ripe fruits were pretty scarce; 
 so he took his seat at the gate of the palace, because he knew 
 of old that such rarities were bought up by the master of the 
 kitchen, for the royal table. He had not been sitting long, when 
 he saw the man in question coming towards him across the 
 yard. He eyed the different wares of the different dealers who 
 had met at the palace-gate, and at last he caught sight of Fly's 
 little basket. 'Ah! a rare morsel,' cried he; 'that would 
 suit his majesty, to a certainty. What do you want for the 
 whole lot ? ' Little Fly asked a fair price, and they soon con- 
 
68 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 eluded their bargain. The master of the kitchen gave the 
 basket to a slave, and went away ; bnt Little Fly made himself 
 scarce, for he feared that if the disaster fell on the heads of the 
 court, he might be hunted up as the seller, and be punished. 
 
 " The king was very merry at table that day, and again and 
 again praised the master of the kitchen for his good viands, and 
 the care with which he always selected all that was choicest for 
 him; but the master of the kitchen, who very well knew what 
 a dainty morsel he had in reserve chuckled most pleasantly, 
 dropping, now and then, such half hints as these — * We're not 
 out of the wood yet;' or, ' All's well that ends well.' So that 
 the princesses were very curious to know what could be coming ; 
 but when he served up the figs, a general cry of ' Ah ! ' escaped 
 the lips of the company. 
 
 " ' How ripe, how delicious they look ! ' cried the king. 
 ' Master of the kitchen, you're a capital fellow, every inch of 
 you, and deserve our most particular favour.' 
 
 " So saying, the king, who was very sparing of such dainties, 
 portioned out the figs with his own hands. Every prince and 
 princess had two, the ladies at court, the viziers and agas one, 
 and the rest he placed before him, and began to devour them 
 with the greatest relish. 
 
 "'But gracious me, father, how odd you look,' cried 
 Princess Amarza, all at once. 
 
 " They all looked in astonishment at the king ; huge ears were 
 hanging from his head, a long nose drooped over his chin ; and 
 they turned their eyes on each other, too, in amazement and 
 terror, for they all were more or less graced with this strange 
 head-dress. 
 
 " The dismay of the court may be imagined. All the physi 
 cians of the city were instantly sent for ; they came in crowds, 
 prescribed pills and draughts; but the ears and noses remained 
 fixed to their places. One of the princes was even operated 
 upon ; it was all in vain, the ears grew as fast as they were cut off. 
 
 " Fly had heard all about this in his hiding-place, and now he 
 knew it was time to proceed to business. With the money which 
 he had got for the figs he procured himself the disguise of a learned 
 doctor, and a long beard of goat's hair completed the cheat. 
 
 " With a bag full of figs he then went to the king's palace, and 
 offered his services as a foreign physician. At first they put 
 very little faith in him ; but when he had given one of the princes 
 a fig to eat, and restored nose and ears to their former state, 
 every one was for being healed by the foreign physician. The 
 
THE STORY OF LITTLE FLY. 
 
 69 
 
 king, however, first took him silently by the hand, and led him 
 to his own apartment ; he there opened a door which led to the 
 treasury, and signed to Fly to follow him. ' Here are my 
 treasures,' said the king ; ' choose what you will, and it shall 
 be yours, if you free me from this shameful deformity.' 
 
 " This was music to the ears of Little Fly. The moment he 
 entered, he had seen his slippers on the floor, and his little 
 staff' lying close by them. So he walked about as if busy in ad- 
 miring the king's treasures ; but scarcely had he reached his 
 
 J slippers, when he slipped into them all of a moment, tore away 
 his false beard, and showed the astonished king the well-known 
 features of his disgraced Fly. * Faithless king !' said lie, ' who 
 hast rewarded faithful services with ingratitude, take as a well- 
 merited punishment the hateful form which thou now wearest. 
 I leave thee thy ears that they may daily remind thee of little 
 Fly.' So saying, he turned round quickly on his heel, wished 
 himself far away, and before the king could call for help, Little 
 Fly was gone. Since then Fly has lived here in great comfort, 
 but has kept quite to himself. Experience has made him a wise 
 man, who, even if his figure have something strange in it, much 
 
 | rather deserves your admiration than your mockery." 
 
 Such was the story my father gave me. I assured him how 
 sorry I was for my rude behaviour to the good little man, and 
 he forgave me the other half of the punishment in arrear. I 
 told my playfellows the wonderful fortunes of Fly, and we grew 
 so fond of him, that not one of us mocked him any more. On 
 the contrary, we honoured him as long as he lived, and always 
 bowed as low to him as to the cadi and mufti. 
 
 The travellers resolved to stay a day in the caravansara, to 
 strengthen themselves and the beasts of burden for the rest of 
 the journey. The merriment of the yesterday continued on the 
 morrow, and they amused themselves in various ways; but 
 after dinner they called upon Ali Sizah, the fifth merchant, to 
 do his duty towards the rest, and to tell his tale. He answered 
 that his life had been too barren in striking incidents for him to 
 think of giving them a story out of it, so he said he would tell 
 them something else, and immediately began the " Fairy Tale 
 of the False Prince." 
 
70 
 
 THE FAIRY TALE OF THE FALSE PRINCE. 
 
 There was once an honest journeyman-tailor, named Labucan, 
 who had been apprentice to a clever master in Alexandria. 
 Labucan could not be said to be awkward with his needle ; on 
 the contrary, he could do very fine work ; and they wronged 
 him, too, when they plumply called him idle. Yet all was not 
 quite right with our journeyman, for he would often work away 
 for long hours, till the needle glowed in his hand and the thread 
 smoked again, and then he turned out such a job as no one 
 else could show ; but at other times — and these, alas ! came too 
 frequently — he would sit buried in thought, with a fixed and 
 vacant stare, and something so strange in his face and manner, 
 that his master and workmates, when they spoke of him in this 
 state, always used to say, " Labucan is looking grand again/' 
 
 But on Fridays, when other people went quietly home from 
 prayers to their work, Labucan would issue from the mosque in 
 a fine habit, which he had saved up his earnings to buy with 
 great difficulty, and would stalk slowly and proudly through the 
 squares and streets of the city ; and when this or that work- 
 mate gave him a " Peace be with thee !" or, " How does friend 
 Labucan do ?" he would graciously sign with his hand, or, on 
 unusually great occasions, give an important bow ; and when his 
 master said to him in fun — "A prince is lost in thee, Labucan !" 
 he was pleased at it, and replied, " What, you have noticed that, 
 too ?" or, " I've thought so a long time." 
 
 So the honest journeyman had gone on for a pretty good 
 time, his master bearing with his folly, because in other things 
 he was a good fellow and a clever workman, when one day 
 Selim, the sultan's brother, who was just then on his way 
 through Alexandria, sent a festal robe to his master to have it 
 altered in some way ; and the latter put it into Labucan's hands, 
 
THE FAIRY TALE OF THE FALSE PRINCE. 
 
 7! 
 
 because he did finer work than the rest. Now, in the evening, 
 when master and journeymen had all gone away to refresh 
 themselves after the day's labour, an irresistible longing drove 
 Labucan again into the shop, where the robe of the sultan's 
 brother was hanging. For a long time he stood before it full of 
 thought, now admiring the splendour of the embroidery, and 
 now the shot colours of the silk and the velvet. He could not 
 help putting it on, when, lo, and behold ! it fitted him just as if 
 it had been made for him. 
 
 "Am not I a prince with the best of them ?" said he, stalking 
 up and down the room. " Has not my master himself said that 
 I was born to be a prince ?" 
 
 With the garment, the journeyman seemed to have put on 
 quite a royal turn of thought. He could not think himself 
 anything but a renowned king's son ; and so he resolved to go 
 abroad, and quit a place where people had been so foolish as 
 not to recognise his innate dignity under the veil of his low em- 
 ploy. The costly robe seemed sent him by some kind fairy ; 
 he was very cautious not to think lightly of so precious a gift. 
 So he took what little cash he had, and wandered, under favour 
 of night, out of the gates of Alexandria. 
 
 The new prince everywhere excited astonishment in his wan- 
 derings ; for the costly garb, and his grave, majestic bearing, 
 were not at all suited to a wayfarer on foot. When he was 
 questioned on the matter, he used to reply, with an air of mys- 
 tery, that there were reasons for it best known to himself. But 
 when he found that he made himself ridiculous by his wander- 
 ings on foot, he bought an old horse for a trifle, which suited 
 him very well, as it never put him to the necessity — so fatal to 
 his staid composure and gentleness — of showing off as a skilful 
 rider, for this he was far from being. 
 
 One day, as he was going his way, step by step, on his Marva 
 — for so he had named his horse — another horseman joined him, 
 and begged leave to ride in his company, because the road would 
 > be much shorter to them while chatting with one another. The 
 horseman was a cheerful young man, with handsome features 
 ■ and an engaging address. He had got into conversation with 
 Labucan as to " where he had come from" and " whither he was 
 going and it proved that he, like the journeyman, was going 
 i into the world without any particular plan. He said his name 
 was Omar, that he was the nephew of the unfortunate Basha of 
 Cairo, and was now on his road to execute a commission which 
 his uncle had given him on his death-bed. Labucan was not ! 
 
72 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 quite so frank in telling his circumstances ; but lie gave his 
 fellow-traveller to understand that he was of high extraction, 
 and was travelling for amusement. 
 
 The two young men were pleased with each other, and pro- 
 ceeded on their way. On the second day of their travelling in 
 company, Labucan asked his companion, Omar, about the 
 commissions that he had to attend to; and, to his astonish- 
 ment, received the following account : — 
 
 " Elfi Bey, the Basha of Cairo, had brought up Omar from 
 his earliest infancy, and his ward had never known his parents. 
 Now, after Elfi had been attacked by his enemies, and obliged 
 to fly, mortally wounded, after three unfortunate battles, he in- 
 formed his ward that he was not his nephew, but the son of a 
 powerful monarch, who, alarmed by the predictions of an astro- 
 loger, had sent his son away from his court, swearing that he 
 would not see him again before his twenty-second birth-day. 
 Elfi Bey had not told him his father's name ; but enjoined him 
 most earnestly to repair to the famous pillar of El-Serujab — 
 four days' journey east of Alexandria — on the fourth day of the 
 approaching month of Ramadan, on which he would be two- 
 and-twenty years of age. There he was to present a dagger to 
 certain men who would be standing by the pillar, with these 
 words— ' Here am I whom you seek!' and if they answer — 
 ' Praised be the Prophet who hath preserved thee,' he need only 
 follow them, and they would conduct him to his father." 
 
 Labucan was very much astonished at this information. From 
 that time forward he regarded Prince Omar with an eye of envy ; 
 angry with fate for having given the dignity of a royal prince to 
 one who already passed for the nephew of a mighty basha; 
 while he, who was endowed with all the requisite qualifications 
 of a prince, had received, as it were in mockery, an obscure birth 
 and a common calling. He began making comparisons between 
 himself and the Prince. He was obliged to confess him to be a 
 man of very animated countenance, fine speaking eyes, a well- 
 arched nose, gentle and obliging behaviour; in short, all those 
 exterior qualifications which are apt to recommend were natural 
 to him. But gifted as his companion appeared to him, he was 
 fain to grant that a Labucan would most likely be more welcome 
 to the royal father than the real prince. 
 
 These thoughts haunted him the whole day, and full of them 
 he went to sleep at the inn where they stopped for the night ; 
 and in the morning, when he awoke and cast his eye upon 
 Prince Omar, who slept so soundly, dreaming perhaps of his 
 
THE FAIRY TALE OF THE FALSE PRINCE. 73 
 
 certain good fortune, he formed an idea of gaining, by cunning 
 or violence, what an adverse, destiny had denied him. The dag- 
 ger, the sign of recognition for the returning Prince, was stick- 
 ing in the sash of the sleeper j he drew it softly, that he might 
 plunge it into the breast of its owner. But the gentle soul of 
 the journeyman took fright at the thought of murder; he con- 
 tented himself Math taking the dagger, with having the Prince's 
 superior horse saddled for himself; and before Omar awoke 
 and found himself defeated in all his hopes, his faithless com- 
 panion was several miles in advance of him. 
 
 It was the very first day of the holy month of Ramaden 
 when Labucan committed the robbery on the Prince, and so he 
 had four days to reach El-Serujah, a place very well known to 
 him. Although the part in which this pillar stood could at 
 most be only two days' journey distant, yet he hastened to 
 make good his arrival, for fear of being overtaken by the real 
 prince. At the end of the third day he descried the pillar. It 
 stood on a slight eminence on a large plain, and might be seen 
 five or six miles off. His heart beat higher at the sight of it ; 
 although for the two last days he had amply revolved the part 
 he had to play, yet his bad conscience made him a little fearful. 
 Then again the thought of being born to be a prince encouraged 
 him again ; so that he proceeded under a greater sense of com- 
 fort to his destination. 
 
 The country about El-Serujah was uninhabited and desolate, 
 and the new prince would have been somewhat put to a puzzle 
 for sustenance if he had not provided himself beforehand for 
 several days. So he lay down by his horse under some palm 
 trees, and there awaited his further fortunes. 
 
 Towards noon, next day, he saw a long train of horses and 
 camels coming over the plain towards the pillar of El-Serujah. 
 The cavalcade stopped at the foot of the hill on which the pillar 
 stood ; magnificent tents were pitched, and the whole had the 
 appearance of the travelling retinue of a rich basha or sheik. 
 Labucan guessed that the crowd of people which he saw had 
 come thither on his account, and he would have been glad to 
 have shown them at once their future ruler ; but he moderated 
 his eagerness to take the character of prince, for the very next 
 morning would amply satisfy his most daring wishes. 
 
 The morning sun awoke the delighted tailor to the most criti- 
 cal moment of his life, one which was to raise him from so 
 humble a station to the side of a princely father. It is true the 
 injustice of the step he had taken occurred to him as he was 
 
 H 
 
THE CARAVAN. 
 
 I bridling his horse for his ride to the pillar ; and many a thought 
 
 j reminded him of the pain the Prince must suffer in being 
 cheated of his fairest hopes j but the throw was made, he could 
 not undo what was already done, and his self-love whispered 
 him that he looked grand enough to represent himself to the 
 
 [ mightiest monarch as his son. Encouraged by these reflec- 
 tions, he vaulted on his horse, mustered all his courage to break 
 into a decent gallop, and in less than a quarter of an hour had 
 reached the foot of the hill. He dismounted, and tied his horse 
 to a shrub, of which there were a great number growing on the 
 spot, and drawing out Prince Omar's dagger he ascended, the 
 hill. At the foot of the pillar stood six men round an old man 
 of high-born royal mien ; the costly caftan of cloth of gold, con- 
 fined by a shawl of white cachemire ; the snowy turban set with 
 sparkling gems, bespoke a man of wealth and dignity. Labucan 
 approached him, bowed low before him, and presenting him 
 the dagger said — " Here am I whom ye seek." 
 
 " Praised be the Prophet who hath preserved thee," replied 
 the old man, weeping for joy. " Embrace thy old father, my 
 dear son Omar." 
 
 The worthy tailor was deeply touched by this solemn address, 
 and sank in mingled ecstacy and shame into the arms of the 
 aged prince. But a single moment only was he allowed to en- 
 joy the transport of his new exaltation. On rising from the 
 
 | j prince's arms, he saw a rider scouring over the plain and making 
 
 j direct for the hill : both horseman and horse had an unsuat 
 look, the steed seemed either too obstinate or too tired to pro- 
 
 I ceed, and shambled along at a drawling pace that was neither 
 j a walk nor a trot, while the horseman urged it on with hand and 
 
 j foot. Too quickly did Labucan recognise his horse Marva and 
 
 j the real prince, Omar ; but the wicked spirit of lies had already 
 
 j entered him, and he resolved, come what might, to assert his 
 
 | assumed rights with a brazen air. 
 
 Even at a distance the horseman had been seen to beckon 
 
 j with his hand ; but now, in spite of the sorry trot of Marva, he 
 
 ' had reached the foot of the hill. 
 
 " Stop," cried he, " stop, whoever ye may be, and allow not 
 yourselves to be deceived by the most infamous of impostors. 
 My name is Omar, a name which no mortal man shall venture 
 
 j to abuse !" 
 
 At this turn of affairs blank astonishment showed itself in 
 the faces of the bystanders ; the old man seemed especially 
 struck with amazement, and looked questioningly now at this 
 
THE FAIRY TALE OF THE FALSE PRINCE. 
 
 one and then at that. But Labucan, with forced composure, 
 said to him, " Most gracious lord and father, be not led wrong 
 by that man there ; he is, I believe, a crazy journeyman tailor 
 from Alexandria, of the name of Labucan, who rather deserves 
 our pity than our anger." 
 
 The Prince was almost mad at these words : foaming with 
 rage, he would have rushed on Labucan ; but the bystanders 
 kept him back, and the King said to him, " In good truth, my 
 dear son, the poor man is beside himself : let him be bound 
 and placed upon one of our dromedaries ; perhaps we shall 
 be able to relieve his misfortune." 
 
 By this time Omar's fury had subsided ; bathed in tears he 
 cried out to the King, w My heart tells me thou art my father : 
 by the memory of my mother, hear me !" 
 
 " He is beginning to rave again," replied the King ; <c how 
 can the man get such wild thoughts into his head !" 
 
 So saying, he took Labucan's arm, and made him his escort 
 down the hill. They then mounted beautiful horses, capari- 
 soned with rich saddle-cloths, and rode over the plain at the 
 head of their retinue. But the others tied poor Omar's hands, and 
 bound him fast on a dromedary ; while two riders were perpe- 
 1 1 tually at his side, keeping a watchful eye on his every movement. 
 
 j The aged Prince was Sadud, the Sultan of the Weckabites. 
 He had long been without offspring, when at last the child was 
 born to him, which he had so long been wishing for : but the 
 
 j astrologers of whom he inquired concerning the destiny of his 
 son, gave answer : — " That till the period of attaining his two- 
 
 j and-twentieth year, he was in danger of being oppressed by an 
 enemy:" so, to make matters quite sure, the Sultan had en- 
 trusted his son to the care of his old and tried friend Elii Bey ; 
 and had endured two-and-twenty years of painful waiting for 
 the day when he should see him once more. All this the Sultan 
 had recounted to his supposed son ; expressing himself above 
 measure delighted with his figure and dignified bearing. 
 
 On reaching the territories of the aged prince, they were 
 everywhere welcomed with acclamations of joy ; for the re- 
 port of the Prince's return had passed like wild-fire through 
 the towns and villages. On the streets they passed through 
 were arches of leaves and flowers erected; splendid cloths 
 of every hue decorated the houses ; and loudly did the people 
 praise God and the Prophet, for having sent them so hand- 
 some a prince. All this filled the proud heart of the tailor 
 with rapture ; but how unhappy must the real Omar have 
 
 II 2 
 
76 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 felt, who, still in chains and in mute despondency, followed 
 in the train ! No one cared for him amid the general re- 
 joicing, though, in fact, he was the true claimant of it all. 
 The name of Omar was echoed by thousands of thousands 
 of tongues, but he who rightly bore it was noticed by no one. 
 Perhaps this or that person would ask who then it was they 
 were bringing with them in fetters, and fearfully sounded his 
 guard's answer in the ears of the Prince — " it is only a crazy 
 tailor." 
 
 The procession had at last reached the Sultan's capital, where 
 everything was arranged for their reception on a still more splen- 
 did scale than in the other towns. The Sultana, a venerable old 
 lady, was waiting for them with her whole court in the most 
 magnificent saloon of the palace. The floor of this apartment 
 was covered with one immense carpet : trie walls hung with 
 sky-blue damask, looped up in large silver rosettes, with tassels 
 and cords of gold. 
 
 It was already dark on the arrival of the cavalcade, and a 
 host of round coloured lamps were burning in the saloon, and 
 turning night into day. But they shone brightest and most 
 variedly at the upper end of the hall, where the Sultana was 
 sitting on a throne. This last was raised on four steps, inlaid 
 with gold, and set in amethysts. The four noblest emirs ex- 
 panded a baldachin of red silk over the Sultana's head, and the 
 Sheik of Medina fanned her with the feathers of the peacock. 
 
 In this manner the Sultana awaited her consort and her son. 
 She, too, had not seen him since the day of his birth; but 
 significant dreams had shown her the long wished-for one, 
 till she felt that she could recognise him among thousands. 
 Now the clattering of the approaching cavalcade was heard, 
 with the sound of drum and trumpet mingling with the 
 huzzas of the multitude ; the tramp of the horses echoed in the 
 court of the palace — nearer and nearer sounded the steps of the 
 returning ones — the doors of the saloon flew open, and through 
 the rows of prostrate servants hastened the Sultan, leaning on 
 his son's hand, to the throne of his mother. 
 
 "Here," said he, "I bring thee him thou hast so long 
 desired !" 
 
 But the Sultana abruptly interrupted him. " That is not my 
 son," cried she; "those are not the features which the Prophet 
 has shown me in my dreams !" 
 
 Just as the Sultan was about to rebuke her for her supersti- 
 tion, the door of the saloon again flew open; Prince Omar 
 
THE FAIRY TALE OF THE FALSE PRINCE. 77 |. 
 
 rushed in, followed close by his guards, from whom he had 
 broken loose by the full exertion of his strength. He cast him- | 
 self breathless before the throne. " Here will I die,*' said he. 
 " Let them slay me, cruel father ; for this disgrace will I bear 
 no longer !" 
 
 All were thrown into consternation at this speech. They 
 crowded round the unfortunate man, and the guards coming up 
 were just on the point of seizing him, and again riveting on his 
 bands, when the Sultana — who in mute amazement had wit- 
 nessed the whole scene — sprang from her throne. " Stay your 
 hands," cried she", "this one, and no other, is the right one. 
 This is he whom my eyes have never beheld ; but whom my 
 heart hath known too well !" 
 
 The guards had involuntarily let go Omar; but the Sultan, 
 inflamed with burning fury, called on them to " bind the mad- 
 man." " / have to decide, here," said he, in an imperious tone, 
 "and here judgment is not awarded according to women's 
 dreams, but according to certain unerring signs. This man 
 (pointing to Labucan ) is my son ; for he brought me the dagger, 
 the pledge of my friend, Elfi !" 
 
 " He stole it," cried Omar; "and treacherously abused my 
 confidence!" 
 
 But the Sultan turned a deaf ear to his son's voice, for he was j 
 accustomed, in every matter, to be obstinately guided by his ! 
 own opinion ; so he had the unhappy Omar dragged, by main 
 force, out of the saloon ; while he retired with Labucan to his 
 own apartment, full of rage at the Sultana, his consort, with 
 whom he for five-and-twenty years before had lived in perfect 
 peace. 
 
 The Sultana was very sorrowful about all that had happened ; 
 she was fully convinced that an imposter had gained the Sultan's 
 heart, for many portentous dreams had shown her the un- 
 happy captive as her son. When her grief had partly subsided, 
 She bethought herself of some means of convincing her consort j 
 of his error. This was a difficult task, to be sure; for the man ' 
 i i who gave himself out as their son had delivered the dagger — the ■ 
 | pledge of recognition — and had, as she found out, inveigled i 
 j j Omar into a relation of so much of his previous life, that he was j 
 j able to play his part without betraying himself. In this strait 
 
 she summoned the men who had escorted the Sultan to the ! I 
 j pillar of El-Serujah, made them tell her exactly all that ha])- : 
 pened there, and then advised about what she was to do, with 
 eome of her most confidential slaves. They hit upon this plan i 
 
 H 3 
 
78 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 and that, and then rejected it again ; till at last Melechsulah, a 
 cunning old Circassian, said, " If I heard you aright, my 
 honoured mistress, the bearer of the dagger named him whom 
 you hold to be your son, Labucan, a crazy tailor?" 
 
 " Yes, such was the case," replied the Sultana; "and what do 
 you see in that ?" 
 
 "How would it be now," continued the old Circassian, "if 
 this imposter had fastened his own name upon your son ? For 
 if that were the case, there is an excellent, way of catching him 
 trap, which I will tell you of quite secretly." 
 
 The Sultana turned to her slave, and the latter whispered a 
 piece of advice in her ear, which seemed to please her, for she 
 immediately prepared to go to the Sultan. 
 
 She was a shrewd woman, well aware of the Sultan's weak 
 side, and clever in making the best of it. So she pretended to 
 be inclined to let him have his way, and to acknowledge 
 Labucan as her son, begging only the reserve of one condi- 
 tion 5 the Sultan, who was really sorry for his passionate con- 
 duct towards his wife, granted her this. She then said, " I 
 should very much like to put them both to a proof of their 
 skill. Any one else would perhaps make them ride, fight, or 
 throw the javelin ; but such things as those every one can do. 
 No ! I will give them a task that requires a person to be sharp. 
 The truth is, each of them shall make a caftan and a pair of 
 trowsers, and then we shall just see who makes the finest." 
 
 At this the Sultan laughed, and said, "Well, upon my word ; 
 a pretty scheme you've hit upon. What ! my son try with your 
 crazy tailor, who can make the best caftan ? No, no ; that 
 won't do." 
 
 The Sultana, however, reminded him that he had granted her 
 the condition beforehand; and, as he was a man of his word, 
 he at last gave in. Though he swore that even if the crazy 
 tailor made ever so fine a caftan, he could not think of recognis- 
 ing him as son for all that. 
 
 In consequence of all this the Sultan went to his son himself, 
 and entreated him to side with his mother's whim ; for she was 
 quite bent upon seeing a caftan of his workmanship. Good 
 Labucan's heart overflowed with joy. " If that's all," thought 
 he, " the Lady Sultana shall soon be pleased with me." 
 
 Now two rooms had been prepared for the match, one for the 
 Prince, and the other for the tailor : in these they were to try 
 their skill ; and each had been furnished with a sufficient piece 
 of silk, a pair of scissors, and a needle and thread. 
 
THE FAIRY TALE OF THE FALSE PRINCE. 79 
 
 The Sultan was very curious to see what sort of a caftan his 
 son would bring to light ; and the Sultana's heart beat anxiously 
 — for was her artifice to succeed or not ? Two days had been 
 allotted to each for his work. In the third day the Sultan sent 
 for his consort ; and when she came, he sent to the rooms for 
 the caftans and the two workers. Labucan entered with a look 
 of triumph, and spread out his caftan before the astonished gaze 
 of the Sultan. "Look, father," said he ;" look, my honoured 
 mother, isnot this a masterpiece of a caftan ? I Mall lay a wager 
 with the first tailor to the court that he does not turn out such 
 another." 
 
 The Sultana smiled, and turned to Omar : w and what hast 
 thou managed to make, my son," said she ? 
 
 In indignation the latter threw the silk and the scissors on the 
 ground. " I have been taught to curb the horse and wield the 
 sabre, and my javelin hits its mark at sixty paces; but the art 
 of the needle is strange to me, and unworthy too would it be of 
 a ward of Elfi Bey's, the ruler of Cairo" 
 
 " Oh thou, the true son of my lord," cried the Sultana. "Ah ! 
 if I could but embrace thee, and really name thee son ! Forgive 
 M me, my lord and husband, for having employed this artifice; 
 don't you yet see who is prince and who is tailor? Of a truth 
 it is a splendid caftan that your son has made, and I feel quite 
 tempted to ask him with what master he served his time." 
 
 In the mean while the Sultan had been sitting immersed in 
 thought, gazing now on his wife and now on Labucan, who 
 vainly strove to hide his blushes and his confusion at having so 
 stupidly betrayed himself. "But even this is not a sufficient 
 proof," said he; "yet I know, thank Allah, a way of finding out 
 whether I have been cheated or not." 
 
 To this end, he ordered his fleetest horse to be brought, 
 mounted in a moment, and rode into a wood that lay not far 
 from the city. There, it was said of old, lived a kind fairy, 
 Adolzada by name, who had often aided the princes of his house 
 with her advice in the hour of need. To her, therefore, the 
 Sultan hastened. 
 
 In the centre of the wood there was an open spot, surrounded 
 by lofty cedars. Here, it was said, the faiiy lived; and seldom 
 was it trodden by mortal foot, for a certain shyness of the place 
 had for long ages been transmitted from father to son. On 
 arriving at this spot, the Sultan dismounted, tied his horse to a 
 tree, took his stand in the centre of the area, and said in a loud 
 voice : " If it be true that thou hast given my fathers good 
 
80 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 counsel in tlie hour of need, disdain not the prayer of their 
 son, and advise me in a case where human wisdom is behind." 
 
 Scarcely had he given utterance to the last words, when one 
 of the cedar-trees opened ; and a veiled lady, in long white gar- 
 ments, stepped forth. 
 
 "I knoAv why thou comest to me, Sultan Sadud. Thy de- 
 sign is honest ; and so thou shaft have my help. Take these 
 two little boxes. Let those two who claim to be thy sons each 
 make his choice of one of them. I know that the true claimant 
 will not miss the right one." So said the veiled lady ; and 
 handed him two little boxes of ivory, richly set in gold and 
 pearls. On their lids, which the Sultan in vain sought to 
 lift, were two inscriptions inlaid in diamonds. 
 
 The Sultan, on his ride home, thought what could be in the 
 boxes, which with all his strength he could not open. The in- 
 scriptions, too, threw no light on the matter ; for the one was 
 " Honour and Fame," the other " Fortune and Riches." He 
 thought to himself he would have a hard matter to choose be- 
 tween the two, which seemed equally attractive and equally al- 
 luring. 
 
 When he reached his palace again, he sent for the Sultana, 
 and told her the fairy's answer ; and this filled her with the 
 hope that he towards whom her heart so yearned would choose 
 the box that would prove his kingly descent. 
 
 Two tables were placed before the Sultan's throne. With 
 his own hand he placed the two boxes on them, and signed to 
 one of his slaves to open the door of the saloon. A splendid 
 assembly of the bashas and emirs of the kingdom, whom the 
 Sultan had summoned together, streamed through the open 
 portal. They took their seats on costly cushions that were 
 ranged along the walls. 
 
 When all were seated, the King winked a second time, and 
 Labucan was brought in. With a proud step he strode through 
 the saloon, and cast himself down before the throne : " What 
 willeth my lord and father ?" 
 
 The Sultan rose from his throne. " My son," said he, 
 " there are doubts of the genuineness of thy claim to this name. 
 One of those boxes contains the confirmation of thy genuine de- 
 scendancy. Choose one of them. 1 doubt not thou wilt select 
 the right one." 
 
 Labucan rose, and stood before the boxes. He was a long 
 time considering which he should choose. At last he said, 
 " Honoured father ! what greater fortune can there be than the 
 
THE FAIRY TALE OF THE FALSE FRINC E. SI 
 
 being thy son ? what nobler guerdon than the riches of thy fa- 
 vour ? I choose the box with the inscription " Fortune and 
 Riches." 
 
 " We shall know presently whether thou hast chosen right or 
 not. For the present, take thy seat by the Basha of Medina," 
 said the Sultan ; and signed to the slaves. 
 
 Omar was led in. His look was gloomy. His mother was 
 sorrowful; and his appearance excited an unusual sympathy 
 among those present. He cast himself down before the throne, 
 and inquired the will of the Sultan. 
 
 The Sultan explained to him that he had to make choice of 
 one of the boxes. He rose, and went to the table. 
 
 With an attentive eye he scanned both the inscriptions : and 
 at length he spoke thus : " The few last days have taught me 
 how uncertain is fortune, how transitory are riches. They have 
 taught me, too, that honour dwells like an imperishable treasure 
 in the breasts of the brave, and that the beaming star of fame 
 passes not away with fortune. And, though I should resign a 
 throne in the choice, yet the die is cast. ' Honour and Fame' 
 be mine." 
 
 He placed his hand on the box he had chosen ; but the Sultan 
 ordered him to stop, signing to Labucan to step up to his table 
 also. Labucan did so, and laid his hand on his box. 
 
 Then the Sultan ordered a basin of water from the holy 
 spring of Zemzen, in Mecca, washed his hands for prayer, 
 turned his face eastward, and throwing himself on the ground, 
 prayed thus : " God of my fathers ! thou who for long ages hast 
 preserved our lineage pure and unpolluted, let not an unworthy 
 head bring shame on the name of the Abassis ; but extend thy 
 protecting hand over my real son in this hour of trial." 
 
 The Sultan rose, and again mounted his throne : all the 
 eagerness of expectation took possession of the courtiers pre- 
 sent ; they scarcely dared to breathe : the creep of a mouse 
 might have been heard over the floor. The hindermost spec- 
 tators stood on tiptoe, and stretched forward to peep at the 
 boxes over the heads of those before them. 
 
 The Sultan proclaimed — " Open the boxes ; " and though 
 no strength could move the lids before, they now flew open in 
 an instant. 
 
 In the box which Omar had chosen, on a velvet cushion, lay 
 a little golden crown and a sceptre. In Labucan's box, a large 
 needle and a little thread. The Sultan ordered them both to bring 
 their boxes before the throne : he took the little coronet up off 
 
82 
 
 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 the cushion, and a wonderful sight it was. As he held it, it 
 grew larger and larger, till it was of the size of a proper crown. 
 He put it on the head of his son Omar — who was kneeling be- 
 fore him— kissed his forehead, and bid him take his place by his 
 side ; but turning to Labucan, he said, " There is an old say- 
 ing — ' Let not the cobler go beyond his last :' it seems as if 
 thou wert not to go beyond the needle ! To be sure, thou de- 
 servest not my mercy ; but one has entreated for thee whom to- 
 day I can deny in nothing ; so I grant thee thy sorry life ; but 
 if my advice be worth taking, thou wilt make haste out of my 
 | kingdom." 
 
 Shame-stricken, undone as he was, the poor journeyman 
 ' could not answer a word. He cast himself at the Prince's feet, 
 and the tears gushed from his eyes. " Canst thou forgive me, 
 Prince V 9 said he. 
 
 "To be true to their friends and generous to their enemies is 
 the pride of the Abassi," replied the Prince, raising him : " de- 
 part in peace." 
 
 " O, thou true son of ray fathers," cried the old Sultan, in 
 deep emotion, and sank on Omar's breast. 
 
 The emirs and bashas, and all the grandees of the realm, 
 rose from their seats, and hailed the new Prince with shouts of 
 ; triumph ; while, amidst the general acclamations, Labucan took 
 i his box under his arm, and stole out of the room. 
 
 He went down to the Sultan's stables, saddled and bridled 
 his horse Marva, and rode out of the gate towards Alexandria. 
 I His whole life as prince seemed a dream to him ; and the 
 j costly box alone, set in pearls and diamonds, reminded him 
 i that really he had not .been dreaming. 
 
 When he at length reached Alexandria, he rode up to his 
 old master's house, alighted from his horse, tied him up at the 
 door, and stepped into the workshop. The master tailor, who 
 at first did not know him, made a great ado, and asked him 
 i what were his commands ; but on eyeing his guest more nar- 
 rowly, and recognising his old Labucan, he called his journey- 
 I men and apprentices. They all fell furiously on the poor fellow, 
 ! who little expected such a reception, pinched him, and thrashed 
 , him with irons and yard measures ; pricked him with their 
 needles, and pinched him with sharp scissors, till he sank down 
 exhausted on a heap of old clothes. Whilst he lay in this po- 
 sition, his master gave him a rating about the stolen robe. In 
 vain did Labucan assure him that he had only come back to 
 make amends for everything — in vain did he offer him a three- 
 
THE FAIRY TALK OF THE FALSE PRINCE. 
 
 fold compensation for the mischief done ; his master and work- 
 men only fell on him once more, beat him black and blue, and 
 then kicked him out of doors. Full of bruises, and all in rags, 
 he mounted his horse Marva, and rode to a caravansary. 
 There he laid down to rest, and began to meditate on what was 
 past ; his ambition — his deceit — its detection, and his merited 
 punishment. He bewailed his folly, and sincerely repented of 
 his errors. He resolved henceforth to renounce all thoughts of 
 greatness, and to become an honest burgher. 
 
 And the next day he was not sorry for his resolve ; for the 
 hard blows of his master and his men seemed to have thumped 
 all grandeur out of him. He sold his little box at a very high 
 price to a jeweller, bought a house, and made a workshop for 
 his handicraft. When he had got everything to rights, and had 
 hung out a board over his window, with the words — "Labucan, 
 Tailor," upon it, he sat himself down, and began with the needle 
 and thread that he found on the box, to mend the coat which 
 his master had so cruelly tattered. He happened to be sud- 
 denly called away from his work, and when he was about to set 
 too again, what a strange sight surprised him ! The needle 
 sewed industriously on without being handled by anybody, and 
 made such fine, neat stitches, as he in his cleverest moments had 
 never made. Of a truth, the smallest present from the hands 
 of a kind fairy is of immense value ; but this gift had another 
 virtue besides : the needle might be as industrious as it liked, 
 yet the little piece of thread never came to an end. 
 
 Labucan gained a great many customers, and was soon the 
 most noted tailor far and wide : he cut out the things himself, 
 put in the first stitch with the needle, and in a trice it set to, 
 and worked on without intermission till the garment was ready. 
 Tailor Labucan soon had the whole town in his custom, for his 
 work was beautiful and very cheap ; and there was only one 
 thing that the people of Alexandria shook their heads at, 
 namely, that he employed no journeymen, and always worked 
 with the doors all locked. 
 
 Thus the spell- words of the little box, that promised fortune and 
 riches, were fully verified. Fortunes and riches, though moderately 
 given, attended the steps of the now reformed and virtuous tailor, 
 and when he heard of the fame of the good Sultan Omar, whose 
 name was in every body's mouth, when he heard that that brave 
 man was his people's pride, the object of their love, and the 
 terror of his ^enemies, the quondam prince thought to him- 
 self, " It is much better though that I've remained a tailor, for 
 
^4 
 
 there's something very dangerous about that same fame and 
 honour. So he lived, contented with his position, and respected 
 by his fellow townsmen ; and if nothing has since happened to 
 damp the vigour of the needle, it may be seen sewing away «till 
 with the endless thread of the kind fairy Adolzaida. 
 
 At sunset the caravan set out again, and soon arrived at 
 Borkel El Had, or the Pilgrim's Well, from which place they 
 had only three hours' journey to Cairo. They were expected 
 about this time, and the merchants had soon the delight of 
 seeing their friends in Cairo coming to meet them. They 
 entered the city by the gate of Babel Faleh, for it is thought to 
 augur well if arrivals from Mecca first pass through the gate by 
 which the Prophet entered. 
 
 In the market-place the four Turkish merchants took leave 
 of the stranger and the Greek Zaleucus, and went with their 
 friends to their homes. But Zaleucus showed the stranger a 
 good caravansary, and invited him to take his noon-day repast 
 with him ; the stranger consented, and promised to appear as 
 soon as he had arranged his dress. 
 
 The Greek in the meanwhile made every arrangement for the 
 good entertainment of a stranger whom he had become attached 
 to on the journey, and as soon as the meats and drinks were 
 served in proper order, he took his seat and awaited his guest. 
 
 With a slow and heavy tread he heard him coming up the 
 passage that led to his apartment ; he kindly rose to meet him, 
 and to welcome him on the threshold ; but with what horror 
 did he start back when the door opened, and that terrible red 
 cloak placed himself before him : he cast one look more at him ; 
 it was no illusion ; the high commanding figure, the mask from 
 which the black eyes flashed on him, the red mantle with the 
 golden embroidery, were all too familiar memorials to him of 
 the most dreadful hours of his life. 
 
 Conflicting feelings boiled in Zaleucus' breast ; he had long 
 made his peace with this well-remembered form, and cordially 
 forgiven him, but his re-appearance opened all his wounds 
 anew ; all those torturing hours, fraught with the fear of death — 
 that pining regret which embittered his best days, passed in 
 quick review before his spirit. 
 
 "What wantest thou, terrible one?" cried he, while the 
 
THE FAIRY TALE OF THE FALSE PRINCE. 
 
 85 
 
 apparition stood motionless on the threshold. " Begone, ere I 
 curse thee !" 
 
 " Zaleucus !" said a well-known voice from beneath the mask. 
 " Zaleucus, is it thus thou receivest thy guest?" The speaker 
 doffed his mask, threw back his cloak; it was Selim, the 
 stranger. 
 
 But even then Zaleucus did not seem pacified ; he shuddered 
 at the sight of the stranger, for clearly did he recognise in him 
 the unknown one of the Ponte Vecchio. The habitual feelings 
 of hospitality, however, prevailed; he signed in silence to his 
 guest to be seated at the table. 
 
 " I guess thy thoughts," began the latter, when they both 
 had sat down ; " thy eyes look questioningly at me. I might 
 have been silent, and never have presented myself to thee again ; 
 but I have much to account to thee for, and thus, even at the 
 risk of being cursed by thee, have I dared to appear under my 
 own form. Thou once saidst, ' The faith of my fathers com- 
 mands me to love him, and perhaps after all he is unhappier 
 than I.' Believe me that I am so, my friend, and listen to my 
 vindication of myself." 
 
 " I must go back to far-gone times in order to make myself 
 understood. I was born in Alexandria, of Christian parents. 
 My father, the younger son of an old French family of dis- 
 tinction, was consul at Alexandria. I was brought up from the 
 age of twelve in France, at the house of a brother of my 
 mother's, and did not leave my native country till several years 
 after the outbreak of the revolution ; when, with my uncle, who 
 felt himself no longer safe in the land of his ancestors, I sought 
 a refuge across the sea under my parents' roof. We landed in 
 the full hope of finding in my parental dwelling that peace and 
 quiet which the infuriate people of France had deprived us of. 
 But alas ! everything in my father's house was not as it should 
 be ; the tempests of this excited period had not as yet reached 
 it from without, but all the more unexpectedly had misfortune 
 sapped its inmost core. My brother, a hopeful, promising 
 young man, had a short time before married the youthful 
 daughter of a Florentine nobleman, who lived in our neigh- 
 bourhood : just two clays previous to our arrival she had sud- 
 denly disappeared, without either our family or her father being 
 able to discover the least trace of her resort; till we at last 
 came to the conclusion that she had ventured too far out of 
 bounds, and had fallen into the hands of banditti. For my 
 poor brother this conjecture was almost more consolatory than 
 
 i 
 
86 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 the sad truth which but too soon discovered itself. The faithless 
 one had shipped herself off in the company of a young Neapo- 
 litan, with whom she had become acquainted at her father's. 
 My bi other, beyond measure exasperated at this step, strained 
 every nerve to bring punishment on the guilty one ; but all in 
 vain. His attempts, which had caused a stir in Naples and 
 Florence, only served to consummate our troubles. The Flo- 
 rentine nobleman returned to his country, ostensibly to vin- 
 dicate my brother's rights, but in real fact to work our ruin. 
 He put a stop to every inquiry in Florence which my brother 
 had set on foot, and managed so well to avail himself of the 
 various influences which he had acquired, that my father and 
 brother were made objects of suspicion to the government, were 
 arrested in the basest manner, conducted into France, and there 
 despatched by the axe of the executioner. My poor mother 
 went out of her mind, nor till after ten long months of suffering 
 did death release her from that fearful state. For the last few 
 days, however, of her existence she had regained her conscious- 
 ness. So I was left all alone in the world ; yet one only thought 
 took possession of my soul ; one thought only made me forget 
 my sorrows ; it was that burning flame which my dying mother 
 had kindled in me. 
 
 " In her latter hours, as I said before, her consciousness had 
 returned. She summoned me to her, and spoke with com- 
 posure of our destiny and her approaching end. But soon she 
 sent every one else from the room, rose up solemnly in her 
 wretched bed, and said I should have her blessing if I would 
 swear to execute a commission she would intrust me with. 
 Deeply moved by the words of a dying mother, I vowed with 
 an oath to do what she bade me. She then broke forth in 
 curses on the Florentinian and his daughter, and charged me, 
 on the most fearful menace of her curse, to avenge on him my 
 unhappy house. She died in my arms. That thought of re- 
 venge had long been slumbering in my soul ; now it woke in 
 full energy to life. I gathered up the relics of my paternal pro- 
 perty, and swore to hazard all for revenge, or to perish. 
 
 " I was soon at Florence, where I lived as retired as possible. 
 The difficulties of my plot were aggravated by the position in 
 which my enemies were then placed ; the old Florentinian had 
 risen to be governor, and thus had every means of ruining me 
 at his disposal the moment he got the least wind of my intent. 
 Accident favoured me ; one evening I saw a man threading the 
 streets in a livery that was familiar to me ; his tollering step, his 
 
THE FAIRY TALE OF THE FALSE PRINCE. 87 
 
 gloomy look, and the only half-suppressed sanlo saorarttento 
 and maladetto diavalo told me it was old Pedro, one of the 
 Florentinian's servants whom I had known in Alexandria. 1 
 made no doubt he was in a passion with his master, and I re- 
 solved to make the best of his humour. He seemed very much 
 surprised to see me there ; he told me all his grievances, saying 
 that since his master had been governor he could do nothing to 
 please him. And at last my gold, backed by his own passion, 
 gained him over to my side. The difficulty was now surmounted ; 
 I had a man in my pay, who, at any hour, opened to me my 
 enemy's door, and thus my plan of vengeance grew more 
 rapidly ripe. The life of the old Florentinian seemed to me too 
 light when balanced with the destruction of my family. What 
 he held dearest he must behold a murdered corpse ; and this 
 was Bianca, his daughter. Had she not so infamously and so 
 outrageously sinned against my brother, and was she not the 
 prime cause of our misfortunes ? How genial to my heart, as 
 it thirsted for revenge, was the news that just then Bianca was 
 to wed for the second time ! Our resolve was taken ; she must 
 die. But I shuddered at the thought of the deed, and I did not 
 give Pedro credit for resolution enough ; so we looked about 
 for a man who should dispatch the business. Among the 
 Florentinians I dare hire no one, for not a soul would have 
 undertaken anything of the sort against the Governor. In 
 this embarrassment the plan which I afterwards put in execu- 
 tion occurred to Pedro, and at the same moment he proposed 
 you, being a foreigner and a physician, as our fittest instrument. 
 The upshot of all you know. Hence the adventure of the 
 mantle." 
 
 " Pedro opened us the little door in the Governor's palace, and 
 he would have led us out again just as privily had we not fled 
 away, scared by the ghastly sight which we saw through the 
 cleft of the door. 
 
 " Driven onward by terror and remorse, I ran more than two 
 hundred yards, and then sank down exhausted on the steps of a 
 church. Not till then did I become collected again, when my 
 first thought was you, and your terrible fate if you were caught 
 in the house.'' 
 
 " I stole to the palace, but neither of Pedro nor of you could 
 I discover a trace. The little door, however, was open ; and so 
 I might at least hope that you had availed yourself of the oppor- 
 tunity of escape." 
 
 " At day-break the fear of discovery, and an irresistible sense 
 
 I 2 
 
88 THE CARAVAN. 
 
 of remorse, allowed me to tarry no longer within the walls of 
 Florence : I hastened to Rome. But imagine my confusion, 
 when there even ; in a few days, the event became the talk of the 
 place, accompanied by the report that a Greek physician had been 
 apprehended as the murderer. I returned in anxious fear to Flo- 
 rence ; and if my thirst for vengeance seemed before this too in- 
 tense, I cursed it now, for satisfaction was too dearly purchased 
 with thy life. I arrived on the very day which deprived you of your 
 hand. I will not attempt to describe what 1 felt when I saw 
 you ascend the scaffold, and suffer so heroically. But, then, 
 when your blood gushed forth in streams, my resolve was 
 fixed to endeavour to sweeten the remainder of your life. The 
 sequel you know yourself; it only remains for me to say why I 
 took this journey with you. The thought that you had not yet 
 forgiven me, was burdensomely oppressive to me ; so I re- 
 solved to pass a series of days with you, and at last to account 
 to you for what I had done." 
 
 The Greek had listened to his guest in silence ; with a gentle 
 look he offered him his right hand when he had finished. 
 
 " I felt too well," said he, " that you must be unhappier than 
 I ; for that cruel deed (which I trust you will live to repent 
 of) must eternally hover like a dark cloud over your days. I 
 forgive you, from my heart (may Heaven also be merciful to 
 you ! ) ; but permit me one question more. What are you 
 doing under this form here in the desert ? What did you set 
 about, after buying me the house in Constantinople r" 
 
 " I went back to Alexandria," replied the stranger. " A 
 hatred of all mankind was raging in my breast; a burning 
 hatred most of all of those nations which are termed polished. 
 Take my word for it, I was happier among my Moslemites ; 
 and I had been only a few months in Alexandria, when that 
 landing of my countrymen ensued. I saw in them the butchers 
 of my father and my brother only ; so I mustered a number of 
 congenial young people of my acquaintance, and joined those 
 brave Mamelukes who were so often the terror of the French 
 army. When the campaign was over, I could not make up my 
 mind to merge again into the arts of peace- With my little 
 band of similarly disposed adherents, I lived a roving, change- 
 ful life, devoted to hunting and to war. Among these people I 
 still live. They honour me as their prince ; for if my Asiatics 
 are not so polished as your Europeans, they are at least far re- 
 moved from envy and calumny, from selfishness and covetous- 
 ness." 
 
THE FAIRY TALE OF THE FALSE PRINCE. 89 
 
 Zaleucus thanked the stranger for his recital ; but he did not 
 conceal from him his opinion, that it would become his rank 
 and endowments better to live and be useful in the Christian 
 countries of Europe. He grasped his hand, and begged him to 
 journey with him, and with him to live and to die. 
 
 His guest looked at him with emotion — "This tells me," 
 said he, " that you quite forgive me, that you love me. Accept 
 my inmost thanks for this." He sprang from his seat, and 
 stood in the full grandeur of his height before the Greek, who 
 almost quailed before the martial grace, the darkly flashing eye, 
 the deep mysterious voice of his guest. " Your proposal is a 
 fine one," said the latter ; " for any one else it might be full of 
 charms — I cannot embrace it — at least, not now. My horse is 
 already saddled ; my servants are waiting me. Farewell, 
 Zaleucus !" 
 
 The strangers, who had been so singularly drawn together, 
 took leave with warm embraces. 
 
 "And what am I to call thee? what is the name of the 
 guest who will ever live vividly in my memory ?" said the 
 Greek. 
 
 The stranger gazed long and silently at him, then pressed his 
 hand once more, and said — " They call me the Lord of the 
 Desert — I AM THE ROBBER, ORBUSAN ! " 
 
 I 3 
 
00 
 
 THE COLD HEART. 
 
 No traveller through Suabia should neglect to visit the Black 
 Forest, enclosing as it does, within its vast circumference, all 
 that is grand and solemn, as well as much that is graceful and 
 soothing, in the beauties of woodland scenery. One may travel 
 through it for miles, in some parts, and meet no trace of human 
 habitation ; on all sides stand the gigantic pines, clothed in con- 
 tinual shadow, the slanting sunbeams but dimly revealing the 
 untrodden recesses of the forest, while a strange stillness awes 
 the bewildered traveller. 
 
 In other parts, following the winding of some forest rill, the 
 wanderer will light on quiet homesteads, situated in spots of 
 most rare and exquisite beauty, where the wood has been par- 
 tially cleared away, and a little colony established in the very 
 heart of the forest. How peaceful is the scene ! Surely no 
 life can vie with a forest one ! 
 
 The inhabitants of the JSchwarzwald are a singular race, dif- 
 fering to a surprising degree from any other people ; they are 
 taller and stronger than the generality of men ; broad-shoul- 
 dered and stout-limbed, it would seem that the invigorating 
 odours, which the pines exhale in the early morning, had given 
 to those who dwell beneath their branches a freer respiration, a 
 clearer sight, and a firmer, albeit a less refined, mind, than are 
 possessed by the inhabitants of thevalleys and plains. Butitisnot 
 in their growth or bearing that they materially differ from those 
 who dwell without the forest ; it is the singularity of their man- 
 ners and customs which most attracts the attention and excites 
 the astonishment of a stranger. They dress themselves with 
 
THE CO Ll) HEART. 
 
 91 
 
 great care; the men allow the beard to grow, as nature intended 
 it should, around the chin • their black jerkins, neatly plaited 
 pantaloons, red stockings, and broad-brimmed pointed hats, 
 give them a quaint, but respectable appearance. The ordinary 
 occupation of this people is glass-making; but they also make 
 watches, which have a very extensive sale. 
 
 Such are the inhabitants of one side of the forest : the people 
 who dwell on the other are a portion of the same race; but their 
 occupations have introduced among them habits very different 
 from those of the quiet glass-makers : they trade with their tim- 
 ber, they fell their pines, and float them through the Nagold 
 into the Neckar, and from the upper Neckar down the Rhine, 
 into Holland ; and the Black Foresters, with their long rafts, 
 are well known on the Dutch coast. They stop at every town 
 which lies on the banks of these rivers, and endeavour to pro- 
 cure a sale for the more insignificant portion of their cargo, 
 reserving their longest and stoutest planks for the Dutch mer- 
 chants, who pay large sums of money for them. These foresters 
 are accustomed to a wild, wandering life ; they like nothing bet- 
 ter than to float down the river on their raits : they have no 
 greater sorrow than being compelled to return home by land. 
 Their dress differs greatly from that of the glass-makers : they 
 wear jackets of coloured linen, broad green straps over their 
 gigantic shoulders, and short black leather trowsers, from the 
 deep pockets of which peeps forth a brass ruler, the honourable 
 badge of their office : their principal pride, however, is in their 
 boots, which are probably the largest of their kind in the world, 
 for they can be drawn far above the knee ; and the material of 
 which they are composed being untanned ox-hide, the " floaters " 
 can walk three feet deep in the water without wetting them- 
 selves. 
 
 Every community has some traditions peculiar to itself, which 
 are carefully remembered and fondly cherished. However much 
 this may be the case elsewhere, it is pre-eminently so in the 
 Black Forest, where every stock and stone has a wild fiction at- 
 tached to it, to which the people cling with reverent affection. 
 
 The supernatural beings who haunt the different portions of 
 the forest accommodate themselves to the respective ideas of 
 the inhabitants, whom we have just described ; so that the tiny 
 spirit of the glass-makers never shows himself otherwise attired 
 than in a black doublet, pantaloons, and pointed hat ; whilst 
 Dutch Michael, the representative of the raft-men, is described 
 as a gigantic fellow, in the dress of a floater ; so gigantic, in- 
 
93 
 
 THE COLD HEART. 
 
 deed, that it is a common saying among the Black Foresters, 
 that they would not like to pay for the numerous calves whose 
 skins would be required to make one of his enormous boots ! 
 
 A very singular adventure once befell a young forester with 
 these wood spirits, the truth of which has never been doubted in 
 his native shades, and which I am now going to relate. 
 
 In the glass-makers' portion of the Black Forest lived, many 
 years ago, a poor charcoal burner, who, dying, left his widow, 
 Barbara Munk, to bring up their only son to the business he 
 had himself followed. Young Peter Munk, an intelligent lad, 
 permitted his parents thus to dispose of his fate in life, for it 
 never entered into his head to do what his father had not done 
 before him ; he was therefore content to sit week after week 
 over his smoking kiln, or to carry his charcoal to the neigh- 
 bouring villages for sale. But a charcoal-burner has much 
 time for reflection ; and Peter's hut being even more isolated 
 than those of his companions in trade, he had rarely any one to 
 whom he could speak ; and this solitude and silence naturally 
 induced him to think early and late. But of what were his 
 thoughts ? Did the mighty forest around him, the fantastically 
 shaped rocks, the awful roar of descending cataracts, in- 
 spire him with solemn dread of the Almighty Being, 
 whose work they were ? Did the flowery sward at his feet, 
 the fragant exhalations of the pines, the soft rippling of the 
 rivulet, and the sweet-toned voices of the forest birds, teach 
 him the love, as well as the power, of the Creator ? Or per- 
 haps the youth's spirit was imbued with poetry — the poetry of 
 feeling : Perhaps he heard awful voices in the thunder-si orm, 
 and friendly whisperings in the passing breeze ? Perhaps he 
 pictured angelic forms in the clouds of heaven, or peopled the 
 wild- wood with guardian spirits ? He might have done so, 
 and it had been a pleasant fancy, tending to better things; 
 but it was not so — Peter's thoughts centred in himself j his devo- 
 tion was not aroused by the beauties of nature, nor was his 
 intellect awakened, nor his fancy excited ; selfish thoughts, dis- 
 contented thoughts, complaining thoughts, filled his breast, and 
 to them he gave utterance as he went slowly to his work in the 
 dewy mornings, or came wearily home in the balmy twilight. 
 
 Something weighed on his mind, something vexed, something 
 affected him — what he could not rightly tell. At last, he dis- 
 covered the cause of his uneasiness — his station in life. " A 
 solitary soot-begrimed charcoal burner," said he to himself: " it 
 
THE COLD HEART. Q3 
 
 is a wretched trade to follow ! What respectable people the 
 glass makers, the watchmakers, even the musicians arc ! And 
 might not I be even as they ? am I not a fine, quick lad, and 
 when well washed and dressed in my holiday suit, have I not 
 been often taken for something better than a poor charcoal 
 burner ?" 
 
 The raft-men on the other side of the forest were especially 
 objects of his envy. When these wood giants visited the glass 
 makers, dressed very smartly, and carrying half-a-hundred 
 weight of silver about them in the shape of buttons, buckles, 
 and chains ; when they placed themselves in a haughty position 
 to watch the dance ; when they sware Dutch oaths, and smoked 
 out of long Cologne pipes, then Peter saw his visions of happi- 
 ness embodied in the person of a raft-man. 
 
 O foolish Peter ! is this the lot you would choose ? opulence 
 were dearly purchased, at the expense of all right-mindedness, 
 generous feeling, and youthful simplicity ! 
 
 But we must not anticipate. Peter particularly envied three 
 of these floaters, they seemed to him the favourites of fortune. 
 One was a very tall, fine man, with a florid complexion, known 
 by the name of Eyekiel the Great. Twice every year he tra- 
 velled to Amsterdam, with timber, and made such excellent bar- 
 gains with the Dutch shipwrights, that, whilst his companions 
 plodded homeward on foot, he could afford to ride back in state. 
 The second was a very thin person, nick-named the Long 
 Schlurker ; and Peter's envy of this individual was principally 
 occasioned by the extraordinary boldness of speech with which 
 he had been gifted; his conversation was composed of positive 
 assertions, Hat contradictions, and impertinent sneers ; his 
 wealth, however, blinded the foolish Peter to his defects. The 
 third object of his admiring envy was a handsome youth, dis- 
 tinguished by his elegance, and known in consequence by the 
 appellation of the King of the Dance ; he had been a servant 
 to a " timber lord," and had suddenly become immensely rich ; 
 some said he had found a pot of gold under a pine tree, others, 
 that he had fished up a portion of the Nibelungen treasure, 
 which lies in the deep bed of the Rhine ; in short, the King of 
 the Dance had become rich, no one knew how, and was con- 
 sidered by all a very prince. Peter thought much and often of 
 these three men, as he sat in the solitude of his hut in the pine- 
 wood ; yet, in the midst of his admiration and envy, he could 
 not but own to himself that each of them had a grievous fault, 
 unbounded avarice, occasioning inhuman barbarity to the 
 
91 THE COLD HEART. 
 
 lioor. The Black Foresters are a kind-hearted, charitable 
 people ; nevertheless, money stood the timber lords in good 
 stead, and in spite of their heartlessness they did not lack for 
 securing friends. 
 
 " I can bear this no longer/' said the weary charcoal burner, 
 one day when he was in unusually low spirits, for there had 
 been a feast at the forest hostel the evening before, at which the 
 timber lords had displayed an unwonted degree of arrogance, 
 and an unusual quantity of finery. " I can bear this no longer ; 
 () that I were rich as Eyekiel, independent as the Long 
 Schlurker, and gay and good-looking as the King of the Dance! 
 Where can that fellow have found his wealth ?" Then the 
 foolish lad set his brains to work to discover a means of lie- 
 coming rich, but all in vain. Just at this moment a gust of 
 wind swept through the woods, and its fitful sighing round his 
 solitary hut brought to mind many wild stories, many super- 
 natural tales ; Peter's thoughts were in a short time absorbed 
 by them, and his cause for discontent forgotten, when, among 
 other traditions of the forest, he remembered one, which seemed 
 sent as an answer to his fretful questions — " How can I obtain 
 riches ?" His heart leapt for joy as lie wondered how he could 
 so long have forgotten the tale of some of his own sooty 
 ancestors' good luck with the Wood Spirits ! " I used to 
 know, too, an invocation to the little Glass-man, our good 
 guardian spirit ; let us try — 
 
 ' O ! Treasure-keeper, in pine-wood green 
 For many a rolling year, 
 Lord of the shadowy forest scene — ' " 
 
 But not a word more could he remember ; it Avas in vain he 
 strained his memory ; the invocation still wanted a line of its 
 completion. He often debated whether it woidd be worth his 
 while to ask some knowing old person to tell him the conclusion 
 of the verse, but he could not make up his mind to reveal the 
 subject of his cogitations ; and he thought, too, that the rhyme 
 could not be well known, or surely some of the numerous poor 
 people in the forest would have tried their fortunes with the 
 benevolent Wood Spirit. At last he questioned his mother on 
 the subject. She could not tell him anything about the invoca- 
 tion ; but, after some hesitation, she informed him that it was 
 only to those foresters who were born between the hours of 
 twelve and two, on Sunday, that the Wood Spirit deigned to 
 appear. "You, my son," she added, " were born at the Sab- 
 
THE COLD HEART. 95 
 
 bath noontide." When Peter heard this his joy was un- 
 bounded, and he was eager to try his fortune. He thought the 
 three first lines of the invocation would be sufficient to ensure 
 the spirit's appearance. 
 
 A few days afterwards, therefore, he put on his Sun- 
 day suit, and telling his mother he had business with a 
 recruiting sergeant in the next town, he set off. Peter, 
 however, instead of taking the road to the town, bent his 
 steps to the pine-knoll, in the centre of the forest, the 
 favourite haunt of the Treasure-keeper. It was situated at the 
 distance of two hours' hard walk from any hut ; the foresters 
 not daring to encroach on the spirit's demesne. The pines in 
 this part of the forest were magnificent ; the superstition of the 
 people guarded them from the stroke of the axe, and the thick 
 branches, growing in unchecked luxuriance, quite obscured the 
 light of day. Peter Munk shuddered involuntarily as he entered 
 these untrodden recesses of the dark pine-wood ; no sound 
 awoke the slumbering echo but his own foot-fall : the very birds 
 had forsaken the haunt of the spirit. Peter soon reached the 
 summit of the knoll, and stood before a pine of such gigantic 
 dimensions, that a Dutch shipwright would have paid some 
 hundred dollars for it on the spot. " Here," thought Peter, 
 " dwells the Treasure-keeper;" whereupon he took off" his 
 Sunday hat, and making a profound bow to the tree, cleared his 
 voice, and said timidly, " Good evening, Mr. Glass-man." 
 But no answer was returned; all was still and silent as the 
 grave. " Perhaps I ought to repeat the verse," thought he, 
 and accordingly he began : — 
 
 " O ! Treasure-keeper, in pine-wood green 
 For many a rolling year, 
 Lord of the shadowy woodland scene — " 
 
 The words were scarcely out of his mouth when he saw, to 
 his great astonishment, a small, but strange looking figure, 
 peeping at him through the bushes ; he immediately imagined 
 himself in the presence of the Treasure-keeper, and even fancied 
 that he recognized his black doublet, red stockings, and little 
 hat, and that he could distinctly perceive the outline of his pale 
 and delicate, yet intelligent features. But the figure vanished 
 as quickly as it had appeared. 
 
 " Mr. Glass-man," cried Peter Munk, after a little hesitation, 
 " be so good as not to take me for a fool ; if you think that I 
 have not seen you, Mr. Glass-man, you are very much mistaken; 
 
96 THE COLD HEART. 
 
 I saw you peeping at me from behind the trees." But he 
 received no answer, except a sound of smothered laughter in 
 the underwood. 
 
 At last Peter's patience was exhausted, and he flew into a 
 great passion. 
 
 " Just wait a minute, you good-for-nothing little fellow," said 
 he, " I will soon catch you." So saying, he sprang with one 
 bound behind the pine-trees, but he found no Treasure-keeper 
 there — only a poor, delicate little squirrel, jumping about on 
 the green sward. 
 
 Peter Munk shook his head in silent perplexity; he knew 
 that the invocation wanted a line of its completion, and he 
 imagined this the cause of the Glass-man's non-appearance. In 
 vain he racked his brain to remember that line, that unfortunate 
 line ! The squirrel peeped at him between the tangled branches 
 of the pines, and seemed as though it were mocking at him, or, 
 at least, making itself merry at his expense. The little creature 
 played such extraordinary tricks, and looked so cunningly at 
 him, that at last he became afraid of it, and wished himself any 
 where else than alone with it in the pine-wood ; he therefore 
 retreated hastily from the knoll, but he had a long distance to 
 go, and the shadows of approaching evening were added to the 
 gloom that continually prevails in these desolate regions. 
 
 Full of wonder and awe, the young man pursued his way 
 through the untrodden depths of the forest; and right glad 
 was he when the majestic but oppressive stillness was broken 
 by the sound of the dogs barking, and when a blue wreath of 
 smoke, curling above the trees, announced that he was again 
 approaching the dwellings of man. As he drew nearer, he re- 
 marked, with surprise, that the huts before him differed greatly 
 in appearance from those of his native village, and he perceived 
 that he had, in his fear and agitation, mistaken his road, and 
 crossed the forest to the abodes of the raft-men. 
 
 The inhabitants of the cottage received Peter kindly, and 
 forbore to question him respecting his name, abode, or object in 
 quitting his home, but gave him apple-wine to drink, and invited 
 him to share their evening meal — a wild hen. The family con- 
 sisted of a woodman, his wife, and eleven children, and an aged 
 man, the woodman's father. 
 
 After the meal, the hostess and her daughters plied their 
 distaffs by the help of a light, which the youths fed with resin 
 from the pines ; the grandfather and father smoked, and looked 
 at their children ; the lads were busy cutting up pieces of wood, 
 
THE COLD HEART. 
 
 97 
 
 and shaping them into forks and spoons. The storm howled 
 without, and the branches of the pines creaked in the wind ; 
 crashing blows were occasionally heard, and, after a while, a 
 sound as of a tree falling heavily. The rash youths were ex- 
 tremely anxious to run out into the wood to see what was going 
 on, but the aged grandfather entreated them to refrain. 
 
 " I counsel you not to leave the house," he cried : " you will 
 never return, for to-night Dutch Michael builds himself a 
 new raft." 
 
 The young people looked inquiringly at him; though they 
 had, doubtless, often before heard of Dutch Michael, still they 
 asked their grandfather to tell them about him. Peter Munk, 
 who had never heard any particulars of the wood demon's 
 history, joined in their request. 
 
 The oid man began : " He is the lord of these woods, and I 
 will now relate to you all that I know respecting him. For 
 many hundred years the Black Foresters bore the character of 
 the best of men ; their poverty, their economy, their temperance, 
 were renowned ; but since the rapid increase of wealth within 
 the precincts of the forest, much that is good and praiseworthy 
 has departed ; the lads dance and drink on Sunday ; they even 
 swear, which is a disgrace and shame to the whole people : 
 formerly, things were very different, and I cannot but fear that 
 all these bad habits originated with Dutch Michael. Some 
 hundred years ago lived a rich timber lord ; he had many men 
 in his employ, and extended his trade far down the Rhine ; a 
 blessing rested upon his business, for he was a pious man. One 
 evening a stranger stopped at the door of his house; he was 
 dressed after the fashion of the Black Foresters, but was very 
 unlike them in his appearance ; he was so tall that the timber 
 merchant had some difficulty in believing so monstrous a being 
 could be a mere mortal. The gigantic stranger asked for work ; 
 and as the merchant thought he looked an industrious fellow, 
 and certainly was a very strong one, he engaged him. Never 
 had a timber lord such a servant as Michael proved to be. He 
 could fell a tree alone in the time usually required by three men ; 
 and while six foresters laboured to lift one end of a pine from 
 the ground, he without difficulty placed the other on his 
 shoulder. When he had worked thus for six months, he went 
 to his master and asked permission to go down into Holland 
 with the floaters, which life he liked better than tree-felling. 
 
 " £ Well, Michael,' said his master, ' you are so good a ser- 
 vant, that I should be sorry to stand in the way of your seeing 
 
 K 
 
I 93 THE COLD HEART. 
 
 a little of the world, if your taste lies that way ; and I do not 
 doubt but that you will make yourself as useful on the rafts as 
 you have been in the woods ; at any rate, you can go for once/ 
 " So Michael became a raft -man, and astonished his comrades 
 not a little by his exploits. When the raft on which he was to 
 embark was ready, Michael made his appearance with another; 
 it was built of eight enormous planks, which he carried on his 
 shoulder as if they had been oars — whence they came no one 
 knew. The timber merchant did not care to ask, but he 
 reckoned up the dollars they would bring him, and rejoiced in 
 his heart. 
 
 " Michael took it very quietly. ' They are to build me a 
 float,' said he. ' Do you think I could go in that gimcrack thing ? 
 why ! my weight would sink it at once.' 
 
 " His master offered him a handsome pair of floater's boots, 
 as a proof of his gratitude for his services ; Michael despised 
 them, and produced a pair for his use, the like of which had 
 never been seen before ; my grandfather has assured me that 
 they weighed a hundred pounds, and were five feet long ! The 
 floats started, and if Michael had astonished the wood-cutters, 
 much more did he astonish the raft-men ; for instead of his 
 raft proceeding more tediously than the other, which every one 
 conjectured it would do, on account of its superior bulk, it 
 absolutely flew over the rippling waters of the Neckar. Whilst 
 it was advancing at this rate, the river made a sudden bend, 
 and the raft-men in vain exerted all their strength to keep the 
 float from running aground. In this dilemma, Michael jumped 
 into the water, and with one effort guided it aright, so that the 
 danger was averted ; and when a convenient spot was found, he 
 seized his immense oar, stuck it in the ground, and with another 
 prodigious effort drove the raft off' the shore with such violence 
 that they flew like lightning past towns and villages, and were 
 far down the river in a moment; so that in half the time 
 usually occupied by the voyage, the astonished floaters had 
 accomplished it, and found themselves at Cologne. 
 
 " Then Michael said, 1 Comrades, you are right good mer- 
 chants ; but take my advice : I am sure that the men who buy 
 your timber here, sell it again for a much higher price in Hol- 
 land. Let us only sell our small beams here, and go on to 
 Rotterdam ; and surely all we gain for the planks, above the 
 customary price, will fairly belong to us.' 
 
 " So spake the cunning Michael, and his comrades were con- 
 tent ; some because they wished to see Holland, others because 
 
THE COLD HEART. 99 
 
 they coveted the gold ; only one man remained Uncorrupted by 
 Michael's specious arguments, and could not be won from his 
 master's interest to appropriate any portion of his gains to him- 
 self. His comrades heard, laughed at, and forgot his expostu- 
 lations. Dutch Michael did not forget them. So they passed 
 down the Rhine. Michael guided the raft, and soon brought 
 it to Rotterdam ; here they sold the timber for four times the 
 usual price, and Michael's raft was disposed of for many hun- 
 dreds of dollars. When the Black Foresters saw the money, 
 they were beside themselves with joy ; Michael shared the profit 
 among his companions, reserving only a fourth for his master. 
 Then they went to a public house, where they drank and played 
 away their money with the low persons who resorted thither; 
 as for the brave floater who had condemned their evil doings, 
 Michael sold him to a kidnapper, and he has never been heard 
 of since. From that time Holland became a kind of Paradise 
 to the young foresters, and Michael was their king ; from that 
 time wealth, vice, drinking, and gaming found favour in the 
 eyes of the once virtuous, frugal, and temperate inhabitants of 
 this forest. 
 
 " Time passed on, and Dutch Michael's wicked accomplices 
 paid the debt of nature ; he, too, disappeared, but certainly he 
 is not dead j for more than a century he has haunted this neigh- 
 bourhood, and those that seek for him will not seek in vain ; 
 he has held intercourse with many now living, and has helped 
 them to become rich — at the risk of their miserable souls how- 
 ever ; more I dare not say. But this is certain, that on those j 
 nights when the storm howls loudest, and all good people are 
 sunk in peaceful slumber, Dutch Michael fells the finest pines 
 in the forest, and these he gives to the wretched men whom he 
 dooms to destruction ; he conveys them to the water edge, and 
 constructing a raft, freights it with them, and guides it down 
 to Holland for his miserable victims. But if I were lord and 
 master there, I would set fire to all the planks and beams Dutch 
 Michael brought into my country, for no ship built with them 
 ever yet reached land. This is the reason why shipwrecks are 
 so numerous ; why else should a beautiful, strong, well-built 
 vessel sink in the finest weather, or run aground on the clearest 
 moonlight nights? But for every pine that Dutch Michael- 
 hews down in the Black Forest, some one of his old planks j 
 starts from its place in the ship, lets in the water, and down | 
 goes the stately vessel, with all her crew, into the deep ocean. | 
 This is the legend of Dutch Michael ; and thus you see how all I 
 
100 THE COLD HEART. 
 
 that is evil in the ways of our countrymen originated in him. 
 Oh, he can make rich, but keep me from his riches ; for the 
 wealth of empires I would not be Eyekiel the Great, nor the 
 Long Schlurker, nor the handsome King of the Dance !" 
 
 The storm had subsided during the recital; the maidens 
 quietly lighted their lamps, and went away ; the lads placed a 
 sack of leaves for a pillow on the stone bench, and then they | 
 too wished Peter good night, and he betook himself to his 
 hard but clean couch. 
 
 Peter Munk had never been so disturbed in his sleep as he 
 was this night ; sometimes he imagined that he saw the dark- 
 browed, gigantic Michael at the lattice-window, forcing it open, 
 and showering down gold pieces, which fell around the slum- 
 berer with a gentle and inviting sound ; then the scene would 
 change, and the benevolent little Glass-man rode round the 
 room, upon a great green flask, and his merry laugh rang in 
 Peter's ear ; a deep voice would then chaunt in his left ear — 
 
 "Gold! Gold! 
 List to me, ye woodmen bold, 
 Timber is in Holland sold ! 
 Gold! Gold! Gold!" 
 
 Then a sweet-toned delicate voice sounded in his right ear, 
 humming the well-known invocation to the Treasure-keeper, 
 and a low, mocking laugh accompanied the words, " Stupid 
 Peter Munk, stupid Peter Munk cannot find a rhyme to year, 
 and yet was born at twelve o'clock on Sunday ! Rhyme, stupid 
 Peter, rhyme." 
 
 Poor Peter moaned and murmured in his troubled sleep as 
 he tried to make a rhyme, and as he had vainly attempted it 
 when awake, it is not very likely that he should succeed asleep. 
 He awoke up at the dawn of day, and his thoughts were still 
 occupied by his singular dream ; he sat himself at the table, 
 laid his bewildered head upon his folded arms, and whilst the 
 laughing voice still echoed in his ear, " Rhyme, stupid Peter, 
 rhyme," he heard steps approaching the house, and three 
 young woodmen passed the window, on their way to their daily 
 work in the wood, one of them singing cheerfully — 
 
 " Upon this verdant bank we stood 
 In shadow of yon dim pine-wood ; 
 For many a long and tedious year 
 My love and I, we parted here." 
 
THE COLD HEART. 101 
 
 Peter listened to the words like one petrified; then recol- 
 lecting himself, he rushed from the house, and overtaking the 
 young men, seized the singer roughly by the arm : " Stop, stop, 
 friend," he cried, " what rhyme did you make to year? Pray 
 be so kind as to tell me ? " 
 
 "Why, what does it matter to you, fellow? Cannot I sing 
 what I choose without being questioned by you ? Let my arm 
 go, sir, or 
 
 "I will not until you tell me your song," cried Peter, beside 
 himself with impatience and excitement, and grasping the arm 
 he held still more firmly. 
 
 When the two other lads saw what rough treatment he 
 bestowed on their companion, they could restrain themselves no 
 longer, but fell upon Peter, and beat him with all their strength, 
 until he was forced to quit his hold. 
 
 "Now you have had enough," they said; "goodbye, silly 
 fellow, and when next you want to learn verses, do not assault 
 people on the highway to induce them to instruct you." 
 
 "I will not," answered poor Peter, sighing bitterly; "but 
 since you have so punished me for the assault, perhaps you will 
 have the kindness to teach me the verses." 
 
 They laughed at him, but complied with his request, and 
 singing the verse again, they left him. 
 
 " For many a long and tedious year 
 My love and I, wc parted here" 
 
 repeated poor Peter, smarting under the blows he had received ; 
 "well,] that is something gained. Now, Mr. Glass-man, we will 
 have a word together ! " 
 
 He went back to the cottage for his hat and stick, took a 
 friendly farewell of the hospitable family, and bent his steps to 
 the haunted knoll. He went slowly avid thoughtfully on his 
 way, for he had to compose a line ; at last he found he was 
 approaching the object of his journey by the increased height 
 and thickness of the pines, and as he entered the gloomiest part 
 of the haunted region he jumped for joy, for he had completed 
 the invocation to his great satisfaction. Just at this moment, 
 a gigantic figure dressed as a raft-man, and carrying an oar that 
 was fully the size of a mast, stepped into the path from beneath 
 
 I the pine-trees. Peter Munks's knees smote against each other 
 as the strange figure approached him, for he thought, " This is 
 
 | no other than Dutch Michael." 
 
 The stranger was by this time at his side, but had not yet 
 
 K 3 
 
102 THE COLD HEART. 
 
 spoken, and Peter ventured from time to time to cast side-long 
 glances at his companion. He was, as we have before heard, of 
 gigantic stature ; his face was no longer young, but could not 
 be called old, although his brow was much wrinkled ; he wore 
 a jacket of coloured linen, and enormous boots drawn up over 
 his leathern trowsers ; and in his whole appearance Peter 
 recognised the hero of the woodman's tale. 
 
 The Forest King at last broke the silence, by saying in a 
 threatening tone, " Peter Munk, what are you doing in the 
 pine wood ? " 
 
 " Good morning, countryman," answered Peter, trembling 
 all over, but endeavouring to appear composed ; " I am return- 
 ing home this way." 
 
 " Peter Munk," retorted his companion with increasing 
 anger, " this is not your way home." 
 
 "No, not exactly," said poor Peter; " but the day is so warm, 
 and this path, though longer, is so much more easy, that — " 
 
 " Do not tell me a lie, you charcoal burner ! " cried Dutch 
 Michael, with a voice of thunder, "or I will fell you to the 
 earth with my oar ; know once for all that I saw you paying 
 your court to the Glass-man; come, come," he added more 
 gently, " that was a most foolish step to take, but it was truly 
 fortunate you did not know the verse ; he is a very niggard, 
 that little fellow ; he gives very little, and that little brings no 
 joy with it. Peter, you are a poor simpleton, and I am very 
 sorry for it; such a fine, handsome, high-spirited lad to be 
 doomed to the life of a charcoal burner ! it is a wretched life ! " 
 
 " So it is," said Peter, " a very -wretched life." 
 
 " Well," continued Michael, " I do not like to see such a fine 
 fellow in want ; you will not be the first to whom I have given 
 a helping hand ; come, how much will you have ? " 
 
 As he said this, he rattled the money in his deep pockets, and 
 the sound attracted Peter in the same inviting manner as it had 
 done in his dream ; his heart beat high, and he felt cold and 
 hot in a moment. He thought that Dutch Michael seemed to 
 feel compassion for him, and did not offer the money as if he 
 expected a return ; but the mysterious tale of the old man was 
 still fresh in his memory, and in inexpressible terror he 
 answered, " I am much obliged to you, sir, but I do not want 
 your money ; I know very well who you are ! " 
 
 He then took to his heels, and ran as he had never run 
 before ; the Wood Demon in two or three strides could have 
 overtaken him, had he wished to do so, but he contented himself 
 
THE COLD HEART. 
 
 103 
 
 with crying after flying Peter, " Change your mind, change your 
 mind, Peter; you may as well do so now, for I see written 
 on your forehead, and I read in your eyes, that you shall not 
 escape me at last; so do not run so fast, but exchange a friendly 
 word with me; for you are almost beyond the circle of my 
 domain." 
 
 When Peter heard this, and saw a narrow ditch before him, 
 hope sprang up in his heart, and he increased his speed, in 
 order to leap across it and escape from Michael's power ; for 
 the Forest King now hastened after him with curses and 
 threats. The young man sprang with one bound over the 
 ditch, for he saw the giant's arm raised to hurl his oar at him. 
 The oar fell at a little distance from him, and Dutch Michael 
 retreated with wrathful exclamations. 
 
 Relieved from his unwelcome companion, Peter proceeded 
 trembling, but with cheerfulness, on his way, until he reached 
 the great pine. 
 
 He made a still more profound bow to the tree than he had 
 done before, and began— 
 
 u O ! Treasure-keeper, in pine-wood green 
 For many a rolling year, 
 Lord of the shadowy forest scene, 
 Show thyself to me here." 
 
 " You have not got the verse right yet, Peter Munk," said a 
 delicate voice near him, " but, as you were born at the right 
 hour, I will let it pass." 
 
 Peter then saw under the pine a very small and aged man, 
 | dressed as a glass-maker. He had a thin and pale but benevo- 
 lent countenance ; his white beard was made of spun glass ; he 
 smoked out of a little, blue, glass pipe, and as Peter approached 
 nearer to him, he perceived that all his clothes were composed 
 of the same material. 
 
 " So you met Dutch Michael on your way hither :" con- 
 tinued the little man ; "I am surprised you escaped from him 
 so easily." 
 
 " So am I, I can assure you, Mr. Glass-man ; but let me thank 
 you for deigning to appear to me, and then tell you the reason 
 of my thus troubling you. The truth is, I am discontented 
 with my trade ; I do not like a charcoal burner's life. As I 
 am still very young, I hope to be able to do something better ; 
 j why should not I be rich as well as Eyekiel, or the King of the 
 j Dance, who spend gold as if it were as plentiful as straw r" 
 
1C4 
 
 THE COLD HEART. 
 
 " Peter," said the Glass-man, with an earnest and sorrowful 
 look, M Peter, never speak to me of those men again ; what do 
 they gain by their wealth ? A few worthless luxuries, at the ' 
 risk of their salvation. Peter, you must not give up your \ 
 trade. I knew your father and grandfather well: they were re- j 
 spectable and intelligent men, yet they were content to be char- 
 coal burners ; you must be so also. [ hope it is not the love of I 
 an idle life that has brought you here." 
 
 Peter was startled by the seriousness of the old man's man- 
 ner, and his cheek glowed as he answered — " No, indeed, Mr. 
 Glass-man ; I know very well that ' idleness is the root of all 
 evil,' but I hope you will not be angry with me if I still wish to 
 change my trade. A charcoal burner is regarded by the world 
 as low and mean ; the glass-makers and the raft-men are very 
 much more respectable. " 
 
 " 'A haughty spirit goeth before a fall/ " answered the little 
 Treasure-keeper ; his tone of voice, however, was very friendly, 
 and he smiled as he added — " You are a singular race, you 
 mortals; few of you are content with your stations. The glass- 
 maker wishes to be a timber merchant, and if that be granted 
 him, he envies the woodmen, or would change conditions with 
 the rangers. But let this pass ; if you will promise to work 
 hard, I will help you to change your trade, Peter. I watch over 
 every Sunday-child, and am ready to grant them three wishes, 
 The first two are unconditional; to the third I reserve the 
 power of raising objections, if it be foolish. So, Peter, you may 
 nave your first wish now ; but pray ask for something likely to 
 profit you.*' 
 
 Peter's eyes sparkled. " Hurrah !" said he; "well, Mr. 
 Glass-man, you are indeed the kindest friend in the world, and 
 you may well be called the ' Treasure-keeper.' I am sure I am 
 very much obliged to you ; and I do not know what I could 
 ■wish for more likely to profit me and make me happy, than that 
 I should be able to dance as well as the King of the Dance, and 
 always have as much money in my pocket as Eyekiel the 
 Great." 
 
 " Oh, fool !" exclaimed the Treasure-keeper angrily, "a pro- 
 j fitable wish truly ! to be able to dance well and waste your 
 j money at play ! Are you not ashamed of yourself, Peter ? 
 | What good will it do your poor mother if you can dance well ? 
 ! As for your wish, it can only profit the public-house. You 
 . have got one more fine wish ; see if you can choose something 
 i more reasonable." 
 
THE COLD HEART. 
 
 105 
 
 Peter reflected for some minutes, and then said, " This time 
 I wish for the largest glass-manufactory in the Black Forest, 
 and plenty of money wherewith to carry on the business." 
 
 "Nothing else r" asked the Treasure-keeper anxiously, 
 " nothing else ?" 
 
 " I should like very well to have a horse and gig." 
 " Oh, Peter Munk, Peter Munk, you foolish boy !" cried the 
 Glass-man, flinging his blue glass pipe angrily against the 
 trunk of a pine ; " a horse ! a gig ! Alas, alas ! you should 
 have wished for sense — sound, common sense — and not for 
 gigs and horses ; but never mind, do not be cast down ; your 
 last wish was not altogether so foolish as the first, a good glass 
 manufactory is no contemptible thing, if you had but common 
 sense and skill to take care of it. Had you wished for these, 
 the horse and gig would have come of themselves." 
 
 " But, Mr. Treasure-keeper," answered Peter, " I have still 
 one wish left, and, with your permission, I will now choose 
 this sense and skill." 
 
 " You had better not ; you may have some greater occasion for 
 your wish, and you have sense enough if you will but use it, so 
 now go home, and here, Peter, is my parting present; this 
 purse contains 2,000 dollars ; but take notice, never must you 
 come here again to ask for money, for if you do, I shall be 
 forced to hang you upon this pine ; so have I done ever since 
 I have dwelt in this wood. Three days since, old Winkfrity 
 died, the owner of the principal manufactory in the forest. 
 Go there the first thing to-morrow, and purchase the establish- 
 ment, from his heirs ; be honest, be industrious, and I will look 
 in upon you from time to time, to counsel you and to give you 
 a helping hand in those difficulties through which your shallow 
 brains will not suffice to carry you ; but above all things, I 
 solemnly warn you to avoid the public-house. Peter, it has 
 been the ruin of many." 
 
 Whilst the Treasure-keeper was speaking, he had been 
 occupied in contriving another pipe, which he now quietly 
 placed in his mouth, and giving his hand to Peter, in token of 
 friendship, gradually disappeared in the volumes of pale, blue 
 
 When Peter reached home, he found his mother in great 
 trouble about him, for the good woman could not help thinking 
 that her son had been forced to enlist. Peter was in high 
 spirits, and told his mother that he had met a good friend in the 
 wood, who had counselled him to change his trade, and had 
 
106 
 
 THE COLD HEART. 
 
 given him money to set him up as a glass-maker. Although 
 Barbara Munk had lived all her life among the charcoal-burners, 
 and had never tired of them, or their sooty faces, she was pos- 
 sessed of sufficient vanity to lead her immediately to look down 
 upon her old associates and former pursuits ; and she answered 
 her son — 
 
 u Oh, that is pleasant : as the mother of a glass-maker, I can 
 no longer be considered on a level with neighbours Trethel and 
 Bertha ; I shall, in future, take my place in church among the 
 most respectable matrons." 
 
 Peter soon settled his business with the heirs of the glass- 
 maker ; he retained all the old workmen in his employ, and the 
 business proceeded day and night. The novelty of everything 
 around him pleased him greatly ; he carefully superintended his 
 workmen, went backwards and forwards in the manufactory, 
 tried his hand at the work, and chatted with his men, who did 
 not fail to laugh at him behind his back. 
 
 But he soon lost his interest in the work ; came at first every 
 other day, and finally but once a week. His workmen might 
 do, meanwhile, exactly what they pleased in the manufactory, 
 for he never interfered with them. All this originated in his 
 visits to the forest inn. 
 
 The very first Sunday after his return from the haunted 
 knoll, he went to the inn. The King of the Dance was already 
 displaying his elegant steps on the green, and Eyekiel the Great 
 was engaged in throwing dice for a heap of dollars. Peter 
 quickly felt in his pocket ; his first wish was granted — it was 
 full of gold and silver pieces, and he felt his limbs ready to 
 begin a dance, rivalling in elegance the far-famed movements of 
 the king ; Peter chose his partuer, and took his place among 
 the dancer. The King of the Dance placed himself near 
 Peter, in whom, to his astonishment, he found a rival who 
 would soon dispute his right to that title, which had so long 
 distinguished him ; for when he pirouetted three feet high in 
 the air, Peter surpassed him by at least a foot ; and the mincing 
 paces, which were once so admired, were quite outdone by the 
 superior elegance of the young glass-maker. All this surprised 
 the by-standers ; but when they heard that the elegant young 
 man was the richest glass-manufacturer in the forest, their 
 astonishment changed into feelings of respect. Peter lost 
 more than twenty dollars in play that evening, yet he rat- 
 tled the money in his pockets, as if he had many hundreds still 
 left. 
 
THE COLD HEART. 107 
 
 The King of the Dance was permitted to retain his name ; 
 ! but Peter was distinguished by the still more nattering appella- 
 i tion of the Emperor, 
 
 Among the most daring gamesters, none ventured so far as 
 Peter ; but the more he lost, the more he won ! for he had 
 wished always to be as rich as Eyekiel, who was generally his 
 opponent at play ; therefore, what Peter lost to Eyekiel was gain 
 to himself. 
 
 By degrees, he fell into the lowest company, and was oftener 
 called Gaming Peter than Emperor of the Dance; for he 
 generally sat all day at the public-house, throwing dice. 
 
 As may well be supposed, the glass-manufactory did not 
 thrive under such a master. Glass, indeed was made, but when 
 made, it was not disposed of to any profit ; for it was usually 
 left on hand so long, that Peter was glad to sell it at half price, 
 to travelling merchants, in order that he might have where- 
 withal to pay the workmen. 
 
 One evening, as he was returning home from the public- 
 house, and — notwithstanding the wine he had swallowed in large 
 quantities, to raise his spirits — was meditating sorrowfully on 
 the wreck of his fortune, he suddenly perceived that he had a 
 companion in his walk. A second glance enabled him to 
 recognise the Treasure-keeper. Peter, not quite sober, became 
 violently excited, and vowed that the little glass-man was the 
 cause of all his misfortunes. 
 
 " Where are now my horses and my gig :" he cried ; " What 
 is the use of my glass-manufactory ? I was happier as a char- 
 coal-burner than I am now. Then, at least, I had no anxiety 
 about pay-day : but now ; what am I to do when the sheriff 
 j comes to value my goods, and will sell them by auction — to my 
 shame — to pay my creditors ?" 
 
 " Well," answered the Treasure-keeper, " that is not my 
 fault; are these reproaches the reward of my benevolence? 
 Who put it into your head to wish so foolishly ? You desired 
 to be a glass-maker, and yet did not know how to dispose of 
 your glass when it had been made for you ! Did I not caution 
 you as to your wishes ? Oh, Peter, you wanted sense, sound 
 sense and prudence." 
 
 " Sense and prudence !" answered Peter ; " do not talk to me 
 of sense and prudence ! I am as clever a lad as any other 
 in this forest, and that I will soon teach you, Mr. Glass- 
 man." 
 
 With these words, he seized the little man roughly by the 
 
THE COLD HEART. 
 
 collar, exclaiming, "Now, Mr. Treasure-keeper in pine-wood 
 green, I have you fast, and you shall not go until you grant me 
 my third wish ; pay me down on the spot two hundred thousand 
 
 dollars, and give me a house, and Oh! oh!" he shrieked, 
 
 and wrung the hand which had grasped the collar of the little 
 glass-man; for the latter had suddenly changed himself into 
 burning glass, and disappeared. 
 
 Peter did not soon forget his folly and ingratitude, for his 
 swollen hand reminded him of it constantly ; but he smothered 
 the voice of conscience, and reasoned thus : " When the manu- 
 factory is sold, and all my debts paid, I shall still have as much 
 as Eyekiel the Great, and while there is gold to play for on 
 Sunday, my store will not fail." 
 
 Certainly, Peter, you say true; you are ever to remain as 
 rich as Eyekiel ; but when Eyekiel is poor, how rich will you 
 be ? 
 
 And now were Peter's fortunes drawing to a crisis ; Eyekiel 
 lost his last dollar at play, and Peter vainly searched his pockets 
 for the remnant of all his wealth ! Then did he remember his 
 first wish, and he groaned bitterly as his folly stared him in the 
 face. 
 
 No friendly star lighted the wretched Peter to his home that 
 night ; and darker than the black darkness that shrouded every 
 thing else from his sight, strode a well-known gigantic figure by 
 his side, and a well-known voice said : — 
 
 " It is all over with you, Peter Munk ; all your glory is at an 
 end, and I could have told you, long ago, how it would be, if 
 you put yourself into the hands of that stupid glass-maker; 
 you can now see how those fare who despise my counsels. But 
 I will not be hard on you. I pity your miserable condition ; 
 no one ever yet repented of following my advice, and I will give 
 you another opportunity of seeking it. All to-morrow I shall 
 be at your service ; you will find me at any hour you like, at 
 any place you "will name, in the pine-wood." 
 
 Peter knew very well who thus addressed him ; he wished to 
 answer ; but a cold shudder came over him, and he ran hastily 
 home. 
 
 When Peter went to his manufactory the next morning, he 
 found his workmen engaged in conversation with three visitors, 
 in whom he recognised a sheriff and two policemen. The 
 sheriff wished Peter a good morning, asked him how he had 
 slept, and then drew from his pocket-book a long bill, which 
 confirmed the poor glass-maker's worst fears. 
 
THE COLD HEART. 
 
 109 
 
 " Can you cast accounts, or not r" asked the sheriff ironi- 
 cally ; " come, be quick, for time presses, and I have a good 
 deal of business on hand." 
 
 Peter, who knew he was ruined, desired the sheriff to value 
 his house and furniture. Peter thought to himself, " I am not 
 far from the pine-wood, and since the little spirit will not aid 
 me, 1 must e'en betake myself to the great one !" He ran 
 to the pine-wood as swiftly as if the policemen had been 
 at his heels. When he reached the spot where the trea- 
 sure-keeper had appeared to him, it seemed as if he were pulled 
 back by an invisible hand ; but he disengaged himself from its 
 grasp, and continued to run till he had passed the ditch which 
 had formerly saved him from Dutch Michael's fury ; when on 
 the other side he paused to take breath, and ere he had re- 
 covered himself, he whom he sought stood by his side. 
 
 "So you are here," said Michael scornfully, "you are more 
 fortunate than you deserve to be, in escaping with a whole skin. 
 What could you expect else from such a niggardly little fellow 
 as the glass-man r But all your dealings with him are over. 
 Come to my house, and we will have a little traffic together." 
 
 " Traffic," thought Peter, " what have I got to sell him ? 
 Will he have me serve him I wonder:" However, he said 
 nothing, but followed his guide along a steep, woodland path, 
 which led to a deep cleft in the side of a pine-covered hill. 
 Michael leaped into the gloomy abyss from the frowning crags 
 which encircled its yawning mouth, and assisted Peter to 
 descend, who, on touching the ground, found himself in a 
 dimly-lighted subterranean passage, through the many windings 
 of which his guide conducted him, until they reached a small 
 but good house ; into this house Michael led him, and he found 
 himself in a room differing in no wise from those above ground. 
 The large stove, the wooden clock, the broad benches, the 
 kitchen utensils arranged on projecting shelves — all were 
 familiar to Peter's eyes. Michael offered him a seat at the 
 table, on which he placed a flask of wine and a couple of 
 glasses; and whilst they regaled themselves, Dutch Michael 
 related such interesting tales of foreign lands, of magnificent 
 cities and rivers, that Peter could no longer restrain himself, 
 and told his host how much he wished he could thus see the 
 • world, and see similar adventures. " Ah ! that is very easy to 
 1 talk about," answered Michael ; but you are a pretty fellow to 
 go seeking for adventures ; you, whose foolish heart trembles 
 at every thing ; and then you have fanciful ideas of honour and 
 
110 
 
 THIS COLD HEART. 
 
 the like ; what did you feel when you lost your last dollar, and 
 were turned out of the public-house with contempt ? Doubtless, 
 you felt a great deal; but where did you feel? Did it afreet your 
 head, Peter ? And when the sheriff came this morning to turn 
 you adrift on the world, a homeless wretch, did the sight of his 
 cold, calculating countenance give you a head-ache ? Tell me, 
 Peter, where do you feel your woes ?" 
 
 "In my heart,'''' replied Peter, placing his hand on his left 
 side, as he spoke, as if to still its throbbings. 
 
 <e Do not be offended with me," continued Michael, " if I tell 
 you plainly that you have thrown away many hundred dollars 
 on beggars, and such like unprofitable persons ; let me now ask 
 you, what did you get in return ? Blessings r aye, blessings, 
 and much good did they do you ; have they preserved you from 
 want, from sickness, from sorrow ? I trow not, Peter ; and 
 what do you think of the matter ? and what made you so 
 tender to the beggars, so careless of your own prosperity ? was 
 it your head, your eyes, your arms, your tongue, or any other 
 of your members : No, Peter, it was your heart — your foolish 
 heart" 
 
 " But what can I do ?" asked Peter, mournfully; "I try in 
 vain to master my heart, but in spite of me it throbs and 
 
 beats." 
 
 " I believe you," interrupted his host, laughing. " Poor fellow, 
 you cannot help yourself in this case ; but give me the useless 
 throbbing thing, and you will see how pleasant life will be with- 
 out it 1" 
 
 " Give you my heart \" cried Peter, violently excited. " No, 
 never ! why, I should die on the spot !" 
 
 " Aye, that you would," answered Michael quietly, " if a sur- 
 geon were to attempt to extract it from your breast ; but that is 
 not my intention, good friend ; compose yourself, and follow me." 
 
 Michael rose as he spoke, and, opening a door, led Peter into 
 an inner room. 
 
 His heart throbbed more than ever it had done before, as he 
 stood on the threshold and looked around him. The room con- 
 tained nothing but a number of wooden stands, on each of 
 which was placed a glass box, containing a transparent fluid, 
 whereon floated a heart, a human heart ! Each of these boxes 
 was labelled witli the name of him whose heart it contained. 
 
 Peter read with eager curiosity the name of the sheriff, of 
 Eyekiel the Great, the Long Schlurker, the King of the Dance, 
 and many more of his most envied acquaintances, " Look !" 
 
THE COLD HEART. Ill 
 
 exclaimed Michael, " those who once owned these hearts have 
 cast them away for ever ! they have done with all the cares and 
 anxieties of life, and right glad are they to have expelled from 
 their breasts so troublesome a guest." 
 
 " But what do they carry in their breast instead ?" asked Peter 
 anxiously. 
 
 " This," replied Michael, handing him a heart of done. 
 
 "What!" cried Peter, unable to repress a shudder at the 
 sight. " A heart of stone !" is it not very heavy and cold, Mr. 
 Michael?" 
 
 " It is cool, certainly ; but what do you want with a warm 
 heart ? It is a very quiel one, Peter ; it never swells with anger, 
 or sinks with fear ; it throbs not at grief, nor beats with the 
 sickness of disappointed hopes." 
 
 " And is this all you mean to give me r" asked Peter, fret- 
 fully ; " I came for gold, and you give me nothing but a bit 
 of stone." 
 
 " Well, I think a hundred thousand dollars are enough to 
 begin with, and, when they are spent, millions more are at your 
 service." 
 
 "A hundred thousand dollars!" cried Peter joyfully ; "ex- 
 cellent ! give me the stone and the dollars, and here is my 
 heart, with all its cares and troubles." 
 
 " You are a wise fellow, Peter," answered the host, laughing in 
 a friendly manner ; " come, let us go back to our wine ; when 
 we have drunk enough, I will count out the money for you !" 
 
 They went back to the sitting-room, and drank until sleep 
 overpowered Peter, and he lost all consciousness of his 
 situation. 
 
 When he awoke, he found himself in a handsome carriage 
 upon the high road ; behind him, as a dark speck in the land- 
 scape, lay the Black Forest. 
 
 At first, he doubted that it could be himself who thus rode in 
 state, richly dressed, and he could not help wondering also, 
 that he felt no regret at leaving his home for the first time. He 
 thought on his peaceful forest life, and on his poor old mother, 
 whom he left in helpless misery ; but not a sigh could he heave, 
 not a tear could he drop. " So much the better !" said he to 
 himself. "Tears and sighs, love of home, and fond regrets 
 come from the heart ; and thanks to Dutch Michael, mine is cold 
 for evermore !" 
 
 For two years he travelled, but in vain did he seek for plea- 
 sures ; in vain he saw the most beautiful landscapes, the most 
 
 L 2 
 
112 THE COLD HEART. 
 
 ingenious works of art. Nature had no longer a hold on his 
 affections ; his heart had no connection with his eyes or ears ; 
 so tine pictures, sweet music, and the kind smile of friendship's 
 life — the warm grasp of friendship's hand — all passed unheeded 
 by. The only pleasures left him were sensual — eating, drinking, 
 sleeping ; so passed his life. 
 
 At length he returned home ; his carriage rolled over the soft 
 sward, through the long, shadowy vistas of his native forest ; 
 his eye once more rested on the tall figures, and honest, 
 friendly countenances of his countrymen ; his ear was again met 
 by the sound of the woodman's stroke ; every thing was familiar 
 to him, and he thought that he could surely now rejoice ; but 
 no ! he had a heart of stone ; and if stone weeps not for sorrow, 
 neither can it laugh for joy. 
 
 His first visit was to Dutch Michael, who gave him a hearty 
 welcome. 
 
 " Michael," said Peter, " I have now seen the world ; but 
 nothing that I have seen has given me any pleasure or satisfac- 
 tion. That stony thing of yours that I carry in my breast op- 
 presses me grievously. I am never sorrowful, it is true ; nor 
 am I ever angry ; but then I never rejoice, and I am, to all 
 intents and purposes, more dead than alive. Could you not 
 make this heart of stone a little more excitable ? or, better than 
 all, give me back my own ? 
 
 The Wood Demon laughed scornfully. " When you are dead, 
 Peter Munk," said he, " you shall have your soft heart again — 
 you shall feel once more ; but on earth this can never be ! You 
 do not know what you are talking about ; you are weary of 
 travelling; but establish yourself at home — marry — use your 
 riches, and you will have no reason to complain of your heart.*' 
 
 The news soon spread through the forest that Gaming Peter 
 had returned richer than he had ever been. 
 
 Peter now engaged in the corn trade, and carried on extensive 
 dealings with the poor of the forest, in which he displayed great 
 avarice and harshness. When his customers could not pay their 
 bills, Peter would brook no delay ; the sheriff was immediately 
 sent to seize their goods, and turn all families out of doors. At 
 first, this occasioned Peter some inconvenience; for the unhappy 
 beings he had ruined besieged his house — the men entreating 
 forbearance, the women weeping silently, and the children 
 clamouring for bread ; but he soon put an end to " this cat's 
 squalling," as he termed it, by setting a couple of bull-dogs 
 on his petitioners. 
 
THE COLD HEART. 113 
 
 But the most troublesome and incorrigible of them was " the 
 old woman," who was no other than Peter's own aged mother. 
 Barbara Munk had long been in great poverty, and forced to 
 subsist on the bounty of some charitable persons ; but, when 
 her wealthy son returned, she hoped to end her days in peace 
 and plenty. Her hopes were bitterly disappointed. Peter 
 would do notliing for her. Sometimes, on Sunday evenings, 
 when she tottered to the door of his house, he would send her 
 a small piece of money, by a servant, in order to get rid of her ; 
 and though he marked well her pale face, her entreating looks, 
 her feeble, bowed-down form, and thin, out-stretched hand ; 
 though he heard her trembling voice, as she thanked the servant 
 and wished his master health and happiness, though her hollow 
 cough met his ear, as she turned in sadness from his door, 
 thinly clad and half starving, nothing could make any impres- 
 sion on his heart of stone ! he only regretted that he had spent 
 even the trifling sum he had sent her, on other than himself. 
 
 Peter at length determined to marry, but as he intended to 
 make a A-ery prudent choice, he took his time, and went hither 
 and thither throughout the wood, and he might have had no 
 difficulty in selecting a wife from the many fair forest-maidens. 
 But beautiful as they were, not one was beautiful enough for 
 him. He had almost given up his search, when he heard that 
 the loveliest and gentlest maiden in the neighbourhood was the 
 daughter of a poor wood-cutter. Timid as she was fair, she 
 lived quietly with her father, and never shewed herself upon the 
 green, nor sought to join in the dances and sports which were 
 the delight of the forest youth. 
 
 When Peter heard of her, he made up his mind that she 
 should be his wife, and accordingly he took an early opportunity 
 of riding over to the distant hut, which had been pointed out 
 to him as her abode. 
 
 The woodman received the wealthy Mr. Munk with no small 
 astonishment ; how much more was he surprised when he learnt 
 his errand ! The answer to Peter's gracious proposal was not 
 long delayed ; the woodman promised his daughter away, with- 
 out consulting her, and shortly after, the lovely Lisbeth became 
 Peter Munk's bride. 
 
 Lisbeth was young, and youth is ever hopeful ; certainly she 
 had anticipated more happines than she was fated to experience. 
 
 Peter was not unkind to her, and she might have learnt to love 
 him, but his heartless conduct to the poor around him, especially 
 to his old mother, grieved her more than she could say. When 
 
 L3 
 
114 
 
 THE COLD HEART. 
 
 she first entered on her duties as his wife, and as the mistress 
 of his house, she gave away trifling sums to those who stood in 
 need, and never let an aged person pass her door without a 
 refreshing drink. But when Peter found out that this was her 
 practice, and in truth Lisbeth took no pains to conceal it, his 
 anger knew no bounds. " What," said he, " dare you Avaste 
 my fortune on beggars ? did you bring so very much into my 
 house, that you presume to give away what you find there ? 
 Let me hear of no more such doings, or you shall feel the weight 
 of my hand.*' 
 
 Poor Lisbeth's tears flowed fast, as she listened to her husband's 
 crUel words ; but had she known that his heart was hard, even as 
 stone, Lisbeth would have wept and wondered still more ! And 
 now when she saw a beggar approaching the house, she would 
 shut her eyes not to see his want and woe, and clasp her hands 
 tightly to prevent them from unconsciously finding their way to 
 her purse. 
 
 One day, Lisbeth sat at her cottage door, looking out on the 
 green sward that surrounded it, whilst her busy fingers plied 
 the distafF ; the forest trees spread far and wide in every direc- 
 tion, but there were openings here and there, and the evening 
 sun was gilding the dark green foliage, and casting lengthened 
 shadows athwart the woody paths ; the air was sweet with the 
 breath of flowers, and tuneful with the voice of birds : the lovely 
 weather and the quiet woodland scene had a soothing effect on 
 Lisbeth ; her husband, too, was absent from home, and, alto- 
 gether, she was more cheerful than she had been for many 
 weeks past. 
 
 Her light-hearted song was soon interrupted by the appear- 
 ance of a way-worn traveller ; he was an aged man, but heavily 
 laden with a great sack, which he with difficulty deposited before 
 Lisbeth's door, and implored her to take pity on him, and give 
 him a draught of water ; " for really," said he, " I am so ex- 
 hausted, that unless I have some refreshment I shall faint on 
 the spot." 
 
 Lisbeth hastened to the cottage, and soon returned with a 
 j mug of water ; but when she reached the door, and saw the 
 poor old man sitting on his sack, pale, faint, and weary, tears 
 filled her eyes ; perhaps she remembered, too, that Peter was 
 not at home, for she put down the water, filled a goblet with 
 sparkling wine, and carried it, with a large slice of rye-bread, to 
 the poor traveller. 
 
 The old man looked at her till large tears rolled down his 
 
THE COLD HEART. 
 
 115 
 
 withered cheeks ; he then said in a trembling voice, " 1 am an 
 old, a very old man; but I have never seen in all my life one 
 who gave so freely, so kindly. You will not want your reward, 
 however : such a heart cannot remain unrewarded ! " 
 
 " It shall not ! the reward is ready," cried a thundering voice, 
 and Lisbeth and the traveller beheld, with equal astonishment 
 and dismay, the flushed and angry countenance of Peter Munk. 
 
 " And this is the way you amuse yourself in my absence, 
 by giving away my choicest wine to beggars, and offering my 
 own goblet for the use of vagabonds ? There, take your promised 
 reward ! " 
 
 Lisbeth had thrown herself at her husband's feet; she clasped 
 her hands, and implored forgiveness ; but what does a heart of 
 stone know of compassion ? Peter seized his riding whip, and, 
 with all his force, struck with its massive handle, the fair fore- 
 head of his kneeling wife ; she uttered no cry, but sank lifeless 
 into the arms of the dismayed traveller. As he bent over the 
 lovely form to see if life yet remained, the old man spake in a 
 well-known voice, " It is all over, Peter Munk ; you have 
 crushed the loveliest and sweetest flower of the forest, and for 
 you it shall never bloom again." 
 
 The colour forsook Peter's cheek as he answered, " So it is 
 you, Mr. Treasure-keeper ? However, what is done, is done, and 
 cannot be helped now. I only hope that you will not accuse 
 me of the murder." 
 
 " Wretch ! " answered the Glass-man, " what would it boot 
 me to bring your body to the gallows ? It is not earthly judges 
 you have to fear, but fear him to whom you have sold your 
 soul." 
 
 " And if I have sold my soul, I have to thank you for it ! it 
 was you who drove me to it, and on you be its blood for ever." 
 
 Peter trembled at his rashness, as he beheld the changed 
 form of the glass-man, who, in fearful rage, flung himself upon 
 the cowardly wretch, and struck him to the ground. 
 
 " Worm !" burst in thundering accents from his lips, '* I could 
 destroy you in a moment, and send you to the doom you so 
 justly merit ; but for the sake of your dead wife, who gave me 
 food and drink, I spare you for the present. Your punishment 
 will not, however, be long delayed ; you cannot live for ever ; 
 and you shall then repent to all eternity your dealings with 
 Dutch Michael." 
 
 It was late at night when Peter Munk was found by some 
 passers-by, lying on the ground at his own door. It was 
 
THE COLD HEART. 
 
 long ere he could convince himself that all that had passed was 
 dire reality, and no frightful dream, as he had at first supposed. 
 
 The deep solitude of his home was oppressive to him. True, 
 he had a heart of stone, and could not feel ; but whenever the 
 thought of his gentle wife, murdered by his hand, came across 
 him, he trembled like an aspen leaf ; everything seemed to ac- 
 cuse him and make his heart of stone heavier than lead. The tears 
 of the poor that had failed to soften him, the curses of those on 
 whom he had set his dogs, the silent despair of his mother, the 
 blood of the lovely Lisbeth, all cried out for vengeance upon him ! 
 
 His dreams, too, were very fearful ; but when his terror was 
 greatest, a sweet, low voice whispered in his ear, " Dear Peter, 
 seek a warmer heart." This happened for several nights in 
 succession, 
 
 Peter's remorse and dread of detection and punishment in- 
 creased hourly ; he felt the voice to be that of his injured wife ; 
 he thought much of the punishment threatened by the Class- 
 man, and at length he determined to follow the gentle spirit's 
 advice and seek a warm heart. He put on his Sunday suit, as 
 he had done in happier days on similar occasions, and went to 
 the pine-knoll. He soon reached the spot ; the day was a 
 gloomy one, and, as he stood before the gigantic pine and saluted 
 it as heretofore, no cheering sunbeam broke through the thick 
 branches over head to light up the scene. In a sad, faltering 
 tone, he said — 
 
 " O ! Treasure-keeper, in pine-wood green 
 For many a rolling year, 
 Lord of the shadowy woodland scene, 
 Shew thyself to me here." 
 
 Then the little Glass-man came forth from the underwood, but 
 he gave no friendly greeting to the unhappy Peter; he was 
 dressed in deep mourning, his jerkin and hat of black-spun glass, 
 and a long weeper attached to the pointed crown of the latter. 
 
 Peter knew but too well for whom he sorrowed. " What is 
 your business with me, Peter Munk ?" asked he in a sad tone. 
 
 " I have still a wish, Mr. Treasure-keeper,'" answered Peter 
 with downcast eyes. 
 
 f Can hearts of stone wish:" replied the Glass-man; "you 
 ha\ ( j everything your mocked thoughts can desire, and I am un- 
 willing to gratify them further." 
 
 " But you promised me three wishes, Mr. Glass-man, and I 
 have still one remaining ; will you consent to gratify it :" 
 
117 
 
 M I will, if it be a reasonable one," answered the spirit ; " at 
 any rate let me bear it." 
 
 " Ob ! Mr. Treasure-keeper," cried the wretched man, " I 
 implore you take this stone out of my breast ; give me back my 
 living heart ! this is my sole desire on earth !" 
 
 " Give you back your heart ! did I take it from you ? Ask it 
 of Dutch Michael !" 
 
 " Ah ! he will never, never give it me." 
 
 " You make me pity you, wicked as you are," said the Glass- 
 man, with a sorrowful look ; " and as your wish is the best you 
 could form, I will help you to its fulfilment. Listen and do 
 just as I tell you." He then gave Peter directions how to 
 act, and handed him a little cross of pure white glass. 
 " Michael can neither touch your life nor your liberty whilst 
 you fight him with this weapon; and when you have found 
 what you seek, return again to me." 
 
 Peter Munk took the little cross, and set out for Michael's 
 dwelling. He called him three times by his name, and the giant 
 stood before him. 
 
 " So you have killed your wife, Peter !" said he with fearful 
 laughter; "if you had not put an end to her, she would have 
 ruined you with her charity; but you must leave the country for 
 a little while ; and I guess you are even now come for some 
 money for your journey." 
 
 " I am come to deprive you of some of your treasure, cer- 
 tainly," said Peter. 
 
 Michael led Peter into his cottage, and handed him several 
 rouleaux of dollars. 
 
 Peter counted them over, and said, " Now, Michael, I wish 
 to be convinced that you have my living heart in your posses- 
 sion, and that I have a stone in its place." 
 
 "What! is it not so?" cried Michael, astonished; "do you 
 not feel your heart as cold as ice in your breast ? can you re- 
 pent, or feel sorrow and fear ? And I assure you, moreover, 
 Peter Munk, that I have your living heart quite safe in the 
 other room in a glass box." 
 
 Upon this, the demon, smiling grimly, threw open the 
 door into the inner room, and cried, " Here, Peter, come 
 and see your own heart ; does it not beat high ? could wax do 
 that ? " 
 
 " I do not know," said Peter; "but this I know, that that 
 heart is made of some material or other." 
 
 " Of course it is made of your own flesh and blood, you 
 
118 
 
 THE COLD HEART. 
 
 simpleton," said Michael angrily; " here, take it in your hand, 
 feel how it throbs, and then doubt if it he yours." 
 
 Peter took the heart, pressed it to his side, felt indeed its 
 anxious throbbing*, and could now rejoice that it was once 
 more in his power. 
 
 "Well, how do you feel ?" asked Michael anxiously. 
 
 " Better than I have felt for a long time, Mr. Michael ; and, 
 moreover, I do not intend to part with my heart again, now that 
 I have it." 
 
 " I see, you do not know me yet, Peter ; come, give me back 
 the heart again, if you please." 
 
 "Not so, Mr. Michael," cried Peter, stepping back and hold- 1 
 ing up the little cross ; " I have been cheated by you, and now it 
 is fairly my turn to deprive you of what is not yours." 
 
 The effect produced by these words was fearful ; Michael fell j 
 back abashed before the cross ; Peter fled hastily from the spot, ! 
 followed by the ravings and threatenings of the conquered demon. 
 
 A fearful storm burst over the forest ; the peals of thunder 
 were echoed by the hollow rocks around; the vivid lightning 
 flashed across the narrow path, illuminating the dark recesses 
 and long shadowy avenues of the pine-wood ; and the tall trees 
 swayed and creaked in the wind, whilst their outspread 
 branches proved a slight protection to the bewildered Peter 
 from the heavy rain that poured in torrents down. He held on 
 his course, however, and paused not till he reached the base of 
 the hill on which the Glass-man's pine-tree stood. 
 
 His heart beat joyfully, but his only cause for joy was, that 
 it beat at all ; for memory was busy with him, setting before his 
 affrighted conscience the dark catalogue of his crimes. 
 
 He thought mournfully of his aged mother; he forgot not his 
 inhuman cruelty to his poor debtors ; but chiefly did he think 
 — and the thought was agony — of the lovely and gentle wife he 
 had sacrificed to his avarice. Large tears rolled down his 
 cheeks, and deep sobs impeded his utterance, as he again found 
 himself in the presence of the Treasure-keeper. 
 
 The little man was smoking peacefully, and seemed in better 
 spirits than before. 
 
 " Why do you weep, Peter :" asked he ; " have you not suc- 
 ceeded r have you still your stony heart r" 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Glass-man," answered poor Peter, "when I had 
 my cold heart I could not weep, my eyes were as dry as the 
 thirsty flowers in July. No ; I have my living heart again, but 
 it is ready to break at the remembrance of all my crimes. 
 
119 
 
 " Peter, you have been very wicked," said the Glass-man 
 solemnly; "wealth and idleness have been your ruin; but, 
 great as your misdeeds have been, there is still hope for you. 
 Remember, Peter, that the cold heart is gone, I trust for ever, 
 and therefore hope for a better mind !" 
 
 " I can hope for nothing," said Peter despairingly. " I am 
 alone on the earth ; my conscience my only companion, and an 
 accusing conscience gives the guilty soul no rest. My mother 
 can never forgive my conduct to her; perhaps she may be dead 
 too, killed by her son's unkindnesss. And my wife ! my Lis- 
 beth ! Oh ! Mr. Treasure-keeper, all you can do for me is to 
 put an end to my remorse by slaying me on the spot. I pray 
 you, do so, and end my woes." 
 
 " What ?" exclaimed the little man, turning on Peter a look 
 which seemed to chill the blood in his veins, and in a voice of 
 terrible anger — " What sayest thou ? Dost thou seek death ? 
 Thou, the miser, the drunkard, the murderer ? But, be it so ; 
 I will grant your request. My axe is hard at hand." 
 
 " O mercy ! mercy!" shrieked Peter in agony of terror, "I 
 thought not what I said ; O spare me, spare me ! I am unfit to 
 live, but more unfit to die !" 
 
 "No, no," cried the Glass-man, "it is too late now; you 
 have asked for death, and you shall die. I will be trifled with 
 no longer." 
 
 " Spare me but for a day !" exclaimed Peter, throwing himself 
 on his knees. 
 
 "Why should I spare you?" asked the Glass-man with a 
 bitter sneer; " you spared not Lisbeth." 
 
 " But half a day, then, that I may spend it in prayer ?" 
 
 " No, nor a quarter of a day — no, nor an hour — no, nor a 
 quarter of an hour. Come, bare your neck for the axe ! 
 
 ►So saying, the Glass-man went behind the pine-tree, and was 
 lost from sight. Peter continued kneeling on the grass, offer- 
 ing up such prayers as rose to his lips, and thus awaited his 
 death stroke. Oh ! the agony of those few minutes — for they 
 were minutes, though they seemed like years — while the Glass- 
 man was absent ! 
 
 When those minutes were past, Peter heard light footsteps 
 behind him. He groaned bitterly — " Oh that I had been wise ! 
 oh that I had listened to advice ! Oh that it were not too late 
 now to show my contrition !" 
 
 "I am come to slay you, as you desired," said the Treasure- 
 keeper. " Will you not give me a farewell look, Peter?" 
 
120 THE COLD HEART. 
 
 Peter had closed his eyes to escape the cold, shimmering 
 brightness of the descending axe. He now opened them, and 
 lo, it was not the form of the old Glass-man on which his eyes 
 first rested. A sweet, youthful countenance smiled on him, 
 and a well-known aged face looked tearfully at him. 
 
 "My mother! my wife !" cried he. "Lisbeth, do you yet 
 live ? Mother, can you forgive me r Oh ! this is too much, 
 far too much." 
 
 " All is forgiven and forgotten by them," said the Treasure- 
 keeper. " But if I spare you at their prayer, it is because I 
 have hopes that you will henceforth be a different man. I 
 grant you life; take heed you do not abuse the gift. I 
 grant you life, but it is upon the condition that you set 
 yourself in earnest to the task of reformation. You have 
 been greedy and sensual : now you must mortify your appe- 
 tites. You are by nature covetous : now you must labour 
 hard, and give a portion of all you earn to the poor and 
 needy. You have neglected to pray : take heed that one night 
 in every week — the night of the same day in which you at- 
 tempted (and, but for my intervention, would have taken) your 
 wife's life — that one night in every week, from year's end to 
 year's end, you spend in prayer at the top of yonder mountain. 
 And now farewell; but take heed that you trifle not with the 
 Treasure-keeper !" 
 
 Then he disappeared, and Peter, whose penitence was sincere, 
 became the master of himself and the conqueror of his evil pas- 
 sions ; and often, during the remaining course of his humble 
 but pious and peaceful life, did Peter say, " It is better to be 
 poor and contented with poverty, 1 than to be rolling in riches 
 and possess a cold heart withal!" 
 
Advertisement. 
 
 I. The Caravan : 
 
 Page 
 
 1. Caliph Stork .. .. .. ..6 
 
 2. The Spectre Ship .. .. .. 16 
 
 3. The Severed Hand .. .. ..25 
 
 4. Fatima's Rescue .. .. .. 39 
 
 5. Little Fly .. .. ..55 
 
 6. The False Prince . . . . . . 70 
 
 II. The Cold Heart. 
 
 III. The Sheik of Alexandria and hts Slaves : 
 
 1. Nosey the Dwarf . . . . . . 9 
 
 2. Abner the Jew . . . . . . 36 
 
 A 
 
ii CONTENTS. 
 
 3. The fate of Said 
 
 4. Almansor 
 
 IV. The Legend op the Hirschgulden. 
 
 V. The Portrait of the Emperor. 
 
 VI. The Grunwiesel Dancer. 
 
HTJbe tttst menu 
 
 'he English reader is here presented with a se- 
 lection from the fictions of Wilhelm Hauff, 
 than which few writings of the kind have 
 been more popular in their own country. 
 Their merits are such as may be seen at a glance ; but, 
 though not pretending to any great depth, they will be 
 admitted to be extremely clever and agreeable produc- 
 tions. The greater number of pieces in this volume are 
 of the " Marchen" class ; and these are, perhaps, among 
 Hauff 's happiest attempts — as, for instance, " The Caliph 
 Stork/' "The Cold Heart," " Nosey the Dwarf," "The 
 Spectre Ship," &c. — in many of which a pleasing and in- 
 structive moral thread will be seen to run through the 
 fiction. The others are of the " Novelleu," or " Erzah- 
 lungen"* class, and vary considerably in their character. 
 "The Griinwiesel Dancer" is an admirable specimen of 
 the droll kind, as is "The Severed Hand" of the graver 
 description. " The Portrait of the Emperor," it is al- 
 most needless to say, finds a place simply on account of its 
 merits as a pleasing and well-written tale, and not with 
 any intention of creating admiration for the character and 
 principles of Napoleon, with respect to whom the trans- 
 lator would rather, as might be expected, sympathise with 
 
 * On the words "Marchen" and " Erzahlungen" ' — see " The 
 Sheik of Alexandria," p. 43. 
 
iv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the anti-Napoleonist baron in the tale. There is the less 
 need, however, of cautionary remark on this head, seeing 
 that a " History of the French Revolution," comprising 
 a full account of the career of Buonaparte, forms one of 
 the volumes of the present series. The translator has 
 somewhere read an account of the last hours of this re- 
 markable man, in which he is represented as clasping a 
 crucifix to his breast; and to this there is possibly an allu- 
 sion in Manzoni's celebrated ode, of which an original 
 translation is given at the end of the tale. 
 
 These prefatory remarks will be appropriately con- 
 cluded by a very pretty introduction, which Hauff pre- 
 fixed to one of the series of his " Marchen," on its first 
 appearance in the form of an annual or keepsake. 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF FAIRY-TALE. 
 
 In a beautiful and distant realm, in whose ever-green gardens 
 the sun is said never to set, Queen Fancy has held sway from 
 time immemorial until the present day. For centuries long she 
 has been dispensing blessings to her subjects with a liberal 
 hand, and has been loved and revered by all who have known 
 her. But the queen has too great and good a heart to be 
 satisfied with simply conferring benefits in this way. Once she 
 descended to earth herself in the royal array of eternal youth 
 and beauty, for she had heard that there were men living there 
 who passed their life in doleful sadness and oppressive toil. 
 She brought them the fairest gifts her realm afforded ; and ever 
 since the beautiful queen passed over the plains of earth, men 
 have been happy in their toil, and cheerful in their gravity. 
 And her children too, not less beautiful and lovely than their 
 royal mother, she sent forth to gladden mankind. 
 
 Now it came to pass one day that Fairy-tale, the queen's 
 eldest daughter, returned from the earth. Her mother noticed 
 that she looked sorrowful ; yes, she now and then could not 
 help thinking she had even been weeping. 
 
 " What is the matter with you, Fairy-tale ?" said the queen ; 
 
INTRODUCTION. V 
 
 " you have been so sorrowful and downcast since your journey ! 
 — will you not tell your mother what is the matter I" 
 
 " Ah ! dear mother," replied Fairy-tale, " I should certainly 
 not have been silent so long, only I knew that our troubles 
 were one." 
 
 " Tell me all, child," said the beautiful queen ; " grief is a 
 heavy burden, you know, which is too much for one, but which 
 two can easily bear between them." 
 
 "Then I mil tell you, dear mother," answered Fairy-tale, 
 " since you desire it. 
 
 "You know how I love the society of mankind, — how glad I 
 am to sit down with even the poorest peasant at his cottage- 
 door, to while away an hour with him when work is over. In 
 former times they used to greet me kindly, and shake hands 
 with me when I came ; and they followed me with smiles of 
 delight when I went away : but now, alas, it is so no more !" 
 
 " Poor little Fairy-tale !" said the queen, stroking her cheek, 
 which was moist with a tear ; " but perhaps this is all a fancy 
 of yours ?" 
 
 "Oh, no; I feel too sure of it," rejoined Fairy-tale; "they 
 do not love me any more. I am met with cold looks wherever 
 I go ; they are not glad to see me any where now ; even the 
 children, who used always to be so fond of me, laugh at me, 
 and look wise, and turn their backs upon me." 
 
 The queen leant her forehead on her hand, and remained a 
 while in silent thought. " And how comes it, Fairy-tale," said 
 the queen, " that the people below are so changed ?" 
 
 " Men have put cunning sentinels on the watch," answered 
 Fairy-tale, "who are always prying into, and testing every 
 thing that comes out of your kingdom. So if any one comes 
 who is not quite to their taste, they begin to make a great noise, 
 and to beat him, or they tell men such stories about him (and 
 men always believe them), that he is immediately driven away 
 in disgrace. Ah ! mother, there is not a spark more of love or 
 hearty faith to be found. How well my little brothers, the 
 Dreams, are off : they skip so lightly and merrily down to the 
 earth, and don't care a fig for those cunning men ; they go to 
 people when they are asleep, and weave and paint them ah" kinds 
 of pretty things that gladden the heart and please the eye !" 
 
 " Your brothers are light of foot," said the queen ; " and, 
 after all, my dear, you have no reason to envy them. Besides, 
 I know those border guards very well, and men are not so 
 wrong in setting them on the watch ; for many a self-conceited 
 
Vi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 creature has gone and given himself airs, just as if he had come 
 straight from our kingdom ; and yet, at most, he had only got 
 a look at us from some distant mountain or other." 
 
 "But why make me suffer for this/' — replied Fairy-tale, 
 crying, — " me, your eldest daughter ? Ah ! if you knew how 
 they treated me: they actually called me an old maid, and 
 threatened not to let me in at all the next time !" 
 
 "What! not let my daughter in any more?" replied the 
 queen, and anger brought a deeper flush on her cheek ; " but I 
 see very well how all this is, — your spiteful aunt has been telling- 
 false stories of us." 
 
 "Fashion do you mean? impossible!" cried Fairy-tale! "she 
 always pretended to be so kind to us before !" 
 
 " Oh, I know the false hussy," replied the queen ; " but try 
 again, my dear child, in spite of her ; one must never be tired 
 of doing good." 
 
 " Ah, mother, but if they shut the door upon me outright, or 
 if they tell tales of me, till men refuse to look at me, and let 
 me stand lonely and neglected in the corner ?" 
 
 " If the old ones," said the queen, " who are fooled over by 
 Fashion, despise you, then make up to the young ! they are 
 my favourites ; to them I send my prettiest pictures by your 
 brothers, the Dreams : yes, I have often floated down to them 
 myself, and kissed and fondled them, and played games with them; 
 and they know me quite well too. To be sure, they don't know 
 my name, but I have often seen them looking up and smiling 
 at my stars at night, and clapping their hands for joy in the 
 morning, when my snow-white lambs were moving across the 
 sky. And when they grow older, they love me still ; for then 
 I help the pretty girls among them to weave garlands of different 
 colours ; and the noisy boys are quieter when I sit down by 
 them on the rocky crag, calling up high castles and shining 
 palaces from the misty veil of the far blue hills, and forming 
 bold troops of riders and strange pilgrim-bands from the crim- 
 soned clouds of evening." 
 
 " Oh, the dear children !" cried Fairy-tale, with emotion ; 
 " yes, so it shall be. I will make another trial with them." 
 
 " Do so, darling child," said the queen — " go to them ; but 
 stay, I will dress you a little as you should be, first; so that you 
 will please the little ones, and the old ones won't send you 
 away. Look now, I will give you the garb of a keepsake !" 
 
 " Of a keepsake, mother ? Ah ! I shall be ashamed of look- 
 ing so fine." 
 
INTRODUCTION. VU 
 
 The queen made a sign, and her servants brought her the 
 pretty dress of a keepsake. It was of a gay and beautiful ap- 
 pearance, and woven with many attractive figures. Her maids 
 braided the pretty child's long hair, tied her golden sandals on 
 her feet, and put on the dress. 
 
 Modest little Fairy-tale did not dare to look up; but her 
 mother looked at her with delight, and embraced her. "Go," 
 said she to the little creature ; "my blessing be with you. And 
 if they despise you and scoff at you, come back to me ; perhaps 
 an after race, truer to nature, will give you their hearts again." 
 
 So spake Queen Fancy; and Fairy-tale went down to the 
 earth. With a beating heart she approached the place where 
 the cunning sentinels were lodged : she hung her little head, 
 drew her beautiful robe closer round her, and with a trembling 
 step approached the gate. 
 
 " Halt !" cried a deep, rough voice ; " out with the watch ; 
 here's a new keepsake coming !" 
 
 Fairy-tale trembled when she heard this ; a number of angry- 
 looking old men rushed out : they had sharp-pointed pens in 
 their hands, and they turned them on Fairy-tale. 
 
 One of them stepped up to her, and seized her roughly by 
 the chin. "Come, head up, Miss Keepsake!" cried he; "let 
 us look you in the face, and see if you are of the right sort 
 or not." 
 
 Blushing, Fairy-tale raised her little head, and opened her 
 little black eyes. 
 
 "Fairy-tale!" cried the guards, splitting their sides with 
 laughter ; " Fairy-tale ! we couldn't think what was coming. 
 Well, how came you by this new dress ?" 
 
 " Mother dressed me in it," answered Fairy-tale. 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! she wants to pass you off on us in this way ? It 
 won't do — it won't do. Away, with you ! Be off this instant !" 
 cried all the sentinels at once, raising their sharp-pointed pens. 
 
 " I only want to go to the children," said Fairy-tale, entreat- 
 ingly ; " that you will let me do, surely ?" 
 
 " Is there not rubbish enough of this sort running wild about 
 the country?" cried one of the watch. " You do nothing but 
 talk nonsense to our children." 
 
 " Let us see what she has this time," said another. 
 
 " Very well," cried they all. " Come, out with your stores ; 
 be quick, for we haven't much time to waste on such as you !" 
 
 Fairy-tale stretched out her little hand, and with her fore- 
 finger made a number of signs in the air. Then gay forms 
 
Viii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 were seen to pass : fine horses and carriages — splendidly-accou- 
 tred knights, and ladies — castles — churches — palaces — kings 
 and queens, with their equipages and courtiers — giants and 
 dwarfs — birds and beasts and fishes — still woods, busy squares, 
 well-peopled streets; all these and many more such visions 
 floated by, in vivid portraiture and chequered throng. 
 
 In the enthusiasm with which Fairy-tale had summoned up 
 the figures, she had not observed that the guards at the gate 
 had gradually fallen asleep. She was just going to make new 
 signs, when a man approached her and took her kindly by the 
 hand: "Look! good Fairy-tale," said he, pointing to the 
 sleepers ; " your pretty things are not for such people as these. 
 Make haste and slip through the gate ; then they won't think 
 that you are in the country, and you will be able to go your way 
 unnoticed and uninterrupted. I will take you to my children, 
 and make a snug pleasant little place for you at my fireside. 
 There you may live and do just as you like ; and when my boys 
 and girls have done their lessons, they may come to you with 
 their playfellows, and listen to you as long as you please. 
 Would you like this V 
 
 " Oh ! how gladly will I follow you to your dear little ones !" 
 said Fairy-tale ; " what trouble will I not take to afford them 
 a pleasant hour !" 
 
 The good man nodded kindly, and nimbly lifted the little 
 maiden over the feet of the slumbering watchmen. Fairy-tale 
 looked round with a smile when she had safely passed them, 
 and then slipped quickly in at the gate. 
 
hat an extraordinary man was the Sheik of Alex- 
 andria! and how the people stared at him as he 
 passed along the streets in the morning, on his way 
 to the mosque, where it was his office to read the 
 Koran to the faithful ! His turban was of the finest 
 cachemire, and his magnificent robe was bound about his waist 
 with a girdle of the worth of fifty camels. His step was slow 
 and solemn. His ample brow and overhanging eyebrows shaded 
 a pair of eyes which bespoke the deepest thought, and at every 
 five or six steps he stroked his long beard. 
 
 " He is truly a fine-looking man," said one of the crowd. 
 
 " And a rich one," said a second ; " very rich. Has he not 
 
2 
 
 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA, 
 
 a castle on the harbour of Constantinople, and estates, and fields, 
 thousands of cattle, and many slaves r" 
 
 " Aye !" added a third, " and the Tartar who has just arrived 
 with dispatches from the Porte — from the Sultan himself (whom 
 the Prophet protect!) — tells me that the sheik is held in great 
 consideration by the Reis-Effendi, by the Capitan Pasha, and, 
 above all, by the Sultan himself." 
 
 "Ah!" cried a fourth; "his steps are blessed, and he is^ a 
 noble lord; but — but — you know what I mean." 
 
 " Yes, yes," whispered the crowd among themselves ; " he 
 has also his trials. I would not change places with him. He 
 is rich, it is true, but — but " 
 
 Ah Banu possessed a splendid house in the finest square of 
 Alexandria; a broad terrace stretched before it, walled with 
 marble and shaded with palm-trees, where the Sheik sat to 
 smoke his hookah in the evening. Twelve richly dressed slaves 
 at a respectful distance awaited his signal. The office of one 
 was to hold his betel leaf, of another to shade him from the sun, 
 of a third to present his sherbet in vessels of massive gold, of a 
 fourth to drive away the flies with a fan of peacock's feathers. 
 Some of them bore lutes and horns, to delight their master with 
 music, should he desire it, and the best instructed brought 
 scrolls to read to him. But in vain did they await his signal ; 
 neither music nor reading had charms for his ear ; the sherbet 
 and the betel-leaf were forgotten, and the flies buzzed unnoticed 
 around him. 
 
 The passers by stopped at times, to admire the splendour of 
 the house and the rich dresses of the slaves ; but at the gloomy 
 aspect of the possessor of all these riches, as he sat moodily under 
 the shade of his palms, regarding but the blue smoke of his 
 hookah, they shook their heads in pity, and exclaimed — 
 
 " Truly, this man is poorer than the poorest among us, for the 
 Prophet has denied him the power of enjoying what he has." 
 And so they passed laughing on their way. 
 
 One evening, when the Sheik was thus seated amid his brilliant 
 suite, I although seemingly indifferent to the splendour which 
 surrounded him, a group of lively young men stood near him, and 
 made their remarks on what tney considered his senseless 
 conduct. 
 
 " What a fool the Sheik Ali Banu is," said one. " Had I his trea- 
 sures, how differently would I spend them ! I would pass my days 
 in feasting and delights; I would fill my chambers with guests, 
 and these melancholy halls should ring with joy and laughter." 
 
AND HIS SLAVES. 3 
 
 " Not a bad idea," answered another ; " but many guests 
 consume a fortune very quickly, were it as large as the Sultan's 
 (whom the Prophet preserve ! ) ; but if I were seated under those 
 palm-trees, methinks my slaves should sing and play and dance 
 to me, and show me a thousand wonderful tricks. I would 
 smoke my hookah and drink sherbet like the king of Bagdad." 
 
 " The Sheik," said a third, who was an author, " must be a 
 well informed man, for his lectures on the Koran shew him to be 
 intimately acquainted with all the best poets and authors; but he 
 does not conduct himself like a reasonable being. There stands 
 a slave with his arms full of scrolls ; I would give my best robe 
 for a sight of one of them, for they must be rare productions ; 
 but there sits he smoking his pipe, and leaves the books to 
 themselves. If I were Ali Banu that fellow should read to me 
 until he had no more breath, or until it were too dark to see, 
 and after that he should read me to sleep." 
 
 " Ah ! your projects are all very fine," cried a fourth, with a 
 laugh. " Eating and drinking, singing and dancing, and listen- 
 ing to the songs and proverbs of poor wretched poets. I should 
 do very differently. The Sheik has some of the finest horses 
 in the world, and quantities of camels and money : I should 
 travel — travel to the end of the world — to Muscoaw, and perhaps 
 to France. No journey would appear too long for me to view 
 the beauties of the world ; that is what I would do if I. were in 
 the place of yonder man." 
 
 " Youth is the time for joy and pleasure," said an old and 
 unpretending man, who stood near, and had overheard their con- 
 versation ; " but permit me to say that it is also the season for 
 folly, and for talking about what it does not understand." 
 
 " What do you mean by that, old man ?" said the astonished 
 youths. "Are you alluding to us ? How do our remarks on 
 the Sheik's manner of living concern you ?" 
 
 " He who is wiser than his neighbour should correct his 
 errors," replied the old man ; " the Prophet has so willed it. 
 The Sheik, it is true, is blessed with riches, and all that his heart 
 can desire; but his reason for sorrow is a deep one. Think you 
 that he was always thus ? No : fifteen years ago, he was as gay 
 and lively as a gazelle, and in the full enjoyment of existence ; 
 he had then a son, the pride of his life, handsome, well formed, 
 and the admiration of all beholders ; few could refrain from 
 envying the Sheik the possession of such a treasure, for at ten 
 years old he had the wisdom and sagacity of many a person of 
 eighteen." 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA, 
 
 " And is he dead ? Alas, poor Sheik !" said the young 
 writer. 
 
 " It would have afforded him some consolation to know that 
 he was gone to dwell with our Prophet in the mansions of bliss ; 
 but, alas, his sore trial afforded him no such comfort as this. 
 At the time when our country was overrun with the Franks, 
 who ravaged and destroyed, like hungry wolves, wherever they 
 set foot, Alexandria was beset with them, and at last they made 
 an attack on the Mamelukes. The profound skill and knowledge 
 of the Sheik had hitherto enabled him to keep on pretty good 
 terms with them ; but matters now changed, and, whether on 
 account of his riches, or of the protection which he afforded to 
 his brothers in the faith, I know not ; suffice it to say that they 
 visited his house, and accused him of having supplied the Mame- 
 lukes with arms, horses, and provisions. In vain did he protest 
 his innocence ; the Franks are a hard-hearted people when 
 money is in the case. They carried off his son as a hostage, and 
 not all the immense sums which the Sheik offered for his res- 
 toration would induce them to release him, as they hoped by this 
 means to exact still higher terms. At last there arrived a com- 
 mand from their bashaw, or whatever they call him, to make 
 sail. No one in Alexandria knew a word of it until they saw 
 them far away in the wide ocean. Young Kairam was thus 
 carried off, and nothing has been heard of him since." 
 
 "Alas ! poor man ! Allah has indeed severely stricken him," 
 cried the young men with one accord ; for their feelings were 
 interested for the unfortunate Sheik, who, in the midst of so 
 much splendour, sat lonely and sad under the palm-tree's 
 shade. 
 
 " His beloved wife died of a broken heart. He then purchased 
 and fitted out a vessel, and having persuaded the foreign phy- 
 sician, who lives at the foot of the spring yonder, to accompany 
 him, he sailed for France in search of his lost son. After a voyage 
 of many days, they arrived at the land of the giaours and un- 
 believers who had so long infested Alexandria. Dreadful 
 scenes were there enacting. The Franks had killed their sultan 
 and his bashaws, and rich and poor were striving for the 
 mastery, and who could best cut one another's heads off. In 
 short, the whole country was in disorder. Their search after i 
 young Kairam was in vain ; no one knew anything of him, and 
 the foreign doctor advised the Sheik to leave the country while | 
 their own heads were yet safe on their shoulders. So the}- 
 returned home, and since that time the Sheik has passed his j 
 — ' I 
 
AND HIS SLAVES. 5 
 
 days in mourning for his son, and truly not without cause. Can 
 he eat or drink without thinking to himself, ' My poor Kairam 
 may be suffering from hunger and thirst ?' and when he wraps 
 his rich shawls around him, and dresses himself as his rank 
 and station require him to do, can he refrain from the reflection 
 that Kairam may be without a covering from the inclemency of 
 the elements ? And when he sees himself surrounded by his 
 dancing and singing and reading slaves, must he not feel that 
 his poor son may be also perfonning his dances and his songs 
 for the pleasure of his foreign master ? It is this that softens 
 his feelings towards his slaves, and renders him charitable 
 towards the poor; for he hopes that Allah will, in recompence 
 of this, move the hearts of the Franks to treat his son with the 
 same kindness. For this cause, also, he gives freedom to twelve 
 of his slaves on each anniversary of the day on which his son 
 was torn from him." 
 
 " I have heard of this," interrupted the writer ; " but people 
 relate it in astonishment, as they make no mention of his son, 
 and are, therefore, not aware of the motive from which he acts : 
 they merely ascribe it to his love of the marvellous, and say that 
 the freedom is granted to him who relates the best story." 
 
 "Do not believe half that you hear," said the old man. "I 
 have told you the facts as they are. It is extremely probable 
 that during these long and tedious days he may wish to be 
 amused with tales ; but, believe me, the freedom is granted for 
 the sake of his son alone. It begins to get cool, and I must be 
 going. Schalem aleikum — peace be with you, young gentlemen, 
 and think more favourably for the future of the good Sheik." 
 
 The youths thanked their old acquaintance for his narration, 
 and bestowing one more glance on the bereaved father, they 
 proceeded homewards, remarking to one another, M Who would 
 be the Sheik ?" 
 
 Not very long after this conversation, they happened again to 
 be walking through the streets at the time of morning prayers, 
 and, recalling to each other's recollection the circumstances of 
 the old man's story, they looked with feelings of compassion 
 towards the mansion of the Sheik; but what was their astonish- 
 ment at beholding it decked and ornamented in the richest 
 manner ! From the roof, on which gaily dressed slaves were 
 parading, waved banners and pennons, and the hall was richly 
 carpeted. Silken stuffs were laid on the steps, and the very 
 street was spread with such cloths as one would covet for a state 
 display. 
 
 b 3 
 
6 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA, 
 
 " Ah ! how changed must the Sheik be within these few 
 days ! " said the young writer. " Is he going to give a feast, 
 and exercise his singers and dancers ? Only look at these 
 carpets ; are any such to be found in all Alexandria ? And the 
 cloth on the common path- way ! It is really a shame to step 
 on it." 
 
 " Shall I tell you what I think ? " said another. " He is 
 expecting some visitor of distinction, for such preparations are 
 only made when some very rich proprietor, or an Effendi, from 
 the Grand Seignor, honours a house with his presence. 
 Who can be coming to-day ? See, is not that our friend, the 
 old man ? He no doubt knows all about it, and we must make 
 him tell us. Here, old gentleman ! will you not come and chat 
 a little with us ? " 
 
 After sundry signals, the old man's attention was attracted, 
 and he speedily recognized the young people with whom he had 
 so lately conversed. They inquired of him, for whose expected 
 arrival so many preparations were making at the Sheik's. 
 
 " I am not surprised at your imagining that a feast is about 
 to be celebrated at Ali Banu's," answered the old man, "on 
 account of the expected visit of some great personage ; but that 
 is not the case. To-day is the 1 2th of the month Ramadan, you 
 know, and on this day the Sheik lost his son." 
 
 " Now by the beard of the Prophet," exclaimed the young 
 men in a breath, " was ever anything so extraordinary ? Every- 
 thing bespeaks feasting and holiday, whereas I should have 
 thought this the saddest day of the whole year to the Sheik. 
 Surely he must be a little wrong in the head." 
 
 " Do you still jump so quickly at conclusions, my young 
 friend ? " said the old man, laughing. " Your arrows are 
 piercing, and your bow well strung ; but still you have shot 
 wide of the mark. Know, then, that the Sheik to-day expects 
 his son." 
 
 "He is then found?" cried the young men, in great joy. 
 
 "No — and he would be a long time finding him ; out listen. 
 About eight or ten years ago, when the Sheik had as usual 
 began this day in grief, and had freed a certain number of 
 slaves, and distributed meat and drink to the poor, a dervise, 
 who, faint and weary, had laid himself down in the shade of the 
 house, also partook of the Sheik's bounty. He was a holy 
 man, well versed in prophetic lore and in the signs of the stars. 
 When refreshed by the good things of which he had partaken, 
 he came to the Sheik, and telling him that he was acquainted 
 
AND HIS SLAVES. 7 
 
 with all the circumstances of his melancholy history, he asked 
 if this were not the very day on which he lost his son ; assuring 
 him at the same time, that his grief would ultimately be turned 
 into joy, for that on this very day, some time or other, his son 
 wouid return. It would have been a shame for a Mussulman 
 to doubt the word of so sacred a person ; and though the pre- 
 diction was not sufficient to chase the grief of Ali Banu entirely 
 from his heart, he cannot forbear from expecting his son's 
 return on each anniversary of the day, and it is for this reason 
 that he embellishes his house as you see. 
 
 " Most wonderful ! " exclaimed the writer. " I would that I 
 could view all these preparations nearer, could see him thus 
 sorrowing in the midst of splendour, and, above all, could hear 
 some of the narratives related to him by his slaves." 
 
 " Nothing is easier/' said the old man. " The overseer of the 
 slaves is one of my most intimate friends, and always secures 
 me a place in the hall on these occasions, where, amidst the 
 crowd of friends and dependants, I can remain unobserved. I 
 will ask him to get you also admittance. As there are only four 
 of you, it may easily be contrived. Be here again at nine 
 o'clock, and I will give you an answer." 
 
 Thus spoke the old man ; and the youths parted from him 
 with thanks, full of curiosity for the issue of this affair. 
 
 Returning, at the appointed hour, to the square before the 
 Sheik's house, and finding there their old friend awaiting them, 
 they learned from him that the overseer had given him per^ 
 mission to conduct them to the hall. Entering, therefore, by a 
 side door, which he carefully reclosed, he led them through a 
 multitude of passages, and at length arrived at the great hall, 
 where they found an immense concourse of people, among 
 whom were richly dressed persons, noble lords, and friends of 
 the Sheik, who were come to offer him comfort in his affliction. 
 Slaves were there of all descriptions and nations, and all seemed 
 to sympathize in the grief of their beloved master. At the end 
 of the hall, on a rich divan, sat the most intimate of Ali's friends, 
 served by their slaves ; and on the ground near them reposed 
 the Sheik himself, for his profound melancholy forbid his 
 seating himself, except in the most lowly position ; his head 
 rested on his hand, and he seemed deaf to the words of consolation 
 which were proffered to him on all sides. Opposite to him 
 were placed a row of men of different ages, clad in the habili- 
 ments of slaves. The old man informed his friends, that these 
 were the persons to whom Ali Banu was about to restore their 
 
THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA, 
 
 freedom. Among them were several Franks, one of whom was 
 remarkable for his youth and beauty. The Sheik had purchased 
 him but a few days before, of a slave dealer from Tunis, and 
 was now about to grant him his liberty, in the hopes that the 
 more foreigners he could restore to their native land, the sooner 
 would the Prophet be induced to restore his beloved child to his 
 arms again. 
 
 As soon as refreshments had been served round, the Sheik 
 made a sign to the overseer of the slaves, who, rising amid 
 a profound silence, advanced towards the slaves who were 
 expecting their freedom, and, in an audible voice, thus addressed 
 them : — 
 
 " You who are to-day to enjoy your liberty through the 
 clemency of my lord, Ali Banu, Sheik of Alexandria, do 
 now as is the custom of the house on this day, and relate a 
 story." 
 
 After whispering together, an old slave took up the word, and 
 began as follows : — 
 
AND HIS SLAVES. 
 
 5?^St K -'pf ANY P ersons suppose that fairies and enchanters were 
 ffSw^J confined to the times of Haroun Alraschid, the 
 
 J 1 H8$ r fill Sultan °^ Bagdad, and no longer exist ; but this is 
 ^, a great mistake. The tales which one picks up at 
 ^•w&mt jna^e^ f the tribe of genii and their princes, are 
 all from good authority. Fairies are still to be seen, and not 
 very long ago, I was myself witness to an adventure where the 
 genii made themselves visible, as I will now relate. 
 
 In one of the largest towns of my own dear country, Germany, 
 there lived, for many years, an honest cobbler and his wife. 
 During the day, he sat at the corner of the street, mending 
 such shoes and slippers as were entrusted to him, so as to look 
 as good as new ; but he was obliged to find leather, and he was 
 very poor. His wife sold fruit and vegetables, the produce of a 
 small garden near the gate ; and people bought of her from her 
 tidy appearance, and the excellence of the things she sold. 
 
 These poor people had but one son, a pretty, nice boy, of 
 eight years old, well grown, and forward for his age. He sat 
 with his mother in the market, and assisted the women and 
 cooks who bought of her, to carry home the fruit ; for which he 
 seldom returned without a suitable recompence in the shape of 
 a plum, a bit of money, or a cake ; for the masters of these 
 cooks were always glad to see the pretty boy, and paid him 
 handsomely. 
 
 One day, the cobbler's wife was seated as usual in the market, 
 with some baskets of cabbage and other vegetables before her, 
 together with various herbs and seeds. She had also some 
 small baskets of early pears, and apples, and apricots. Little 
 
10 
 
 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 Jacob, for so was the boy called, sat near her, and with his 
 shrill, clear voice continued to call his goods — " Here, gentle- 
 men, fine fresh cabbage and greens, early pears ; here, ladies, 
 early apples and apricots. AVho will buy ? My mother gives 
 good measure." An old woman now came into the market, in 
 a faded and tattered dress. Her face was thin and sharp, 
 wrinkled with age, with a nose like a needle, which very nearly 
 met her chin. A long stick was in her hand, by the assistance 
 of which she hobbled, and shuffled, and tottered along in such 
 an unsteady manner, that it was only wonderful she did not 
 fall on her pointed nose. 
 
 The cobbler's wife was much struck with the appearance of 
 this old woman, for in all the sixteen years she had sat in the 
 market, she thought she had never seen so extraordinary a 
 figure ; and she could not forbear an involuntary shriek as the 
 hag hobbled towards her, and made a stand at her basket. 
 
 " Are you Jane, the greengrocer ? " said she, in a cracked, 
 disagreeable voice, while her head was in a perpetual shake. 
 
 " Yes," answered the market woman. " Are you in want of 
 anything ? " 
 
 " We shall see, we shall see. What have you got ? " said the 
 old woman, stooping down, and rummaging among the herbs 
 with a pair of dirty looking, dark brown hands, crushing the 
 tender, well washed salad with her long spindle fingers, and 
 applying each herb in turn to her long nose, until the green- 
 grocer's heart sank within her. She, however, dared say 
 nothing ; for besides being aware that people have a right to 
 examine what they think of buying, this old woman inspired 
 her with a sort of dread. After thoroughly turning over the 
 contents of the basket, the old creature exclaimed in an under 
 tone, " Sad stuff* — sad cabbage : nothing here that I want — 
 everything was better fifty years ago : sad stuff" — sad stuff" I " 
 
 Such remarks as these awakened the ire of little Jacob, who 
 exclaimed in a rage, " You are an impertinent old woman : first 
 you rummage in the basket with your nasty brown fingers, and 
 mix all the things together ; and then you must needs put them 
 to your long nose, so that nobody will buy them ; and you finish 
 by calling them sad stuff", although the duke's cook himself 
 always deals with us." 
 
 The old woman answered him with the same warmth, and 
 laughing wildly, said, " Since my beautiful long nose pleases 
 you so much, you shall have just such a one over your chin." 
 
 While she thus spoke, she shuffled towards another basket, 
 
NOSEY, THE DWARF. 
 
 11 
 
 in which lay some fine cabbages ; and selecting two or three of 
 the best, she squeezed them together until they sounded 
 again, when, throwing them back into the basket, she cried, 
 " Bad things — bad cabbage ! " 
 
 " Don't shake your head in such a way," said the boy, in an 
 agony of passion. " Your throat is as thin as a cabbage stalk, 
 and would easily break ; and then your head would fall into 
 the basket; and what. would you do then ? " 
 
 " What ! does not my slender throat please you ? " muttered 
 the old woman, with a laugh ; " then thou shalt have none at 
 all. Thy head shall stick fast between thy shoulders, that it 
 may not fall from thy little body/' 
 
 " Prate no more nonsense with the child," said the market- 
 woman. " If you want anything, please to say so, and not 
 frighten away all the other customers." 
 
 ft Very true," answered the old hag, with a withering glance, 
 " I will take these six cabbages ; but as I cannot carry them 
 home myself, you must let your son take them for me, for 
 which I will pay him well." 
 
 The child with great earnestness entreated his mother not to 
 send him with the old woman, for whom he had conceived the 
 greatest horror ; but she represented to him, what a sin it would 
 be to allow the feeble old creature to carry such a load herself; 
 so he obeyed her, though with the greatest reluctance, and 
 wrapping up the cabbages in a cloth, he followed the old woman 
 out of the market. 
 
 They did not proceed at a very quick rate ; but at the end 
 of nearly three-quarters of an hour, they arrived at a deserted 
 part of the town, and stopped before a ruined house. The old 
 woman now drew from her pocket a rusty hook, which, on applying 
 to the small keyhole, caused the door immediately to fly open 
 with a creaking noise. What was the surprise of Jacob on 
 entering ! The interior of the house was richly ornamented ; 
 the walls and roof being of marble, the furniture of ebony, 
 inlaid with gold and precious stones, and the floor of glass, 
 and so slippery, that the child slid and fell several times. The 
 old woman now made use of a silver whistle, the sound of which 
 echoed through the house, and summoned several Guinea-pigs, 
 who came running up the steps on their hinder legs, to the 
 astonishment of Jacob. They wore walnut shells on their feet 
 instead of shoes, the same sort of clothes as his own, and hats 
 of the newest fashion. 
 
 " AVretches, where are my slippers," said the old hag, throw- 
 
12 
 
 ing at them her stick, until she made them jump and whine. 
 "How long am I to wait for them ? " 
 
 Away they all ran, and soon returned with a pair of cocoa-nut 
 slippers lined with leather, which they quickly slipped on their 
 mistress's feet. 
 
 And now, farewell to all limping and shuffling ; throwing 
 her stick from her, she glided with the greatest velocity over the 
 shining floors, dragging little Jacob by the hand. They arrived 
 at last at a chamber, which, from the nature of the articles it 
 contained, resembled a kitchen, although the tables which were 
 of mahogany, and the sofas of the richest brocade, seemed more 
 fitted for a state-room. 
 
 " Sit down," said the old woman, in a kind tone of voice, 
 pushing him at the same time into a corner of the sofa, and 
 drawing a table before him, as if to confine him there. " Sit 
 down, for you have had a great load to carry : men's heads are 
 not so light — not so light." 
 
 " What in the world do you mean, ma'am ? " said the child. 
 " It is true that I am tired; but it is with carrying the cabbages 
 you bought of my mother to-day." 
 
 " Oh ! you are mistaken," said the woman, drawing off the 
 top of the basket, and taking thence a human head, which she 
 held by the hair. 
 
 The boy was frightened out of his wits, and could not imagine 
 how all this was to end; but he thought of his mother, and of 
 the danger she would run if a report of her selling such articles 
 were to get about. 
 
 " I must now pay you," said the old woman, " for you are 
 a good boy. Wait patiently, and I will prepare you such a soup 
 as you shall never forget all your life." With these words, she 
 again sounded her whistle, on which there appeared, as at first, 
 a troop of Guinea-pigs in their human habiliments, with the 
 addition of cooking aprons, in the bands of which were stuck 
 ladles and carving-knives. Following these, a crowd of little 
 squirrels rushed into the room on their hind legs, wearing wide 
 Turkish trousers, and little green velvet caps. They appeared 
 to be the scullions, for they ran up the walls with the greatest 
 velocity, bringing down the pots and dishes, eggs and butter, herbs 
 and flour, and carrying them to the hearth. The old woman i 
 was also in a continual bustle, gliding here and there in her cocoa- 
 nut slippers, and the child saw that she was fully determined to 
 prepare him something very excellent. The fire now began to blaze 
 higher and higher, the pot to smoke, and an agreeable odour to 
 
NOSEY, THE DWARF. 13 
 
 fill the chamber. The old woman ran up and down, followed 
 by the squirrels and Guinea-pigs, and every time that she passed 
 the hearth, she poked her long nose into the pot. At last it 
 began to bubble and hiss; the steam arose, and the froth 
 flowed over into the fire. On this, it was taken off, and 
 being poured into a silver bowl, was placed before little 
 Jacob. 
 
 " Now my child," said she, " eat your soup, for you have before 
 you the best that can be made. I will also teach you to be a clever 
 cook, of which you are somewhat already ; but herbs — such 
 herbs as these you will never find. AVhy had your mother 
 none of them in her basket ? " 
 
 The child did not understand her, so he fell to eating his 
 soup, which he found most excellent. His mother's cooking- 
 was very good ; but anything so good as this he had never yet 
 tasted. The fumes of the aromatic herbs and spices of the 
 soup were at once sweet and sour, and very strong ; and while 
 the boy was draining the last drop of the costly liquid, the 
 Guinea-pigs kindled some Arabian incense, which floating in 
 thick blue clouds through the chamber, began to take effect on 
 the senses of the child, who feeling himself becoming drowsy, 
 vainly endeavoured to arouse himself, and to return to his 
 mother, for after a few ineffectual efforts to rise, he sunk back 
 on the old lady's sofa, and fell into a profound slumber. 
 
 The dreams which followed were of the most extraordinary 
 description. It appeared to him, that the old woman, after 
 undressing him, enveloped him in a squirrel's skin, on which 
 he felt that he could spring and jump in the manner of those 
 little animals, and accompanying them and the Guinea-pigs, who 
 were all extremely agreeable, and well behaved. He felt that he 
 had entered into the old woman's service. His first office was 
 the care of the cocoa-nut slippers which she generally wore ; 
 these were to be smeared with oil, and then, by dint of rubbing, 
 made to shine. As this was a sort of work he had been 
 accustomed to at home, he made very light of it, and after a 
 year's service at it, his work became of a more refined descrip- 
 tion; for instance, he was required to accompany the other 
 squirrels when they went to collect the dust from the saw, and 
 after obtaining enough, to sift it through a hair sieve. 
 
 This acquisition was of great consequence to the old woman, 
 for having lost her teeth, she could no longer bite, and her 
 food, therefore, consisted very much of a pottage made of bread 
 and saw-dust. 
 
 c 
 
14 
 
 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 When another year had elapsed, he was promoted to a place 
 among those who collected the water which the old woman 
 drank. Let not any one imagine that a cistern was dag, or a 
 water barrel placed in the yard to catch the rain, as is usual in 
 most families. Oh dear, no ; her ideas were of a much more 
 delicate nature. The squirrels, and Jacob with them, drew the 
 dew from the roses in nut-shells for her beverage ; and as the 
 old lady was an immoderate drinker, they found it rather hard 
 work. At the expiration of the third year, he was elevated to 
 the rank of a house servant, and was expected to keep the floors, 
 which were of glass, in an unsullied state of brightness. Now, 
 as their polished surface showed the lightest puff of dust, he 
 found this a most arduous service, and was obliged to attach 
 brushes and cloths to his feet before he commenced his sliding 
 operations about the chambers. After this year, he was installed 
 into the kitchen ; this was an honour only accorded to those 
 who had undergone a long ordeal. Jacob served at first as a 
 scullion, from which he gradually rose to the dignity of head 
 pastry maker, and attained such a wonderful proficiency in all 
 that he did in the cooking department, that he was often aston- 
 ished at his own talents. He conquered the greatest difficulties 
 in the art, and finally accomplished the making of pies contain- 
 ing two hundred different meats, and vegetable soups, composed 
 of every plant that grows, mingled together. After passing 
 what appeared in his dream to be seven years in the old woman's 
 service, it happened one day that, putting off her cocoa slippers, 1 
 and seizing her marketing basket and staff, she prepared for an 
 expedition, desiring Jacob to have ready a nicely roasted young 
 fowl against her return home. In doing this, he strictly adhered 
 to the rules of his art; taking the fowl by the throat, he 
 immersed it in boiling water, by which means the feathers came 
 off more easily ; then, after skinning it, that it might look sleek 
 and shining, he drew it ; after which he went to the herb room, 
 to collect what he wanted for making an excellent stuffing. On 
 entering this room, he perceived what had never before struck 
 him — a half open closet in the wall. On a nearer approach, he 
 saw several small baskets, from which a strong and agreeable 
 smell emanated ; and on opening one of these baskets, he dis- 
 covered plants of a very singular shape and colour. The stalks 
 and leaves were of a bluish green, and bore above them a small 
 red flour edged with yellow. He examined these flowers, and 
 smelt them, and there streamed out just such an odour as he 
 had remarked in the first soup the old woman had prepared for 
 
NOSEY, THE DWARF. 15 
 
 him ; but the scent was of so strong a nature that it made him 
 sneeze, and in sneezing, he awoke. 
 
 There he lay on the old lady's sofa, staring around him in 
 dumb amazement. " How curious it is that our dreams should 
 appear so real," said he to himself. " I could have sworn that 
 I was a wretched little squirrel, a companion of Guinea-pigs and 
 other such-like vermin ; by which means, however, I have 
 become a famous cook. How my mother will laugh when I 
 relate it all to her ! Though I am afraid she will scold me for 
 going to sleep in a strange house, instead of returning to my 
 place in the market." While thus reflecting, he recalled his 
 scattered senses, and starting up to go away, he found his 
 limbs stiff with sleep, as was also his neck, so that he was 
 unable to turn his head on his shoulders. He could not help 
 laughing at his own drowsy unsteadiness, for not a step did he 
 take without knocking himself against the walls and closets, or 
 running foul of the door-post. The squirrels and Guinea-pigs 
 ran whining around him, as if unwilling that he should depart 
 without them ; and they accompanied him even to the outside 
 of the threshold, for their low stature enabled them to 
 do this ; but they quickly ran back into the house in their 
 walnut shells, and he for some time heard them howling at a 
 distance. 
 
 On gaining the narrow street, he found great difficulty in 
 deciding which way to proceed, particularly as there was so 
 dense a crowd, that he thought he must be in the neighbour- 
 hood of some famous dwarf, as he heard on all sides " Look, 
 look at the hideous dwarf! How comes the dwarf here? 
 There's a long nose for you ; and what a head stuck on a pair 
 of shoulders ! There's a pair of nasty brown hands ! " At any 
 other time he would have joined the crowd, for in nothing 
 did he so much delight as the sight of giants, dwarfs, and 
 outlandish, strangely dressed people ; but he was now in too 
 great a hurry to get to his mother. 
 
 It was in a state of great anxiety that he arrived at the 
 market, where he found his mother sitting as usual beside her 
 half-emptied basket, which, to his fancy, proved that he had not 
 slept long. He was much struck by the appearance of sorrow 
 which his mother wore. She no longer cried her goods, but 
 leaned her head on her hand, and looked paler than usual. 
 After hesitating; for a few moments what to do, he took courage, 
 and sliding behind her, and laying his hand affectionately on her 
 arm, he asked her if she were angry with him. His mother 
 
16 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 turned towards him, but starting back with a scream of horror, 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " What do you want with me, you hideous dwarf ? Be off', 
 be off— such pranks do not suit me." 
 
 " But, dear mother," said Jacob, perfectly astounded," what 
 is the matter ? You are surely ill, or you would never drive your 
 son from you." 
 
 " I have already told you to go your way," said dame Jane 
 angrily. " You will get no money from me by your juggling." 
 
 " She must be gone mad," said the child to himself. " How 
 shall I ever get her home ? Dear mother, do look at me, and be 
 reasonable : I am Jacob your son." 
 
 " Now this is really past a joke," said Jane to her com- 
 panions of the market ; " look at this frightful dwarf, is he not 
 enough to drive away all my customers? and yet he has the 
 cruelty to jest with my misfortune by declaring himself my son 
 | —my dear Jacob." 
 
 On hearing this, the people around with one accord began to 
 abuse the poor boy, calling him by all those opprobrious epithets 
 in which market women are known to deal so largely. They 
 asked him how he could dare to revert to poor Jane's bereave- 
 ment, whose lovely boy had been stolen from her seven years 
 before ; and they threatened to fall on him in a body, and tear 
 him to pieces if he did not make off with himself. 
 
 Poor Jacob was utterly at a loss for an explanation of all this. 
 It appeared to him that he had this very morning accompanied 
 his mother to the market; had assisted her as usual in 
 arranging her fruit baskets ; had attended the old woman home, 
 when, after eating a little soup, and refreshing himself with a 
 short nap, he had now returned to his accustomed occupations. 
 How hard then did it seem to be called a nasty dwarf, and to be 
 talked to about things which happened seven years ago ! What 
 could have befallen him? AYhen he saw that his mother 
 would have nothing to do with him, he could not refrain from 
 weeping, and he took his melancholy way towards the stall 
 where his father was all day seated at his trade of cobbling shoes. 
 " I will try," said he to himself, "if he will recognize me ; and I 
 will take my station under his doorway, and talk to him." The 
 poor man was , however, so closely occupied, that he was not aware 
 of the presence of a stranger ; but when he did by chance cast a 
 glance at the door, the shoes, the thread, and the awl fell 
 from his hands, and he almost shrieked out, " What is 
 I that ? " 
 
NOSEY, THE DWARF. 17 
 
 " Good evening, master," said the boy, stepping into the 
 shop. " How goes the world with you ?" 
 
 " Badly, badly enough, my little sir," answered the cobbler, 
 to Jacob's great astonishment ; for he too seemed to consider 
 him as a stranger. " My business is not very flourishing, and I 
 am sadly lonely, and getting on in years ; but I cannot afford to 
 keep an apprentice." 
 
 " Have you then no son, who could assist you ?" asked the 
 lad. 
 
 " Once I had a son called Jacob, who by this time would have 
 been a nice active lad of twenty years of age, and a great sup- 
 port to me ; for at twelve years old he was already steady, and 
 shewed a great aptitude for work. And he was so handsome 
 and pleasant looking, that I should never have wanted for cus- 
 tomers ; and, instead of cobbling old leather, I should have 
 worked upon nothing but new : but so goes the world !" 
 
 " "Where then is your son?" asked Jacob, in a voice trembling 
 with emotion. 
 
 " God only knows," answered his father. " Seven years 
 ago — yes, just seven years ago, he was stolen from the market." 
 
 " Seven years ago!" repeated Jacob in amazement. 
 
 " Yes, my little master, just seven years ago. Well do I 
 remember my wife returning home crying and sobbing because 
 the child had been away from her the whole day, and was no 
 where to be found. I had always foretold that it would be so ; 
 for it must be confessed that Jacob was a beautiful boy, and my 
 wife was amazingly proud of him, and saw with delight that 
 every one admired him when he was sent to the great houses 
 with vegetables, and such like ; on which occasions he gene- 
 rally got a present. ' This is all very well,' said I ; ' but take 
 care : the town is very large, and there are a great many wicked 
 people in it : take care of Jacob.' And my words proved true; 
 for a dreadful old woman came one day to the market, and 
 after buying so much fruit and vegetables that she could not 
 carry them home, she prevailed on my tender-hearted wife to 
 lend her little Jacob to assist her, and from that hour to this we 
 have never seen him." 
 
 " And you say that is seven years ago :" 
 
 " Seven years this very spring we had him cried, and we 
 went from house to house to inquire for him. Our neighbours 
 and friends who had known and loved the pretty child assisted 
 us in the search, but all in vain. The woman whom he had ac- 
 companied was a stranger to every one ; but a decrepit old 
 
 C 3 
 
18 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 woman, of ninety years of age, said that she remembered having 
 once seen the fairy Herbwise, who was known to visit the 
 city every fifty years, to purchase all sorts of things ; and that 
 it was very probably she who had carried off the child." 
 
 After this conversation, Jacob's father again fell to tapping his 
 shoes, and drawing his thread in different directions. It now 
 became more and more clear to Jacob, that far from having 
 dreamt at all, he had really been seven years in the fairy's ser- 
 vice, under the form of a squirrel. His heart was ready to 
 burst with grief and indignation at the thought of the old 
 witch's having stolen away from him seven of the best years of 
 his life. And what had he received in exchange ? A receipt for 
 polishing cocoa-nut slippers, and for cleaning glass floors, and 
 as profound a knowledge of cookery as squirrels and Guinea- 
 pigs could give him. After remaining some time in meditation on 
 his future fate, he was aroused by his father's asking him if 
 there were anything in his way which it would please him to 
 purchase : a pair of new slippers," said he, " or perhaps a nose 
 case ?" 
 
 "What is the matter with my nose ?" said Jacob; "why 
 I should it want a case ?" 
 
 " Why," said the cobbler, " that is according to taste ; only 
 I must say that if I had such a dreadfully ugly nose, I should 
 be very much tempted to conceal it with a handsome red 
 I leather cover ; look what a fine piece I have in hand, and I 
 should want an ell at least. But however well you may be 
 warned, young sir, I see clearly that you will be knocking your- 
 self against every door post and carriage that comes in your way." 
 
 The boy was struck dumb with horror, and felt his nose, which 
 was thick, and two hands long; so much had the old hag 
 altered his face. No wonder that his mother had failed to recog- 
 nize him, and had joined with her neighbours in calling him a 
 hideous dwarf. 
 
 " Master," said he to the cobbler, while his voice was nearly 
 inaudible from weeping, " have you a looking-glass in which I 
 could see myself?" 
 
 " Young man," answered his father with great seriousness, 
 " your appearance is not such as to render you vain ; and under 
 your present circumstances, it would not become you to be 
 looking at yourself every hour of the day. Pray cast aside such 
 thoughts, for in you it is most laughable." 
 
 " Let me but have a looking-glass," cried Jacob : " I assure 
 | you that my request is not from vanity." 
 
NOSEY, THE DWARF. 19 
 
 " Do not worry me," replied the cobbler; " I am not worth a j 
 looking-glass : my wife has a small one which I know she has ! 
 lent to some one, I know not whom. If you must look at your- 
 self in the glass, go to Urban's the barber, over the way : he has 
 one about twice the size of your head ; go and enjoy the sight 
 Of yourself there, and a good morning to you." 
 
 So saying, the father pushed him quickly out of the shop, 
 and locking the door after him, returned to his work. The boy 
 in a sad and downcast mood crossed the street to Urban's the 
 barber, whom he used to know very well in former days. 
 
 " Good morning, Urban," said he ; <f I am come to ask the 
 favour of you to allow me the use of your looking-glass." 
 
 " With pleasure ; there it is," said the barber, laughing, 
 while the customer, whose beard he was shaving, joined heartily 
 in his mirth ; " you are a beauty truly, slight and elegant, with 
 a neck like a swan's, hands like a queen's, and a nose such as 
 seldom blesses one's sight. Your vanity to be sure is a little ex- 
 traordinary, but pray indulge yourself with a peep into the glass, 
 and let it not be said that through a mean jealousy I denied you 
 the use of it." 
 
 Peals of laughter from the bystanders filled the little shop at 
 this speech of the barber's. In the mean time Jacob had ad- 
 vanced to the looking-glass, and having taken a look at himself, 
 felt his eyes overflowing with tears. 
 
 u Well might you, my dear mother, have failed to recognize 
 your poor child," said he. " Alas ! it was not so in those happy 
 days, when you were proud to have him noticed by every body." 
 
 His eyes were shrunk to the size of a pig's; his nose was im- 
 mense, and pending over his mouth and chin ; and he seemed 
 to have no neck whatever, for his head stuck fast in his shoul- 
 ders, and it was with extreme pain that he turned to the right 
 or left. His person had not grown from the age of twelve 
 years; but he had increased in thickness, as if to make up for his 
 deficiency in height. His chest and back each bulged out a 
 different way, so that he wore the appearance of a well-filled 
 sack. This disproportionate trunk was supported by two little 
 weak legs, which seemed scarcely able to bear such a weight ; 
 but the arms which hung on each side of the body were suited 
 to the stature of a tall well-grown man. The hands were coarse 
 and yellow, with long spindle fingers, and if stretched out, 
 could touch the ground without his stooping. Thus did little 
 Jacob find himself transformed into a misshapen dwarf. 
 
 He thought of the day on which the old woman visited his 
 
i 20 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 mother's fruit stall. All that he had shewed his dislike to in her 
 person she had bestowed upon him, saving the long shaking 
 neck, which in his case she had entirely taken away. 
 
 " Have you seen enough of yourself, my prince ?" said the 
 barber, advancing towards him with an air of derision. " Truly, 
 of all the ridiculous dreams that man can dream, so comical a 
 figure I think could never enter into them. But I have a 
 proposal to make you, my little man. I have a very good trade 
 it is true, but for some little time past I have fancied that it has 
 somewhat decreased, and I ascribe it to this : My neighbour, 
 barber Frith, has somewhere or other picked up a giant, which 
 draws a great deal of business to his shop. Now there is no 
 art in being a giant, but a little mannikin like you is quite a 
 different affair. Enter into my service, and you shall have 
 i lodging, eating, drinking, clothes, and all other necessaries ; for 
 which you will only have to stand at the door every morning, 
 and invite the people in, to prepare the soap suds, and hand 
 the towel ; and depend upon it, we shall both be gainers by 
 this arrangement. I shall gain more custom than he of the 
 giant ; and you will receive a small fee from every one who 
 enters." 
 
 Jacob felt extremely averse to engaging himself as a decoy-duck 
 to a barber; but he bore the insult with patience, and answered 
 with great civility, that he was not at liberty to enter into such 
 a service, and took his leave. Cruelly as the old woman had 
 changed his appearance, his mind remained as it had always 
 been. He no longer thought of what he had been seven years 
 before, for he felt himself to have become wiser and better for 
 the time that had passed : he did not sorrow for his lost beauty, 
 or his present hideousness ; but to be driven from his father's 
 door like a dog was a sore trial, and he resolved once more to 
 endeavour to awaken his mother's recollection. 
 
 Accordingly he proceeded to the market, and entreating her 
 to grant him a hearing, he reminded her of the events of that 
 day on which he went away with the old woman ; he recalled 
 the incidents of his childhood, and then related to her how he 
 had served the fairy for seven years under the form of a squirrel, 
 and how she had changed him out of spite for the ridicule he 
 had put upon her. The cobbler's wife hardly knew what to 
 think ; all that he had said agreed so exactly with the circum- 
 stances of his childhood ; but when he arrived at the account of 
 his service with the fairy as a squirrel, she declared it was im- 
 | possible, that there were no such things as fairies, and that so 
 
NOSEY, THE DWARF. 
 
 21 
 
 frightful a dwarf could never be her son ; but she finally de- 
 cided to speak on the subject to her husband, and packing up 
 her baskets, and accompanied by Jacob, she hastened to the 
 cobbler's stall. 
 
 " Now, only see," she said, " the creature that wants to pass 
 himself off for our Jacob. He has told me a long story of how 
 he was stolen from us seven years ago, and how he has been in 
 a state of enchantment ever since." 
 
 " Capital !" said the cobbler in great anger ; " so he has 
 been telling you this long story has he ? why, it is word for word 
 what I related to him not an hour ago, and he goes now to im- 
 pose upon you. You have been enchanted, have you, child ? 
 wait a bit, and I will enchant you a little more ; so taking down 
 a bundle of leather thongs which he had newly made, he sprang 
 on the boy, and laid on so severely with the scourge upon his 
 hump back and long arms, that he shrieked again with pain." 
 
 Few there are in any place compassionate enough to stand up 
 in defence of an unfortunate, who may have anything ridiculous 
 in his appearance ; the poor dwarf was therefore without food 
 or refreshment of any kind for the whole of that day, and at 
 night he was reduced to the necessity of choosing his lodging 
 on the cold hard steps of a church. When awakened by the 
 early beams of the morning sun, he began to consider seriously 
 in what manner to set about procuring the means of subsistence, 
 abandoned as he was by both his parents. 
 
 His pride forbade his accepting the office of sign-post to a barber, 
 nor would he hire himself out for money, to be seen as a buffoon ; 
 but he remembered that when a squirrel, he had made con- 
 siderable progress in the art of cookery : he believed, and with 
 reason, that he could vie with the most celebrated cooks of the 
 age, and he resolved to turn his talents to some account. As 
 soon as the people began to move in the streets, and the morning 
 was sufficiently advanced, he entered a church to offer a prayer, 
 and, after that, proceeded to put his project into execution. The 
 Duke and lord of all that part of the country was a renowned 
 epicure : his table was served in the most exquisite manner ; and 
 he sent for his cooks to all parts of the world. To his palace, 
 therefore, Jacob bent his steps. When he arrived at the outer 
 gate, the porter demanded his business, but not without in- 
 dulging many a joke at his expense. On his demanding an 
 audience with the clerk of the kitchen, they laughed still more, 
 but conducted him through the court-yard, where, as soon as 
 he appeared, redoubled peals of laughter filled the air from the 
 
22 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 numbers of servants who were loitering about in all corners of 
 the edifice. Grooms threw away their curry-combs to run and 
 stare at him ; the footmen quickly joined them ; the beaters of 
 carpets forgot their office ; and as great a crowd collected as if 
 the foul fiend himself had made his appearance, and the cry of 
 "A dwarf, a dwarf! have you seen the dwarf ?" sounded on 
 all sides. 
 
 The house-steward now came forward from the door, with a 
 countenance of great severity, and an awful-looking scourge in 
 his hand. " In heaven's name, you hounds ! what is all this 
 noise r Know you not that the duke still sleeps ?" continued he, 
 letting fall his whip on the shoulders of the first grooms and 
 porters he came up with. 
 
 " Oh, see," cried they, " do you not see ? There is a dwarf 
 here, the like of which was never seen." 
 
 The house-steward with difficulty restrained his laughter at 
 the sight of Jacob ; but the remembrance of the dignified office 
 which he held quickly restored his composure. He drove the 
 idlers to their respective work, and, conducting the boy to the 
 house, asked him his .business. When he understood that 
 Jacob wished to sjfeak to the clerk of the kitchen, he said, 
 " My child, you are mistaken. Surely it is the house-steward 
 whom you wish^to see, to make interest for the place of domestic 
 dwarf to my lord duke, is it not ?" 
 
 " Xo, sir," answered Jacob. " I am a very skilful cook, and 
 well versed in the fabrication of the rarest dishes. I wish to 
 speak to the clerk of the kitchen, who, perhaps, might find me 
 some employment." 
 
 " Every one to his taste, my little master ; but I cannot but 
 feel that you are inconsiderate in choosing the kitchen ! Pshaw ! 
 As my lord's domestic dwarf, you would have nothing to do — 
 you would be provided with eating and drinking, and fine 
 clothes ; but let us see to what degree your art extends, for my 
 lord is in want of a master cook, and yon are too good for a 
 scullion." So saying he took him by the hand, and led him to 
 the apartment of the clerk of the kitchen. 
 
 "Worthy sir," said the dwarf, with soIoav a bow that his nose 
 nearly swept the carpet, "are you in want of a clever cook ?" 
 
 The clerk of the kitchen eyed him from head to foot, and, 
 bursting into a loud laugh, exclaimed, " Think you that our 
 hearths are so low that you could reach them even on tip-toes, 
 and your neck stretched as far as it will go ? My good child, 
 whoever sent you to me has made a great fool of you." So 
 
 L 
 
XOSEY, THE DWARF. 
 
 23 
 
 saying, the great man laughed loud and long, in which he was 
 joined by all those who happened to be present. 
 
 The dwarf, however, was not disconcerted. u What matters 
 an egg or two, a little wine and syrup, flour and spices, in a 
 house where plenty abounds ?" said he. " Order any dish you 
 please, and furnish me with what I demand, and it shall be done 
 under your own eyes, and you shall own me a cook indeed." 
 
 While thus reasoning, it was extraordinary to see his little 
 eyes flashing with excitement, his long nose waving from side 
 to side, and his spindle fingers all in action. 
 
 " Well/' said the clerk of the kitchen (taking the house- 
 steward under the arm), "this will be fine sport, let us go to 
 the kitchen," and, after passing through many halls and pass- 
 ages, at the kitchen they arrived — a large wide building, su- 
 perbly fitted up, according to the purpose for which it was in- 
 tended. On twenty hearths blazed as many fires. Clear water, 
 as if for preserving fish, flowed through the apartment, and 
 marble slabs, and costly wooden shelves, and closets, contained [ 
 those articles which it was necessary to keep always at hand; f 
 and on the right and left hand were ten store rooms, in 
 which were kept all those rare productions of foreign nations, 
 which could conduce to the indulgence of the palate. Kitchen j 
 servants of all descriptions were running here and there, and, 
 on their first entrance, the clattering of pans and kettles, and 
 spoons and ladles, was immense ; but the moment the clerk of 
 the kitchen made his appearance, all became silent as death, if 
 we except the crackling of the fire and the purling of the stream. 
 
 " What has my lord ordered for his breakfast, this morning ?" 
 asked the purveyor of the household of the head breakfast- 
 maker, an old cook. 
 
 " Sir, he has ordered Danish soup and red Hamburg dump- 
 lings." 
 
 "Good," said the clerk of the kitchen. "You have now 
 heard," said he, addressing himself to Jacob, " what our master I 
 desires. Do you imagine that you can make those dishes ? Of ! 
 course you cannot make the dumplings, for the ingredients of 
 those is a secret." 
 
 " There is nothing easier," said the dwarf (to the astonish- | 
 ment of all who heard him, for he had often made these very 
 dishes, under the form of a squirrel), " nothing easier. Give me, 
 for the soup, such and such herbs, such and such spices, 
 wild boar fat, roots, and eggs ; and for the dumplings," said he, 
 in an under tone, so that none but the clerk of the kitchen and 
 
24 
 
 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 the house-steward could hear, "I must have all sorts of meat, wine, 
 
 duck's grease, ginger, and a certainherb called stomach-hope." 
 " Ha ! by Saint Benedict, by what enchantment have you 
 J learnt all this ?" cried the astounded cook. " He has repeated the 
 I list of the ingredients to a hair; but for the herb stomach-hope, 
 
 I never heard of it myself ; that must indeed add very much to 
 
 the relish of it. What a wonderful cook !" 
 
 " Well, I should never have thought it," said the clerk of the 
 
 kitchen : " however, let him have a trial ; give him the things 
 
 he wants, vessels and every thing else, and let him prepare the 
 
 breakfast." 
 
 It was done as he ordered, and all that was desired by Jacob 
 was collected on the stove ; but it was found that the poor dwarf 
 could not reach up to them even with his nose. Two stools 
 were accordingly placed together, and on those was laid a slab 
 of marble, upon which the little fellow was lifted to begin his 
 operations. The cooks formed a circle round him, and beyond 
 them stood a crowd of servants and others, who could not fail to 
 be astonished at the ease and dexterity with which he handled the 
 ingredients for his dishes, and the order and neatness with 
 which he arranged them. As soon as he had made his prepara- 
 tions for both dishes, he ordered them to be put on the fire and 
 strictly watched until such time as he should give a signal, and 
 j beginning to count one, two, three, until he had reached the 
 sum of five hundred, he suddenly called out " Halt !" and the 
 lids being taken off, he requested the opinion of the head cook 
 as to their merits. 
 
 Taking a golden spoon from the hands of a scullion, which 
 he had previously washed in the brook, the head cook presented 
 it to the clerk of the kitchen, who, advancing with a solemn 
 I step towards the stove, took of the dish, tasted it, and closing 
 his eyes, in a kind of rapture, exclaimed, while he smacked his 
 lips, " Excellent ! by the life of the grand duke, most excellent ! 
 Will you not also taste it, steward ?" The latter, with a bow, 
 accepted the spoon, tasted in his turn, and became positively 
 frantic with delight. 
 
 " I have the greatest respect for your cooking, my dear break- 
 fast maker, but never did you make such soup or such Ham- 
 burg dumplings as these." 
 
 The turn now came of the cook himself, who testified his ap- 
 probation by shaking the dwarf's hand with great respect. He 
 exclaimed, " Little one, you are a master genius in cookery ; 
 and as for the stomach-comfort, it bestows a most peculiar zest." 
 
NOSEY, THE DWARF. 25 
 
 At this moment, the duke's attendant entered the kitchen, 
 and announced that his master desired his breakfast. The 
 meats were accordingly turned out on silver plates, and served 
 up to the duke's table, while the clerk of the kitchen conducted 
 Jacob to his apartment ; but hardly had they been there time 
 enough for a man to repeat a paternoster (which you must know, 
 my Lord Sheik, is the Franks' prayer, and a very much shorter 
 one than that of the followers of Mahomet), when an order ar- 
 rived for the immediate attendance of the steward in the 
 chamber of his master. Quickly arranging himself in his state 
 dress, he followed the messenger. The duke was in high good 
 humour. All that had been served up to his table had vanished, 
 and he was wiping his beard as the clerk of the kitchen entered. 
 
 " Listen," said he : "I have always been pleased with your 
 cooking up to this time ; but tell me who it was that prepared 
 my breakfast this morning, for any thing so exquisite I never 
 tasted since I sat on the throne of my father. Tell me the name 
 of the cook, that I may have the pleasure of rewarding him." 
 
 u My lord, there is a wonderful history attached to this," 
 answered the clerk of the kitchen ; and he then related how 
 that, early in the morning, a dwarf had visited the palace to 
 offer himself as a cook, and that his services having been made 
 trial of, the dishes in question had been the result. 
 
 The duke, in a state of great astonishment, ordered the dwarf 
 to be summoned before him ; and he then demanded who he 
 was, and whence he came. Poor Jacob felt himself unable to 
 relate the particulars of his story, how he had been enchanted 
 and transformed into a squirrel ; but in his relation he stuck as 
 nearly as possible to truth, in asserting that he was without 
 father or mother, and that he had learned cooking of an old 
 woman. The duke asked no further questions, but diverted 
 himself with the extraordinary appearance of his new cook. 
 
 " If you remain with me," said he, " I will give you fifty 
 ducats per annum, a holiday dress, and two pair of handsome 
 trousers besides. For this you must prepare my breakfast 
 every day, direct the arrangement of the dinner, and take 
 the sole responsibility of the kitchen. As every person in my 
 household receives a name from me, on his entrance into my 
 service, I"shaU°call you Nosey, and at once'invest you with the 
 office of second cook." 
 
 The dwarf here threw himself at the feet of this the most 
 powerful prince of the country, and kissing them, promised the 
 greatest exactness and fidelity. 
 
26 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 Thus was the poor boy at once provided for, and he was also 
 a credit to the art he professed ; for it was remarked by every 
 one, that the duke was quite another man during the time the 
 dwarf Nosey remained in his service. He had frequently before 
 that time been known to throw the plates and dishes from his 
 table at the cooks' heads ; nay, the very head cook himself had 
 been knocked down and confined to his bed for three days, from 
 a blow that he had received from a baked calf 's-foot, that had 
 not been made sufficiently tender. It is true, indeed, that the 
 duke made up for these outbreaks, by handsful of ducats, 
 which he freely distributed to the injured parties ; but still he 
 had not a cook who did not quake ibr fear of him. Since the 
 arrival of the dwarf, all had gone on as if by enchantment. 
 Instead of three meals a day, the duke now indulged in five, as 
 if to luxuriate in the productions of his little cook's talents ; never 
 was a look of impatience to be seen on his countenance ; all 
 was new, all was excellent ; his behaviour became more courte- 
 ous, and he grew fatter every day. 
 
 He was fond of sending for his head cook and for Nosey 
 during his repast, and, seating them, the one on his right and 
 the other on his left hand, he would himself help them from the 
 delicious dish before him — an honour which they both knew 
 perfectly well how to appreciate. 
 
 Nosey was the wonder of the town, and the head cook was 
 often requested to allow persons to see the dwarf at his opera- 
 tions ; and many people of consequence carried it so far, as to 
 solicit the duke to permit their servants to take lessons in his 
 kitchen. This yielded a small profit, for each pupil paid daily 
 half-a-ducat ; and, as the other cooks had been good-natured, 
 and had shown themselves free from jealousy, Nosey presented 
 them with the money which he had received from the masters of 
 the stranger cooks. 
 
 Two years of the boy's life thus passed away in comfort and 
 respectability, without leaving him any thing to regret but the 
 remembrance of his parents' estrangement. Nothing remark- 
 able during the whole of this time took place, until one clay the 
 following incident occurred. Being particularly clever and for- 
 tunate in his marketings, he always endeavoured to find time to 
 go himself for the purchase of poultry and fruit. One morning 
 he took his way through the poultry market in search of some 
 fine heavy geese, such as he knew his master liked. He walked 
 up and down several times during the investigation, and his 
 appearance, which formerly excited but laughter and mockery, 
 
NOSEY, THE DWARF. 27 
 
 was now held in such respect, from the situation he occupied, 
 that not a poultry-woman but conceived herself honoured if 
 he but turned his nose towards her. 
 
 At the end of a row of market women, he remarked one who 
 sat quite in the corner, and who had also geese to sell. She 
 did not cry her goods or praise them, for which very reason he 
 advanced towards her and examined her geese, which, in measure 
 and weight, were exactly such as he wanted; so buying three of 
 them, together with their pen, he threw it over his broad 
 shoulders, and returned towards home. To his great surprise, 
 however, he found that two only of the geese cackled and 
 screamed, and conducted themselves in such a manner as geese 
 generally do — the third sitting quite still, and sighing as deeply 
 and with as much feeling as a human being. 
 
 "This one is sick," said Nosey ; ** I must make haste to kill 
 and dress it." 
 
 But the goose, speaking quite distinctly and loud, said — 
 
 " If me you kill, 
 I'll do you ill ; 
 But if you me from slaughter save, 
 I'll keep you from an early grave." 
 
 Startled beyond measure, Nosey set down his burden, when 
 the goose's fine sensible eyes became fixed upon his face, while 
 it again sighed deeply. 
 
 " So ! so ! Mr. Goose, you can speak, can you ?" said Nosey. 
 " I should never have expected that ; but make yourself easy, 
 no one will hurt you, nor give up so rare a bird for the spit ; 
 but I would wager a good deal that you have not always been 
 in your present form. I myself was once a poor little squirrel." 
 
 " You are right," said the goose, " in thinking that I was not 
 born in this disgraceful shape. Alas ! who could have foreseen, 
 when I lay in my cradle, that Mimi, the great Wetterbock's 
 daughter, would meet her death in the duke's kitchen." 
 
 " Do not alarm yourself, dear Miss Mimi, for, by the honour 
 of the duke's second cook, no one shall touch so much as one of 
 your feathers. I will fit you up a pen in my own apartment, 
 you shall have plenty to eat, and all my leisure time will I devote 
 to your society. I shall tell the other servants that I am fatten- 
 ing a goose in a particular manner for the duke's table, and, as 
 soon as I can find an opportunity., I will set you at liberty." 
 
 The goose thanked him with tears, and he strictly kept his 
 word to her. After killing the other two geese, he prepared a 
 
 D 2 
 
28 
 
 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 pen for Mimi, under the pretence that she was for the duke's 
 own table. Not, however, with common food did he feed her, 
 but plentifully supplied her with pastry and sweets. Every 
 moment of his leisure he spent in conversing with and consoling 
 her. They related their mutual adventures, and Nosey thus 
 learned that the goose was the daughter of the enchanter Wet- 
 terbock, who resided in the Isle of Gothland ; he had quarrelled 
 with an old fairy who, through intrigue and artifice, had over- 
 reached him ; and she had wreaked her vengeance on Mimi by 
 changing her into a goose, and had brought her all this way 
 from her home. When Nosey had likewise related his history, 
 Mimi thus spoke : — 
 
 " I am not unskilled in these affairs, for my father gave me 
 and my sister as great an insight into his art as he dared to 
 communicate. The account of your quarrel at the herb-market, 
 your sudden transformation on smelling those particular herbs 
 you mention, and some of the old woman's expressions which 
 you have repeated to me, all serve to convince me that you are 
 under the enchantment of plants, and that whenever you are 
 able to find the herb on which the fairy thought when she put 
 her spell upon you, you will recover your natural form." 
 
 The hope which this discovery awakened in poor Nosey's 
 breast was quickly damped by the reflection of the impossibility 
 of finding this rare plant of fairy-land. He, nevertheless, re- 
 turned his thanks to Mimi for the encouragement she had given 
 him to hope. 
 
 About this time there arrived a neighbouring prince, on a 
 visit to the duke, who, sending for his dwarf Nosey, thus ad- 
 dressed him : — 
 
 "The time is now arrived for shewing whether you are, 
 indeed, the faithful servant and the master of your art which 
 you profess yourself to be. This prince, who is now my guest, 
 is considered to be (after myself) the best judge of good eating 
 and good cooks ; in short, his learning is most profound. 
 Manage, therefore, in such a manner that my table shall be daily 
 served so as to astonish him; do not presume to offer us the same 
 things twice while he is with me. Ask of my treasurer what you 
 will, for should you require gold and diamonds to fry in butter, 
 you shall have it. I would rather be reduced to poverty than 
 have reason to blush before my friend." 
 
 Thus spoke the duke, and the dwarf with a bow replied that it 
 should be done as he desired. 
 
 The little cook now summoned up all his energies — he spared 
 
NOSEY, THE DWARF. 29 
 
 neither his lord's treasure nor his own trouble, for his days 
 were passed in a cloud of fire and smoke, and his voice sounded 
 continually through the fumes of the kitchen, over which he 
 had now entire control. 
 
 My lord, I might lengthen out my story as do the camel- 
 
 j drivers of Aleppo, when, in the tales which they relate to travel- 
 
 i lers, they describe the luxurious fare of which the persons in 
 the story are made to partake. They extend the relation for 
 whole hours together, the effect of which is to excite so great 
 a desire to eat in their hearers, that they involuntarily unpack 
 their provisions, and invite the camel-driver to partake of their 
 
 j repast — but I refrain. The stranger prince had already remained 
 a fortnight at the duke's court, and the time appeared to have 
 
 j passed most agreeably. In the five meals per day of which the 
 princes partook, the dwarf's cooking seemed to have given his 
 master the utmost satisfaction, particularly as he saw that his 
 friend was equally pleased. On the 1 5th day of the prince's visit, 
 the duke summoned his cook, and presenting him to the prince, 
 asked him how he liked his performance of the culinary art. 
 
 " You are an astonishing cook," answered the prince, "and 
 you perfectly understand what good eating consists in. You 
 have never, during the whole time of my visit here, repeated a 
 single dish, and all has been excellently well done. One thing 
 alone surprises me ; it is, that you should never have given us 
 the queen of dishes — the 'pastete souzeraine.'" 
 
 At the sound of this dish the dwarf became seriously alarmed, 
 for he had never even heard of it ; he, however, recovered him- 
 self, and answered : — 
 
 " My lord, I delayed the making of this dish, as I wished to 
 present it at my master's table on the day of your departure ; 
 and I hoped that you would shed the light of your countenance 
 on this household for some time longer." 
 
 "And I suppose," said the duke laughing, " that you meant 
 to keep it for the day of my final departure from this world, for 
 never yet have you given it to me ; now, however, rack your 
 brains for some other leave-taking dish ; to-morrow this said 
 pie must be on my table." 
 
 " Your commands shall be obeyed, my lord," answered the 
 dwarf, as he left the room. His heart, however, was anything 
 but light, and he sought his chamber, under the impression 
 that the day of his shame and disgrace was arrived. The very 
 thought of undertaking to make a pie of which he had never 
 heard, caused his tears to flow. 
 
 d 3 
 
30 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 The goose, who was permitted to walk at large in his apart- 
 ment, now approached, and demanded the cause of his grief. 
 " If that be all," said she, on hearing the circumstances, " I 
 have the means of consoling you, for the * pastete souzeraine' 
 was a favourite dish at my father's table, and I am acquainted 
 with all the ingredients which compose it. Take so much of 
 such and such a thing ; and if perchance something is left out, 
 the princes will surely not detect it." 
 
 The speech of Mimi caused poor Nosey to jump for joy. He 
 blessed the day that he had bought her, and hastened to com- 
 mence making preparations for manufacturing this pasty. In the 
 first instance he made a small one as a trial, which he found ex- 
 cellent, and, on submitting it to the judgment of the clerk of the 
 kitchen, he was again extolled by him as the first of cooks. On 
 the following day the pie was served of a larger size, warm from 
 the oven, and ornamented with a garland of flowers. Nosey 
 himself, arranged in holiday garb, shortly followed his handi- 
 work into the dining-room, where he found the head carver 
 employed in dividing the pasty, and serving it in silver-spoons 
 to the duke and his guest. 
 
 The former, who was eating most voraciously, raised his 
 eyes in ecstacy to the ceiling, and, after swallowing a portion 
 more, exclaimed, " Ha ! this is, indeed, rightly named the 
 queen of pies, and my dwarf is certainly the king of cooks. Is 
 it not so, my dear friend ?" 
 
 The guest, after tasting several small pieces and dwelling with 
 attention on each, smiled with a look of contempt and mystery, 
 saying, at the same time, " Good as this is, it still wants some- 
 thing of the taste of the * sovereign pasty but I thought how 
 it would be. 
 
 The duke knit his brows, and flushed with shame. " Hound 
 of a dwarf," cried he, " how could you presume to send such a 
 dish up to your master's table ? Shall I have your great head 
 struck off and baked, as a punishment for your wretched 
 
 cookery ?" 
 
 " For heaven's sake, my gracious lord, hear me. The dish 
 was prepared according to the rules of art, and I know not what 
 can be wanting to it," replied the poor trembling dwarf. 
 
 "You lie, fellow," returned the duke, spurning him from 
 him with his foot. " My guest would not have found a fault 
 if there had been none. I will have you yourself made into a 
 pie." 
 
 " Have pity on me," said the little fellow, throwing himself 
 
NOSEY, THE DWARF. 31 
 
 on his knees before the prince, and holding fast by his feet, 
 " tell me what is wanting to this dish." 
 
 " My good Nosey," said the prince laughing, "it would be of 
 little service to you to be told — and, for that reason, I felt assured 
 yesterday that you would never equal my cook in the fabrication 
 of this dish — for know that it is a certain herb called Niess- 
 mitlust, and of which the inhabitants of this country are entirely 
 ignorant, that gives the peculiar relish, which I am sure your 
 master will think as indispensable as I do.*' 
 
 The sovereign of Frankistan now fell into a violent rage. 
 " And which I must insist upon having added," said he, while 
 his eyes flashed fire, " for I swear, by the honour of a prince, 
 either to set before you the much-desired delicacy, or to have 
 the head of this booby placed over the gates of my palace. Go, 
 dog; once more I grant thee twenty-four hours to save thy 
 life in." 
 
 At these words of the duke, the dwarf retired to his chamber 
 in still greater grief than on the preceding day, for his fate 
 appeared to be decided, as he had no likelihood of finding the 
 herb in question. 
 
 The goose, having been informed of the cause of his lamen- 
 tations, assured him that she could speedily assist him out of 
 his present difficulties, for that her father had instructed her in 
 the science of plants. "At another time," said she, " I could 
 not, perhaps, have saved you ; but it is now, fortunately, the 
 season of full moon, at which time only does the plant bloom. 
 But tell me, do you know of any old chestnut-trees hereabouts ?" 
 
 " O yes," cried Nosey joyfully ; " on the edge of the lake, 
 not a hundred steps from the house, there is a group of them — 
 but why ?" 
 
 "The plant we are in want of always grows at the foot of those 
 trees," returned the goose, " so let us not lose any time in 
 seeking for it. Take me on your arm, and put me down to go 
 where I will, ard I doubt not I shall quickly find it." 
 
 This business arranged, he issued from the palace-door, and 
 was much surprised by finding the porter's staff placed across 
 it to forbid their egress. The porter informed him that he 
 had received the strictest orders for his confinement to the 
 house. 
 
 " But can I not go into the garden r" asked the dwarf. " Be 
 so good as to send some one to the house- steward, with a request 
 that I may go to collect such herbs as I require." 
 
 The porter charged himself with this commission, and re- 
 
32 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 turned with a favourable answer ; for, as the garden walls were 
 high and without any outlet, no escape was apprehended. 
 
 As soon as Nosey and Mimi found themselves in the open 
 air, he placed her on the ground, when she quickly made off for 
 the lake where the chestnut-trees grew. Nosey quickly followed 
 with a beating heart, for this was his last and only hope, as he 
 was firmly resolved, in case of a failure with respect to the plant, 
 to perish in the lake rather than fall under the hand of the 
 executioner. The goose made the most assiduous search under 
 the chestnut-trees, and turned up every blade of grass with her 
 beak, but in vain; so that, for very pity and despair, she began 
 to weep. The evening was drawing to a close, and the sur- 
 rounding objects became involved in a deeper gloom. 
 
 It was then that, on glancing towards the opposite side of 
 the lake, the dwarf exclaimed — 
 
 " Look, look yonder, on the other side ; there is still a larger, 
 older chestnut-tree : let us. go thither, and decide my destiny." 
 
 The goose, raising herself in the air, flew to the spot he 
 pointed to, while Nosey ran as fast as his dwarfish legs would 
 carry him. The tree cast a deep shadow, and it was already 
 so dark that very little could be distinguished ; however, the 
 goose suddenly stopped, clapped her wings for joy, and plunging 
 her head into the long grass, drew out something, which she 
 presented with the utmost grace to Nosey, saying — 
 
 " This is the plant we are in quest of ; and there is so much 
 of it growing here, that you never need be at a loss for it." 
 
 The dwarf examined it nearer, and a sweet odour streamed 
 upwards from its leaves, and involuntarily reminded him of the 
 scene of his transformation. The stalks and leaves were of a 
 bluish green ; and it bore a flame-coloured flower, edged with 
 yellow. 
 
 " Heaven be praised!" exclaimed he at last, "what a mirade ! 
 I believe this to be the very same plant which changed me from 
 a squirrel into the disgraceful object which I now am. Shall I 
 make the trial ? " 
 
 " Not yet," said the goose. "Take a handful of this plant 
 home with you. Let us return to your room, and after collect- 
 ing your money and all that you possess together, we will try 
 the virtues of the plant." 
 
 This advice being followed, they returned to the palace, the 
 heart of the dwarf beating audibly from agitation ; and having 
 made up a bundle of clothes, shoes, &c, and some fifty or sixty 
 ducats which he had saved, he exclaimed — 
 
NOSEY, THE DWARF. 
 
 33 
 
 " May it please Heaven to ease me of this burden ! " And 
 as he snuffed up the scent of the wonderful herb, he became 
 quickly aware of the change that was taking place in his out- 
 ward form. 
 
 His limbs began to crack and extend themselves ; his head 
 arose from between his shoulders ; and looking down at his 
 nose, he perceived it becoming smaller and smaller ; his back 
 and his chest became flatter, and his legs grew longer. 
 
 The goose observed allt his with extreme surprise. 
 
 " Why, how tall and handsome you are ! " said she. 
 " Heaven be praised, you have lost all semblance of your 
 former self." 
 
 Jacob was indeed rejoiced at the alteration of his figure; he 
 clasped his hands in gratitude, and he did not forget what he 
 owed to Mimi. Hi i heart strongly inclined him to see his 
 parents immediately; but he stifled the selfish wish for her 
 sake, exclaiming — 
 
 " Whom have I to thank but you for the restoration of my 
 form? I should never have found the plant without your 
 assistance, and should either have remained the hideous being 
 that I was, or fallen by the axe of the executioner. I will now, 
 in recompence, take you direct to your father, who, if he be so 
 famous an enchanter, will quickly restore you to yourself." 
 
 The goose on this melted into tears, and poured forth the 
 most heartfelt thanks. Jacob passed most fortunately with 
 Mimi, unrecognized through the palace gates, took the road to 
 the sea shore, and after a prosperous voyage, arrived at Mimi's 
 home. 
 
 What have I further to relate, than that Wetterbock, after 
 disenchanting his daughter, loaded her preserver with presents, 
 who returned to his native town. His parents quickly acknow- 
 ledged their son in the handsome young man before them, who, 
 with the treasures he had brought from Wetterbock, was enabled 
 to set up a shop, in which he proved fortunate and respectable. 
 
 I must, however, relate that his departure from the palace threw 
 everything into a state of disorder, for that when the duke 
 prepared to carry his menace into execution, of cutting off poor 
 Nosey's head unless the plant was produced, he was nowhere 
 to be found. The prince asserted that he had had him secretly 
 conveyed away, lest he should be deprived of his best cook, 
 and complained loudly of his want of faith. From this, a fierce 
 war arose between them, long known in history, as the War of 
 Plants. Many battles were fought in the cause, but peace at 
 
34 
 
 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 last was concluded, which bore the name of the Pie Peace, 
 because, at the feast given in honour of the reconciliation, the 
 prince's cook served up this queen of pies, of which the duke 
 partook with considerable satisfaction. 
 
 Thus do great events await on small causes ; and this, my 
 lord, is the History of the Dwarf Nosey. 
 
 So ended the European slave's story, to whom, as well as to 
 the other slaves, the Sheik ordered fruits to be distributed, 
 while he himself conversed with his friends. The young men 
 who had been conducted to the hall by their venerable friend, 
 were in the highest admiration at the Sheik, his house, and all 
 its regulations. 
 
 " Really," said the young scribe, " there is no pleasure equal 
 to listening to tales. I could pass whole days in such pastime, 
 with my legs crossed under me, one arm resting on a cushion 
 and supporting my head, and in the other, the Sheik's hookah, 
 while my mind was amused with histories of all kinds. Such a 
 life must almost equal that of the garden of Mahomet." 
 
 " As long as you are young, and can work," said the old 
 man, " you cannot be serious in expressing such an indolent 
 wish ; but I confess with you, that there is great pleasure in 
 listening to a clever tale. Old as I am (and I am approaching 
 my se\ enty-seventh year), and many as have been the stories 
 I have listened to, I am not ashamed still to form one of 
 a circle of auditors, which collects round a professed story- 
 teller. One fancies oneself a party in the adventures related ; 
 and one lives with those men, those wonderful spirits — 
 fairies and such like, who are not to be met with every day ; 
 and then, when we are alone, we have somewhat to think over, 
 like the wanderer in the desert, who enlivens the waste by 
 imagining it possessed of the beauties he has traversed before 
 entering it. 
 
 " I never gave much thought as to wherein consisted the charm 
 of such relations, but I feel with you. When I was an impe- 
 tuous child, nothing could tame me like a story. It mattered 
 little to me what it treated of, as long as something was told. 
 How often have I, untired, listened to those fables in which 
 the wise men who wrote them have let fall some of the sparks of 
 their transcendant genius — such as * The Fox and foolish Raven, 
 
35 
 
 ' The Fox and the Wolf,' with dozens of stories about lions and 
 other beasts. As I grew older, and mixed more in society, I 
 was no longer satisfied with such short narrations. Something 
 more was wanting to please me ; glories which should treat of 
 men, and of their wonderful adventures." 
 
 " Ah ! well do I remember that time," added another of the 
 group. " You were the first who inspired us with the wish to 
 hear these stories. One of your slaves was as clever in this art 
 as any camel driver between Mecca and Medina. As soon as 
 his work was over, he took his seat amongst us on the lawn 
 before the house, where we tormented him, first to begin, and 
 then to continue his stories until nightfall. 
 
 " Which discovered to us, a new and unknown region," 
 replied the scribe ; " the land of genii and fairies, embellished 
 with all the wonders of the world of plants, with rich 
 palaces of emeralds and rubies, peopled with gigantic slaves, 
 who appear and disappear upon the turning of a ring, or 
 the rubbing of a lamp, or at the pronouncing of the word 
 salomo, bring costly viands on golden dishes. We felt 
 ourselves involuntarily transported into distant lands — ac- 
 companied Sinbad on his wonderful voyages, and Haroun 
 Alraschid, the wise monarch of the faithful, in his walks about 
 the city. We knew GiafFer, his vizier, as intimately as we know 
 ourselves ; and in short, lived in these narrations as one lives 
 in dreams. The evening hour was to us the most delightful 
 of the twenty-four, when seated on the grass-plot, and thus 
 engaged ; but tell us, old man, how is it that the thing which 
 formerly pleased us so much is precisely that which we enjoy 
 the most at the present time ? " 
 
 The stir which arose in the chamber, and the call to attention 
 given by the overseer of the slaves, prevented a reply to the 
 question. The youths hardly knew whether most to rejoice at 
 the promise of a new story, or to regret the interruption given 
 to their conversation with the old -man. The second slave, 
 however, began as follows — 
 
3G 
 
 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 ClK fetsftorg of aimer tfre 3eto, 
 
 WHO HAD SEEN NOTHING. 
 
 p^f^^tiR, I am a native of Mogador, on the borders of 
 jm^fJ^Y the great sea ; and as the following circumstances 
 G5^P<!«t^« took pl ace during the reign of the most mighty 
 ks^,/j emperor, Muley Ismael, monarch of Fez and Mo- 
 rocco, you may perhaps not dislike to hear the tale. 
 It is the history of Abner the Jew, who had seen nothing. 
 
 Jews, as you know, are everywhere ; and everywhere there are 
 Jews : their falcon eyes spy out wherever an advantage is to be 
 gained ; and the more oppressed they are, the more cunning they 
 become, while they glory in this very cunning. That a Jew, 
 however, may sometime fall into disgrace owing to this very 
 quality, witness Abner, as he one evening took his way through 
 the Morocco gate. 
 
 He strode along, wearing his pointed cap, and his shabby 
 and not over clean mantle on his shoulders, stealing, from time 
 to time, a pinch from the golden snuff-box which he did not 
 wish to have seen, or stroking his beard. Content this evening 
 shone out upon his unsettled countenance, notwithstanding the 
 expression of fear and apprehension which generally twinkled 
 in his rolling eyes. He must certainly have made some good 
 bargain to-day. 
 
 His walk had led him to a little grove of dates and palm- 
 trees, when he heard behind him an immense outcry, caused by 
 a crowd of the emperor's stable-servants, led by the head groom ; 
 whose glances, cast eagerly on each side as they went along, 
 indicated that they were in search of something. 
 
 "Philistine," cried the head groom, panting with fatigue, 
 " have you not seen a blood-horse fully caparisoned pass by ? " 
 
ABNER, THE JEW. 37 
 
 Abner answered, '" The fastest goer in the world, slender and 
 small is his hoof, his shoes of burnished silver, and t his coat 
 shining like the great sabbath candle-stick, fifteen hands high, 
 his tail three feet and a half long, and his bit of the purest 
 gold?" 
 
 " It is he," shouted the head groom. 
 " It is he," echoed the stable men. 
 
 " It is the Emir," said the riding-master. " I have told 
 Prince Abdallah more than ten times, that he ought to ride in 
 a snaffle. I know Emir well. I foretold that he would throw 
 him ; so if my head is to answer for his backache, I have 
 foretold what would happen. But quick, quick ; which way 
 is he gone ? " 
 
 " I have seen no horse," said Abner, smiling. (< How should 
 I know which way the Emperor's horse has gone ? " 
 
 Astonished at such an apparent contradiction, the gentlemen 
 of the stable were thinking what means to adopt to compel 
 Abner to speak more clearly, when a new occurrence gave a 
 different turn to affairs. By one of those extraordinary chances 
 which sometimes occur, the Empress's lap-dog was missing. 
 A troop of black slaves now made their appearance, and while 
 still far off, called out — 
 
 " Have you seen the Empress's lap-dog ? " 
 
 " A female, gentlemen ? " inquired Abner. 
 
 K Exactly so," replied the eunuch, in the greatest joy. " Aline, 
 where art thou ? " 
 
 " A small setter dog," continued Abner, " long hanging 
 ears, a feathery tail, and limps on her right fore-leg." 
 
 " It is her very self," cried the chorus of blacks ; " it is 
 Aline. The Empress fell into convulsions, when she could not 
 be found. What would become of us if we were to return to 
 the harem without her ? Speak quickly ; which way did she 
 run?" 
 
 " I have seen no dog, nor did I know that the Empress, 
 whom God preserve ! possessed a setter." 
 
 The people of the stable and of the harem now became 
 furious at what they called Abner's impudence in joking about 
 anything which belonged to the Emperor, nor did they for a 
 moment doubt that, unlikely as it was, he had stolen both dog 
 and horse. While the underlings pursued the search, the head 
 groom and the eunuch seized the Jew, and led the half cunning, 
 half frightened joker, into the presence of Muley Ismael, who, 
 when he had heard the circumstances of the case, summoned 
 
38 
 
 the usual council, and presided himself at its decision. On the 
 opening of the case, fifty bastinadoes were commanded to be 
 applied to the feet of the accused. In vain did he scream, 
 whimper, and protest his innocence, offering to relate everything 
 as it befell. In vain did he quote passages from the Talmud, 
 such as, " The displeasure of the king is as the roaring of a 
 young lion ; but his favour is as the dew on the grass.'' " Let 
 not thy hand strike, while thine eyes and thine ears are shut." 
 Muley Ismael made a signal, and swore by the beard of the 
 Prophet and of his own, that Abner's head should pay for the 
 Empress's convulsions and the Prince's pains, if the stray 
 animals were not recovered. 
 
 The palace still resounded with the cries of the sufferer, 
 when the news arrived that the horse and dog were both found. 
 Aline was surprised in the society of some pug-dogs, respectable 
 enough in themselves, but far from fitting associates for such a 
 high-born court lady as she was ; and Emir, after he had run 
 himself tired, found the sweet-smelling grass on the bank of 
 the brook Tara, much more to his taste than the oats of the 
 imperial stable ; as the princely huntsman, when wearied and 
 lost in the chase, forgets the dainties of his own table while he 
 relishes the black bread and fresh butter of the cottager. 
 
 Muley Ismael now demanded of Abner an explanation of his 
 behaviour ; when he found the opportunity of vindicating him- 
 self (though late) in the following words, after he had three 
 times touched the ground before his highness' throne with his 
 forehead — 
 
 " Most mighty Emperor, king of kings, lord of the west, star 
 of justice, mirror of truth, abyss of wisdom, shining as gold, 
 luminous as the diamond, hard as iron ! hear me. Now that it 
 is permitted to thy slave to raise his voice in the presence of 
 thy beaming countenance, I most solemnly aver, that I saw 
 neither your sacred horse, nor the engaging dog of my gracious 
 Empress, with the eyes of my body ; but listen to the circum- 
 stances of the case. 
 
 " Refreshing myself after the fatigue and labour of the day, 
 with an evening walk in the little wood where I had the honour 
 of meeting his honour the head groom, and his vigilance the 
 black overseer of thy sacred harem, I perceived, in the fine 
 sand between the palm-trees, the track of an animal; and I, who 
 am pretty well versed in the ways of animals, quickly distin- 
 guished it as the footmarks of a little dog. Other marks in 
 the sand convinced me that it was a female who had passed, 
 
ABXEIt, THE JEW. 39 
 
 and that she had long hanging ears ; in some places the sand was 
 still more disturbed, which convinced me that she must have a 
 beautiful feathery tail, with which it had pleased her to lash the 
 sand about ; neither did it escape me that one of her feet had 
 pressed less heavily on the sand than the other three, from 
 which I concluded that (if such a word may be permitted) the 
 dog of my most gracious Empress limped. 
 
 " With respect to your highness's horse, know that, as I 
 wandered along a path of the grove, I observed the track of 
 a horse, of which the noble hoof, the fine, yet strong frog, 
 convinced me, that he was of the Tehennee breed, the noblest 
 of all. It is hardly four months since my lord, the Emperor, 
 purchased two of this same breed from a European prince ; 
 and my brother Reuben was present at the conclusion of the 
 bargain by which my gracious master gained so much. When 
 I observed how far apart, and how exactly alike, the tracks 
 of his steps were, I thought to myself, This animal gallops 
 quickly, and is thoroughbred ; he is only fit for my lord, 
 the Emperor. The war-horse of which Job speaks then 
 came into my mind, " He paweth in the valley, and re- 
 joiceth in his strength : he goeth on to meet the armed 
 men : he mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted ; neither turneth 
 he his back from the sword. The quiver rattleth against him, 
 and the glittering spear and shield." Seeing something shining 
 on the ground, I bent down as I always do on such occcasions, 
 and picked up a piece of marble, on which the shoe of the 
 impatient steed had left a mark ; from which I concluded that it 
 must be of silver, for well I know the different marks that 
 metals leave, and can judge of its genuineness. The pathway 
 I was traversing was seven feet wide, and I perceived that here 
 and there the dust of the palm-trees was driven aside by some- 
 thing that had passed. In fact, the animal had fanned it aside 
 with his tail ; and therefore, thinks I, the tail must be three feet 
 and a half long. Under the trees, the foliage of which began 
 to grow about live feet from the ground, fresh leaves were 
 strewed; this must have been done by his hastiness's back, ' 
 said I, and this proves him to be fifteen hands high ; and some j 
 small tufts of golden hair convinced me that his colour must be | 
 a yellow dun. On emerging from the bushes, my eye was struck 
 by a line of gold on the rock before me. It appeared that the rock i 
 contained a touchstone, and the line of gold was finer than that 
 of the little man with the bundle of arrows on the gold coin 
 of the seven united provinces. This stroke must have been 
 
 e 2 
 
40 
 
 made by the bit of the flying steed as he rubbed by this rock. 
 A s every one knows your splendid taste, oh King of kings ! 
 and that the meanest horse in your stable bears a golden 
 bit, I~" 8 
 
 " Now, by Mecca and Medina," cried Muley Ismael, " that 
 is what 1 call having eyes. Such eyes as those would do you 
 no harm, master of the hounds, they would save you a couple of 
 blood-hounds ; and you, minister of police, would see further 
 with them than all your scouts and bailiffs . Now, Jew, in con- 
 sideration of your uncommon acuteness, the fifty lashes which 
 you received are worth fifty sequins, which they have saved you, 
 for we now demand but fifty ; draw out your purse, and abstain 
 for the future from any jest concerning us or our possessions ; 
 and continue still to enjoy our favour." 
 
 The whole court were of course in great admiration at Abner's 
 sagacity, for his majesty had declared him to be a clever fellow, 
 but all this did not repay him for his sufferings, or console him 
 for the loss of his beloved sequins. It was with sighs and 
 groans that he counted them out, one after another, weighing 
 them as they passed through his spindle fingers. Meanwhile 
 Schunri, the Emperor's jester, continued to laugh at him, and to 
 ask him whether all his sequins had been tried by the same 
 touchstone at which the dun horse of Prince Abdallah had tried 
 his bit. 
 
 " Your wisdom has gained honour," said he, " but I would 
 bet fifty sequins that you would rather have been without it. 
 What says the Prophet?— 'An inconsiderate word will not 
 overtake a carriage, even when harnessed by four fleet 
 horses ; nor will it catch a dog, Mr. Abner, even when not lame.' " 
 
 A short time after this unfortunate adventure of Abner's, he 
 took another walk in one of the green valleys of the Atlas. 
 His meditations were again disturbed by the arrival of a crowd 
 of soldiers, the leader of which called to him to inquire if he had 
 seen Goro, the black eunuch of the emperor's guard, pass. 
 " He has taken flight," said he, " and must have passed by 
 here in his way to the mountains." 
 
 " I cannot assist you, general," said Abner. 
 
 " Ha ! are you not the crafty Jew who neither saw the horse 
 nor the dog ? The slave must have passed this very spot. Don't 
 you scent him in the gale, nor see the traces of his feet in the 
 long grass ? Speak, for it must be so. He is alone on a spar- 
 row-shooting expedition with his rifle, and this is his majesty's 
 favourite diversion. Speak, or I will order you into chains." 
 
ABNER, THE JEW. 
 
 11 
 
 " Can I say that I have seen what I have not seen r" 
 
 " Now, Jew, for the last time, in which direction did the 
 slave run ? Remember your lashes — remember your sequins." 
 
 " Woe is me ! But if you will have it that I have seen this 
 sparrow-shooter, he ran in there, but, as he is no longer there, 
 he is somewhere else." 
 
 "Then you have seen him?" roared out one of the soldiers. 
 
 " Certainly, sir officer, if such be your pleasure." 
 
 The soldiers took the direction pointed out to them, and 
 Abner returned to his home, glorying in his deceit ; but hardly 
 had he been twenty-four hours within the shelter of his own 
 roof, when a company of the palace-guard invaded it (thus pro- 
 faning his sabbath) and dragged him into the presence of the 
 Emperor of Morocco. 
 
 " Hound of a Jew !" snorted the Emperor, " dare you thus 
 treat the imperial sen-ants in pursuit of a fugitive slave, by 
 sending them on a false scent into the mountains, when you 
 knew that he had taken the road to the sea coast, and had nearly 
 succeeded in getting on board a Spanish vessel ? Seize him, 
 soldiers ! a hundred lashes on the feet, a hundred sequins out 
 of the purse, which shall only close in proportion to the swelling 
 of the feet." 
 
 You know, my lord, that sentence is quickly executed in 
 the kingdoms of Fez and Morocco, so that poor Abner was 
 speedily and soundly cudgelled, without his taste being in the 
 smallest degree consulted. He indulged himself in cursing his 
 extraordinary fate, which appeared to condem his purse and the 
 soles of his feet to suffer so severely every time that his majesty 
 was moved to lose anything. 
 
 As he, with groans and sighs, was preparing to limp out of 
 | the hall, amidst the loud laughter of the assembled domestics, 
 Schunri entreated him not to be ungrateful for the distin- 
 guished honour which the Emperor had shewn him, for " do 
 you not feel it as such," said he, " that our gracious master 
 cannot sustain any loss in which you do not participate ? 
 Nevertheless, if you will promise me something as a considera- 
 tion, I will always give you due warning of any loss which the 
 Lord of the West may in future sustain. I will come to your 
 booth in the Jews* street, and say ' Keep in your house, Abner — 
 | you know why — shut yourself in your little room until sunset, 
 under lock and bolt." 
 
 Thus, my lord, ends the history of the Jew Abner, who had 
 seen nothing.' " 
 
 E 3 
 
I 
 
 I 42 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 AYhen the slave had ended his narration, and all was again 
 quiet in the hall, the young scribe reminded his old friend that 
 the thread of their conversation had been broken oft"; and he 
 begged him now to explain wherein lay the all-powerful charm 
 of story-hearing. 
 
 " That is very easily accounted for," replied the old man. 
 " The spirit of man is lighter and more unstable than water, 
 which, nevertheless, can be moulded into a thousand forms, 
 and, little by little, pierces through all resistance. It is free as 
 air, and becomes lighter and purer the higher it raises itself 
 from the earth. The soul of man is destined for a higher sphere, 
 nor will it be contented with the narrow bounds of the scene 
 around it. There is, therefore, in man a tendency to raise himself 
 above ordinary affairs, and to move in a larger, freer region, 
 if it were only in dreams. You yourself, my young 
 friend, said that you lived the stories over again, and felt and 
 acted with every person mentioned in them. From this, then, 
 proceeds the charm which they possess in your eyes : while the 
 inventions of another's brain delighted you in the narrations of 
 the slave, you yourself imagined while you listened : your 
 thoughts no longer attached themselves to everyday objects ; 
 no : you lived in all you heard ; you were the very person there 
 spoken of, to whom all the wonderful adventures happened. 
 Thus did a story of this sort raise your mind above present cir- 
 cumstances, which possessed no beauty or attraction to you; 
 thus did it soar to newer and freer regions, and you lived for a 
 time in an ideal world. The tale became to you a truth ; or, if 
 you like it better, the truth became a tale ; your imagination 
 and whole existence lived in the tales." 
 
 " I do not quite understand you," replied the young merchant; 
 " but you are quite right in saying that we live in the tales and 
 they in us. Well do I remember those delightful days of waking 
 dreams, when we figured to ourselves that, thrown on barren, 
 inhospitable islands, we held consultation on the means of pre- 
 serving life. Often, in fancy, have we made ourselves a hut of j 
 willow branches, and shared a scanty meal of wretched fruit, 
 Avhen scarcely a hundred paces off we could, in reality, have par- 
 taken of the best. Yes, those were times when we expected ' 
 the appearance of a good fairy, or a wondrous dwarf, who would 
 inform us that the earth was speedily to open a passage to some 
 palace of rock crystal, where the attendant spirits would 
 await our orders for dinner." 
 
 The young men laughed, but allowed that their friend had not 
 
ABNER, THE JEW. 
 
 43 
 
 exceeded the truth, " for, even now," said one of them, I am 
 not proof against the charm of a story of enchantment ; for 
 instance, although I should be not a little angry if my brother 
 were to come in with a stupid story of our neighbour the fat 
 baker's misfortune in having had to deal with an enchanter, who, 
 out of spite, had changed him into a bear, and left him howling 
 horribly in his room, and should set my brother down as a liar, 
 yet if, on the contrary, he were to tell me that our fat neighbour 
 had gone a long journey into a far distant land, where he had 
 fallen into the hands of an enchanter, who had changed him into 
 a bear, I should, little by little, identify myself with the story, 
 travel with the fat baker, experience ail sorts of extraordinary 
 adventures, and not be very much surprised to see my friend 
 clad in a hairy skin, and going on all fours." 
 
 " And yet," said the old man, " there is a very delightful 
 description of story-telling, where neither fairy nor enchanter 
 make their appearance, where there are no crystal palaces, nor 
 genii to bring enchanted meats ; no roc birds, no magic horses, 
 but quite another style of thing from what are usually called 
 tales." 
 
 " To what do you allude ?" cried the young men. " A different 
 description of story-telling from tales !" 
 
 " I think a decided difference ought to be made between tales 
 and such narrations as come under the general head of stories * 
 If I say I am going to relate a tale, you may fairly conclude 
 that it will be full of adventures out of the common way, and 
 will carry you to a region totally unlike the nature of anything 
 here below ; or, to speak more plainly, you might expect an 
 account of a different state of existence from that of mortal men. 
 In the fate of the persons of whom it treats, it intermingles the 
 J extraordinary power of fairies, enchanters, genii, and spirits. 
 The whole relation assumes a wonderful and unusual aspect, 
 like the patterns of our carpets, or the paintings of our best 
 j masters which the Europeans call arabesques. It is forbidden 
 I to a true Mussulman to create again either by painting or other- 
 wise anything once created by Allah. One therefore sees, on 
 their webs, most extraordinary twisted trees, and branches with 
 
 * The English words tales and stories do not convey the different 
 ideas which the German words M'drchen and Erz'dhlvnyen express : 
 the former as distinguished from the latter indicates fictions, in which 
 the supernatural is mingled. 
 
44 
 
 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 men's heads ; again, men issuing from a fish or a bush ; little 
 figures, reminding you of nature, and yet entirely unnatural. 
 Do you understand me?" 
 
 "I think I catch your meaning," said the scribe, "but pray 
 continue." 
 
 "The tale is of this description; fabulous, improbable, 
 astonishing, because so differing from the events of ordinary 
 life. Its scenes are laid in foreign lands, and the time of which 
 they treat long since passed away. Every nation possesses 
 them : Turks and Persians, Chinese and Moguls ; but Europe 
 is richer in them than any other country — at least a learned 
 giaour told me so — but they fall far short of ours in beauty. 
 They have also their fairies, who dwell in splendid palaces. 
 They have also female enchanters, whom they call witches, 
 malicious, frightful hags, who live in wretched huts, and, instead 
 of muscle-shell carriages, drawn by griffins, in which to travel 
 through the blue air, they mount a besom, and pierce the foggy 
 atmosphere. They have also their gnomes, and spirits of earth, 
 who are in an everlasting bustle. These are tales ; but story is 
 of another description. The persons of whom it speaks pass 
 their time in the ordinary manner on earth, leading the usual life 
 of mortals; and deeply interesting is the uncertainty of that per- 
 son's fate who, neither from enchantment, imprecations, or the 
 power of a fairy, but only from his own conduct, or some won- 
 derful events, becomes poor or rich, happy or unhappy." 
 
 " Right !" answered one of the young people. " Such sort of 
 pure story is found sometimes in the relations of Scheherazade, 
 which are called " The Thousand-and-one Nights.'' The adven- 
 tures or Haroun Alraschid and his viziers are of this description. 
 Going out in disguise, they were spectators of the apparently 
 most extraordinary events, which, in the end, resolved them- 
 selves in the most natural manner possible. Yes, and though these 
 are far from the worst in the collection, how different are they 
 in their origin and course from the story of "Prince Camaral- 
 zaman ; or the Three Calendars with one eye; or that of the fisher- 
 man who drew a casket from the sea, fastened Avith the seal of 
 Solomon ; but the original and peculiar charm of both is, that 
 we experience a novel and unusual sensation in reading them. 
 In tales the extraordinary is fabulous, and enchantment acts 
 upon the every-day events of life ; in story, every thing is kept 
 within the laws of nature, however surprising and unusual they 
 may be." 
 
 " It is singular," said the scribe, " that the course of natural 
 
ABNER, THE JEW. 
 
 49 
 
 events, as related in story, delight us no less than the super- 
 natural in tales. From what does this proceed r" 
 
 "It consists in the manner in which the characters are drawn," 
 answered the old man. " In tales, the wonderful is so prominent, 
 and so great an influence is exercised over the individual by 
 it, that a mere sketch is all that can be given of the separate 
 figures and their characters ; while in .story, each person is made 
 to speak and act conformably to his character, and this consti- 
 tutes the principal enjoyment of its study." 
 
 " You are quite right," said the young merchant. " I have 
 never taken the time to come to such a just conclusion ; I have 
 only felt it to be as you say, and passed it over. I used to 
 luxuriate over the first description of writing, and have found 
 the second rather tedious ; but the reason I never knew until 
 you supplied me with a key by which to discover the secret, a 
 touchstone by which we can prove and judge of both." 
 
 " If you thus make use of it," rejoined the old man, " it will 
 increase your enjoyment, in teaching you to reflect upon what 
 you have read or heard. But see, there is a story about to 
 begin." 
 
 The third slave advanced, and commenced as follows : — 
 
46 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 €f)t tfaU of £>attu 
 
 ^PJjSJJ^URING the reign of the famous Caliph Haroun 
 §§P^Hjfl Alraschid, there dwelt at Balsora a man named 
 lillliBi Benezar. He had been a merchant, but having 
 vS&Im^ massed considerable wealth, he gave up trade, 
 SwTiW&^lS an d determined to pass the remainder of his life 
 in peaceful retirement. He had an only son, but he did not 
 intend him to be a merchant like himself. " I shall have 
 enough to leave him," said he to his neighbours, " and my 
 son shall not wear out his best years as I have done, in providing 
 for his old age. I will teach him prudence, forethought, and 
 frugality ; with these habits he can spend his youth in moderate 
 pleasures and in improving occupations, and his age in content- 
 ment and in the exercise of benevolence." Acccordingly, 
 Benezar's son was not brought up to trade; he received an 
 excellent education, and was early taught every thing which 
 could enlarge the mind, or strengthen the body. Whilst still 
 scarcely more than a child, he had attained such proficiency in 
 the manly exercises of wrestling, racing, riding, swimming, &c, 
 that he was allowed to join in the sports of the youth of Balsora, 
 and considered as their equal, though by many years their 
 junior. 
 
THE FATE OF SAID. 47 
 
 When young Said had reached his eighteenth year, his father 
 sent him to Mecca to visit the tomb of the Prophet, and to 
 complete his education in religious matters, according to the 
 command of the law and the custom of the country. Before 
 parting with his only child, Benezar gave him much salutary 
 advice, to which Said listened with all the reverence a son 
 should give to the counsels of his parent. " Yet another word,'* 
 said Benezar ; " your mother, when she lay on her death-bed, 
 confided to my care this silver whistle, with the feebly uttered 
 charge to give it to you on your 20th birth-day, and on no 
 account to entrust it to you before. I gathered from what she 
 said, that she imagined you to be under the protection of a 
 supernatural being; and certainly, though disposed to be incredu- 
 lous, I could not help being struck by the singular circumstances 
 attending your birth. A violent storm shook the very founda- 
 tions of the city, and then cleared off in a most miraculous 
 manner. The whole house, and indeed the surrounding streets, 
 were fragrant with the exquisite odour of roses and hyacinths. 
 Your mother then showed methe silver whistle, but did not entrust 
 it to my care until her death, nearly six years afterwards. 
 You are now, Said, about to leave me for some time. Life 
 is so uncertain, that before you return I may be gathered to 
 my fathers. I consider it, therefore, more in fulfilment of your 
 dying mother's request, to give the silver whistle to you at once, 
 though you yet want more than two years to the appointed time, 
 rather than to wait until you are again with me, and run the 
 risk of its being mislaid or uncared for in the event of my 
 decease before that time. You are in every respect in advance 
 of your years; from your appearance, very much so. Take, 
 then, this bequest of your mother's ; treat it with reverence, if 
 not for its own sake (I leave that, my son, to your own discretion), 
 at least for hers who is gone from you for ever." 
 
 Such were the parting words of Benezar of Balsora to his 
 only son. Said took a tender farewell of his father ; he hung 
 the chain to which the silver whistle was attached round his 
 neck, and sticking the whistle itself into his girdle, he flung 
 himself into his saddle, and hastened to the spot whence the 
 caravan was to start for Mecca. In a short space of time, 
 eighty camels laden with merchandize, and four hundred Norse- 
 men, were assembled, and Said left the home of his fathers from 
 which he was destined to be absent many long years. The 
 novelty of the scenes through which he was passing, the new 
 companions by whom he was surrounded, served for awhile 
 
: 48 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 ! to beguile his thoughts ; but when the caravan passed the con- 
 fines of the desert, and every thing around assumed a desolate 
 ; and melancholy appearance, his spirits took the same tone, and 
 i his mind reverted to his parting from his only parent, and the 
 early death of his mother. Then his father's singular story 
 i recurred to his memory ; he considered and re-considered the 
 matter, but could not come to any satisfactory conclusion ; he 
 drew forth his whistle and applied it to his lips, but he could 
 draw forth no sound, which greatly surprised and disconcerted 
 him. He recalled to his memory all the histories of fairies and 
 genii which he had heard in his childhood, but to which his 
 j mind had heretofore given no heed. They now seemed more 
 ! than probable, nay, quite possible ; and bewildered by his 
 new belief, Said sat on his horse as one asleep, and pursued his 
 way in a dreamy state, careless of the mirth of his companions, 
 : neither joining in their laughter, tales, or songs. 
 
 Our young traveller was excessively handsome. His figure 
 j combined all the graces of youth with all the vigour of manhood. 
 However perfect the form of his features, the expression of his 
 countenance was its chief charm. His large dark eyes beamed 
 with the fiery enthusiasm natural to his age, whilst his finely- 
 formed brow and somewhat of determination in the compression 
 of the lips gave indication of a matured mind and resolute spirit. 
 His dress harmonized with his whole appearance, and was 
 worthy of attention ; and, mounted on a spirited steed, he pre- 
 sented altogether a striking appearance. An old man who rode 
 near him was so interested in him, as to seek to rouse him from 
 his reverie by numerous questions. Said, who regarded age 
 with peculiar reverence, answered with respect, though not 
 without reflection and caution, which so far from displeasing 
 his querist, added to the admiration he already felt for the young 
 i man. As their intimacy increased, Said became less reserved, 
 and at last he betrayed the subject which most occupied his 
 thoughts, by asking the old man whether he believed that spirits, 
 whether good or evil, exercised any influence on the denizens of 
 this lower world. 
 
 The stranger stroked his beard, looked thoughtfully upwards, 
 ! and then replied in a serious tone, " It cannot be denied but 
 | that stories of such supernatural influence have been well- 
 i authenticated, and are moreover related and believed by those 
 who are competent to judge correctly on the matter. For my own 
 I part, old as I am, and a wanderer into many countries, neither 
 I in this land nor in foreign parts have I, in the whole course of 
 
THE FATE OF SAID. 
 
 49 
 
 my life, ever seen a fairy, spirit, or magician ; not even a dwarf 
 or a giant." 
 
 Notwithstanding this speech, the old traveller commenced 
 the relation of several wonderful stories with all the animated 
 zeal one would suppose to arise from a firm belief in the truth 
 of his statements. Said listened eagerly to them, and ere long 
 arrived at the conclusion that all was indeed true ; he was him- 
 self under the protection of a beneficent being who had presented 
 him with the silver whistle, silent, indeed, whilst he was in safety, 
 but powerful in time of danger, to call his guardian spirit to his 
 assistance. 
 
 Meanwhile, the caravan continued to advance into the desert, 
 the scenery around became more and more dreary, until every 
 trace of vegetation ceased, and nothing was to be seen but the 
 everlasting sands, and in the distance ranges of bare rocks, 
 which were the only variety in the prospect. Towards noon the 
 caravan reached the entrance of a defile between two rocky 
 mountains, where the tents were pitched, and it was determined 
 to remain there during the excessive heat. In the evening 
 they resumed their journey, and continued it through the 
 night. Said, who had a quick eye for all that was beautiful, 
 and a heart easily excited to admiration, could not fail to 
 be struck by the new and singularly grand character of all 
 around him. Life in the desert seemed a different existence. 
 The solemnity of silence awoke in his soul strange and inde- 
 scribable sensations. Towards sunrise the next morning a cloud 
 seemed to rise from the eastern horizon. At first, nothing was 
 thought of this circumstance, until the dense dark body appeared 
 approaching ; then a universal panic overspread the caravan : 
 some imagined it to be pillars of sand which would overwhelm 
 them in inevitable destruction ; others pacified themselves by 
 believing it to be another caravan ; but Said's old companion 
 pronounced it as his opinion that it was a horde of wandering 
 Arabs. Said, whose eye was not so well trained, could not 
 perceive the approaching danger, and descried nothing but black 
 clouds of dust. Soon, however, the old man's prediction was 
 verified ; the dull tramp of the horse's feet over the sand was 
 distinctly heard, the flash of spears was plainly seen, and with 
 the strength and velocity of the whirlwind, the foe bore down on 
 the hapless caravan. The affray was short and fierce. The 
 merchants, although numerous, were unpractised in arms, and 
 could offer little resistance. Said fought with all the energy of 
 his nature ; he attacked the leader of the invading party, a wild 
 
 F 
 
50 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 warrior mounted on a magnificent horse ; his tall figure and 
 powerful frame, the stern simplicity of his dress and appearance, 
 his spear in his hand, and his shield on his arm, completed a 
 figure which captivated young Said's ardent imagination, and 
 animated him to the fight. Fearful was the rage of the Arabs 
 when they saw their chieftain torn from his horse and stain the 
 hot sand of the desert with his life-blood. Their whole violence 
 turned against the stripling who had wrought the deed. Said 
 was surrounded, overpowered, and captured. 
 
 The Arabs, who did not all belong to one tribe, now commenced 
 the partition of the goods and the prisoners, and then parted 
 company, one party directing their course to the east, the other 
 to the south. Near Said rode four armed men, who regarded 
 him with looks of the greatest hatred, and menaced him with 
 approaching torture and death. 
 
 A date-grove, in the shade of which numerous tents were 
 pitched, now announced their approach to the Arab village. A 
 tribe of women and children flocked out to meet them, who, on 
 learning the death of Said's opponent, broke forth into the most 
 fearful cries and yells, rushed towards Said, and seemed ready 
 to tear him in pieces. Their violence was so great, that the 
 capturers of Said were obliged to become his protectors. " He 
 has killed the great Almoran," they said, " in honourable com- 
 bat : therefore must he die not by the hand of a woman, but by 
 the sword of the brave." 
 
 They then conveyed their prisoner into the presence of an 
 old man, who, from the deference with which the unbending 
 warriors of the desert approached him, Said inferred was their 
 Sheik. They were about to inform him of the result of their 
 attack, when the old man interrupted them, saying, " I know 
 all," he said ; " the shrieks of the women suggested the idea, 
 your dejected looks confirm it ; Almoran is fallen." 
 
 " Almoran is fallen," replied the Arabs, " but in this youth, 
 Selim, behold his foe. Only decide on his fate ; our hands are 
 ready, eager to execute it. What shall be the manner of his 
 death ? Shall we transfix him with our spears, or make him a 
 target for our arrows ? Shall a single blow of the sword deprive 
 him of life, or shall he be torn to pieces in lingering torments by 
 wild horses of the desert ? 
 
 During these speeches the Sheik had contemplated the 
 youth's unmoved countenance; his warrior-spirit could not 
 regard without interest such resolute bravery, such recklessness 
 of torture and of death, in one so young. " Who art thou ?" 
 
51 
 
 inquired he. Said answered him briefly and composedly. 
 " Didst thou attack my son with mean murderous intent ? 
 Didst thou watch thy wicked opportunity, and in an unguarded 
 moment lay mine only son low ?" 
 
 w My lord," answered Said, " I slew Almoran in open fight ; 
 he was the aggressor, and before I dealt him his death-blow, 
 had laid eight of my companions dead at his feet." 
 
 " Speaks he the truth ?" inquired the Sheik of the Arabs. 
 
 " He does," replied the foremost of them. " He did slay 
 Almoran in open fight." 
 
 "Then," continued Selim, "has he done nothing but that 
 we ourselves glory in doing also. He has only slain one who 
 was attempting to deprive him of friends and freedom ; there- 
 fore loose ye his bands." 
 
 The Arabs gazed on their chief in astonishment. " Set free 
 the murderer of the great Almoran !" they cried. " Forgive the 
 destroyer of Selim's own son ! Oh ! that we had executed at 
 once his well-merited punishment !" 
 
 " He shall not die," said the Sheik decidedly ; " give me my 
 son's destroyer ; I will provide his punishment ; he shall be my 
 slave." 
 
 " Said was at a loss for words in which to express his grati- 
 tude. The Arabs left the the tent murmuring; and when the 
 women and children heard of the Sheik's judgment, they vowed 
 they themselves would avenge Almoran' s death, even though 
 his own father could forgive his blood-stained murderer. 
 
 The other prisoners were divided as part of the booty. The 
 most distinguished were allowed to send to Balsora for ransom- 
 money ; those, however, of whom no such golden hopes could 
 be entertained were assigned to the office of shepherds and 
 camel- drivers, and' some were obliged to perform still more 
 menial services. But the fate of Said was quite different, and 
 induced him more than once to think that the friendship of 
 some powerful though invisible being had some mysterious in- 
 fluence over him. The old Sheik treated him not as his servant, 
 but as his son. Said adopted the garb, the language, and habits 
 of the Arab race ; and could the hostile spirit of his capturers, 
 Almoran's brothers-in arms, have been appeased, and his own 
 unconquerable longing for home have been subdued, the life he 
 led would have been a very happy one. Whether he shared in 
 the excitement of their warlike enterprizes with other Arab hordes, 
 whether he conversed in filial confidence with his protector, 
 whether he bent his knee in solemn adoration to the God of his 
 
 F 2 
 
52 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 | fathers, there was a strange peace at his heart, a strange 
 sympathy between him and the wild characters around him, 
 a strange congeniality in every thing surrounding him. The 
 unbroken expanse of sand, without a sign of life in flower, or 
 beast, or bird, save on the lovely oasis where the tents were 
 pitched, where the date-trees and the feathery palm-trees cast 
 their grateful shade, and the transparent rivulet ran murmuring 
 past : all was suited to his taste, and he would have desired no 
 other fate than to choose from the beautiful Arab maidens one 
 to be his wife, and, reconciled to the whole tribe, to pass his life 
 among them. But such was not to be the fate of Said. The 
 hearts of Almansor's kinsmen were bitter against him, and no 
 Arab maiden would place her hand in that which was stained 
 with Almansor's blood. 
 
 The old Sheik felt that his life would not last long, and 
 foresaw the vengeance which would then fall on the devoted 
 head of his adopted son. He therefore called Said to him, and 
 thus addressed him : — " I had hoped the noble natures of my 
 Arab brethren had long ere this forgiven thee thy slaughter of 
 my son. I had intended thee, thou perfection of youth and 
 beauty and manly prudence and strength, to supply his place 
 to them, as well as to me; but it cannot be so; their vengeance 
 forcibly controlled will prove the more fearful when that control 
 is removed, and it is my duty to protect you while I can, by 
 ensuring thy safety against that time when I can protect thee no 
 longer. I will send thee to thy home. I will provide thee with 
 a trusty escort through the desert." 
 
 "A trusty escort," echoed Said; "whom of all thy tribe 
 canst thou, my father, trust with my life V s 
 
 " I will bind them by a fearful oath," answered the Sheik, 
 " not to molest thee. Fear not." And Selim kept his promise. 
 I He presented Said with a horse, weapons, and a guard of five 
 ! men, whom he compelled to swear not to injure him, and then 
 the old Sheik parted from his adopted son with many tears. 
 The five Arabs rode gloomily and silently by his side, giving 
 evident tokens that nothing but their oath to the Sheik pre- 
 vented them from immediately putting him to death. As they 
 approached the spot where the caravan had been attacked, and 
 where Said had dealt Almansor his death-blow, the Arabs' looks 
 became even fiercer, and Said perceived with horror that they 
 were whispering together. He strained every nerve to catch 
 the subject of their discourse, but they did not speak in the 
 ordinary language of the tribe. Selim, however, had spent many 
 
THE FATE OF SAID. 53 
 
 hours in teaching Said these mysterious signs, and he now learnt 
 by them that his companions were indignantly commenting on 
 the conduct of Selim towards his son's murderer, and lamenting 
 their own inability to take the execution of his merited punish- 
 ment on themselves. 
 
 " Here is the spot," cried one ; "here we fell upon the cara- 
 van, and here died the bravest of men by the hand of a strip- 
 ling." 
 
 " The wind of the desert has left no trace of the horses' feet 
 in the sand," continued another; "but I know the place well." 
 
 " And," said a third, " shall we suffer the murderer of Alman- 
 sor to go unharmed, unpunished from us ? No ! though the 
 fierce whirlwind of a father's wrath has passed over his head as 
 lightly as the breeze over these desert-sands, the storm of a 
 friend's revenge shall not leave him unscathed !" 
 
 " But," answered another, " we have sworn to the Sheik not 
 to injure the youth. How then can we fulfil our revenge !" 
 
 " Too true," replied the first speaker, " and the murderer 
 must go uninjured by his victim's friends." 
 
 " Hold," cried the fiercest of the five, w the old Sheik is 
 doubtless very wise, but not so much so as he may think. 
 What did he swear us to do ? To spare the youth's life. Well 
 and good, we will spare his life. But he took not an oath of 
 the mid-day burning sun, or the sharp tooth of the midnight 
 prowler of the waste to spare Almansor's murderer ! Here on 
 this spot, where the fell deed was done, shall he expiate his guilt. 
 We will bind him hand and foot, and leave him to his fate." 
 
 Said listened in horror to their barbarous determination. He 
 made one effort to escape, but it proved futile ; he was over* 
 powered, and the Arabs, regardless of his prayers and entreaties, 
 his offers of an unheard-of ransom , his threatenings of the ven- 
 geance of an all-seeing God, accomplished their design, and in 
 a few seconds the faintest echoes of the tramp of their horses 
 and their shouts of exultation died away, and the hapless Said 
 was left alone, bound hand and foot, in the very heart of the 
 desert. The arid sands spread out for miles around him, the 
 sun every moment rising higher in the heavens, and no other 
 prospect before him than that of dying in the protracted tor- 
 ments of famine or insufferable heat. Several hours passed thus, 
 and Said felt his very brain scorched by the intense heat of the 
 sun ; indeed, the sand around had become so hot that it appeared 
 to him as if he lay on a bed of molten fire. By his struggles, 
 however, he at last succeeded in freeing one arm, with which he 
 
 F 3 
 
54 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 ■ was enabled to raise his whistle to his burning lips, but he could 
 '•■ draw forth no sound ; in despair, he suffered it to drop from his 
 grasp, his head fell listlessly back on his fiery pillow, and in- 
 sensibility relieved him from his sufferings. He was aroused 
 by a voice near him ; he felt his shoulder roughly seized, and 
 ; he uttered a piercing shriek, for he imagined it to be some wild 
 I beast preparing to devour him. In a few moments, however, 
 j he had sufficiently recovered his senses to recognise the voice of 
 a man who was busying himself in loosing his bonds and apply- 
 ing restoratives to him. Two or three others stood around and 
 assisted in helping the bewildered Said to rise. He then per- 
 ceived a group of heavily-laden camels, which seemed to belong 
 to his deliverer, a short stout man of very unprepossessing 
 appearance. His forehead was singularly low, and his grizzled 
 black hair grew over it in a very uncouth manner ; his eyes of a 
 grey cat-like hue were deeply sunken in his head, and were 
 overshadowed with dark bushy eye-brows ; his teeth projected 
 very much, and gave to his mouth, and indeed to his whole face, 
 an unpleasant expression ; his dress was that of a Bagdad mer- 
 chant, which he informed Said he was. He assisted the youth 
 very kindly to mount one of his camels, gave him meat and 
 drink, and when Said was able to relate his adventure, listened 
 with great interest to it. He advised the youth to come with 
 him to Bagdad, to which place he was on his way ; and from 
 thence he could find a conveyance either to Mecca or Balsora. 
 Said readily consented, and the camels moved on. To beguile 
 the way, the merchant spoke of the celebrated Haroun Alras- 
 chid; he praised his judgment and justice, and related many 
 wonderful stories concerning him. 
 
 " Our lord," continued the merchant, " the commander of 
 the faithful, is a wonderful man. If you think that, like ordinary 
 mortals, he requires the refreshment of sleep, you are mistaken ; 
 two or three hours' repose in the heat of the day is sufficient for 
 him, and during the remainder of his time his mind and body 
 are in constant activity. You must know that Mesrour, his first 
 chamberlain, is a relation of mine ; and though he preserves a 
 silence inviolate as that of the grave respecting his master's 
 more important business, he occasionally drops a word or two, 
 which gives us an insight into the more ordinary occupations of 
 his time. During the night, the Caliph and his confidant per- 
 ambulate the city, and seldom a week passes without their meet- 
 ing with some singular adventure. Sometimes they assume the 
 disguise of merchants, at other times that of soldiers or sailors ; 
 
THE FATE OF SAID. 
 
 55 
 
 so that they can penetrate, without fear of being recognised, into 
 every part of the town, and become thoroughly acquainted with 
 the state of affairs, and the sentiments of every portion of the 
 people." 
 
 So spake the merchant ; and Said, though he longed to see 
 or hear from his father, was seized with an irrepressible desire 
 to see the famous city of Bagdad, and its still more renowned 
 caliph. 
 
 In about ten days, the travellers reached the place of their 
 destination ; and Said was indeed overwhelmed with the grandeur 
 and magnificence of the city, which was then at the summit of 
 its glory. 
 
 The merchant, whose name was Kalum-Bek, invited the youth 
 to take up his abode at his house ; to which Said willingly con- 
 sented, for he now began to feel the ill effects of his excitement 
 and exposure to the noonday sun in the desert. 
 
 A few hours' undisturbed rest, however, sufficed to restore 
 him ; he was anxious to see as much as possible of the city 
 during his short stay in it, and lost no time, on the following 
 morning, in attiring himself in the splendid dress which was 
 the parting gift of the good old Sheik. 
 
 The merchant could not refrain from expressing his admira- 
 tion of the youth's appearance. 
 
 " You are indeed," said he, " splendidly attired ! A man who 
 owns such a suit as that can well afford to recompense a poor 
 merchant who saved his life !" 
 
 " Good sir," answered Said, colouring, " I have no gold with 
 me ; but if you will kindly advance me money sufficient to per- 
 form my journey home, my father will reward you liberally for 
 that and all other services you have rendered me." 
 
 "Your father, youth!" returned the merchant, his whole 
 aspect changing as he spoke ; " and who is your father ? I 
 think the sun has affected your brain, for you cannot expect me, 
 in my sober senses, to believe the monstrous tale you told me 
 in the desert ! Your father, indeed ! a rich merchant in Aleppo, 
 and you the sole heir to his wealth ! So far, very possible. And 
 you were taken prisoner by marauding Arabs, killed the chief- 
 tain of the band, and were afterwards adopted by the murdered 
 man's father ! Now, young man, is this a tale to be believed ? 
 And moreover, is it probable, is it possible, that a caravan 
 should be overpowered in the desert, its merchandise stolen, its 
 owners led into captivity, and not a rumour of the event reach 
 Bagdad or any other of the cities through which I have so 
 
56 
 
 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 recently travelled ? Youth, I blush for your shameful lies and 
 shameless brow ; your falsehood is only equalled by your inso- 
 lence. I have inquired of numerous merchants of Aleppo for 
 one Benezar, a wealthy man with one only son, and they all 
 agree in saying that there is no such a person." 
 
 Said could only assert his innocence, and declare that as he 
 knew the Caliph's ear was ever open to the cry of the distressed, 
 he would appeal to him, and obtain from him the means of 
 restoration to his father. 
 
 " And how," cried the merchant, " are you to gain admittance 
 to his presence ? Remember, young man, that my cousin 
 Mesrour keeps the key of the Caliph's audience chamber; I 
 can give him a hint how skilfully your tongue can frame false- 
 hoods ! but I will not be too hard on you, Said ; you are young, 
 and may improve. I will give you a place in my shop at the 
 bazaar : there you shall serve me for a year ; and if you prove 
 faithful and honest, I will then pay you sufficient wages to 
 convey you whither you wish to go. I will give you until noon 
 to consider my proposition ; at that hour, if you do not agree to 
 what I have just offered you, I will call you to account for the 
 food you have eaten, and the wine you have drunk, since I first 
 found you in the desert, and also for the seat on my camel, 
 which for ten whole days you occupied. Your fine suit of 
 clothes will indemnify me for all expenses ; and then, with no 
 gold in your purse, and nothing but a few rags on your back, 
 you will be turned into the streets, branded with the name of a 
 liar and a thief." 
 
 With these words, the wicked man left the unfortunate youth 
 to his own reflections. Said was at a loss what steps to take ; 
 his hatred of his oppressor was so great, that the idea of being 
 his servant for a year was most revolting to him. But what 
 else could he do ? Without money or clothes he could never 
 reach home, and he felt too truly that all appeal to the Caliph 
 would prove in vain. 
 
 He therefore reluctantly determined to agree to Kalum-Bek's 
 proposal ; and the day following, the merchant led his new ser- 
 vant to his appointed place in the bazaar. He showed him the 
 shawls and veils he was to dispose of to the best advantage, and 
 directed him to stand at the door of the shop, and persuade 
 passers-by to inspect and purchase his goods. We have already 
 said that Said was extremely handsome : he was, therefore, pecu- 
 liarly suited for his new occupation ; for his graceful figure, his 
 beautiful features, the half-proud half-melancholy expression of 
 
THE FATE OF SAID. 57 
 
 his countenance, captivated all beholders, and procured more 
 purchasers for Kalum-Bek's merchandise than the hideous little 
 man could procure for himself in double the time. 
 
 He was therefore well pleased with his servant, caressed and 
 rewarded him. But Said was not to be deceived by these self- 
 interested marks of favour ; his whole mind was occupied by 
 the hope of one day returning to his beloved home, and this 
 hope supported him through long days of servitude, and visited 
 and consoled him during his short hours of repose in sleep. 
 
 One day, when an unusual quantity of goods had been dis- 
 posed of, and all the carriers and porters in Kalum-Bek's 
 service were employed in conveying them to the homes of the 
 purchasers, a lady entered the shop ; she purchased a shawl, 
 and requested Kalum-Bek to send it to her house immediately. 
 
 " Within half an hour I will," answered the merchant ; " at 
 present all my porters are out : as soon as one of them returns, 
 I will send your shawl whither you direct me." 
 
 " I will not wait," returned the lady imperiously ; " it is your 
 duty to send home all that is purchased at your shop, and I 
 desire you will immediately procure a porter for me. Who is 
 that tall youth gazing about him so idly ? cannot he carry home 
 my shawl ?" 
 
 " No, no/' cried Kalum-Bek anxiously ; " he must not leave 
 my shop; he is my magnet of attraction, my decoy-bird, my 
 everything." 
 
 " Indeed !" returned the lady, pointing to Said to take up the 
 parcel, " I am sorry to deprive you of so valuable an auxiliary 
 for the space of ten minutes ; come with me, young man." 
 
 "Make haste," whispered Kalum to his magnet; "in the 
 name of Arimanes and all evil spirits, make haste. If I do not 
 let you go, that old witch will bring the bazaar about our ears ; 
 go, and return as quickly as you can." 
 
 Said followed the lady with alacrity through various streets, 
 until they reached a long and very gloomy one. 
 
 The lady stopped at the door of a magnificent house, ascended 
 a flight of marble steps, passed through a splendid hall, and 
 entered an apartment, the folding doors of which flew open at 
 her approach. In the centre of the room, on a sumptuous 
 divan, sat a lady, apparently much younger than Said's con- 
 ductress. Although the lower part of her face was concealed, 
 one could judge of her exquisite beauty by what met the sight 
 — the finely-formed head ; long, black silken hair, confined in a 
 net-work of glittering silver ; the delicate, perfectly-arched eye- 
 
53 
 
 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 brows ; the soft, dark, oval-shaped eye of the east beneath them. 
 Said had never beheld or imagined so lovely a being ! Her 
 dress, too, was most magnificent; a vest of green satin was 
 confined at the waist by a girdle of precious stones ; her slender 
 figure was carelessly enveloped in shawls, one of which was of 
 more value than the heaps displayed in the bazaar; jewels 
 glittered round her ankles and on her arms, which were un- 
 covered, the sleeves of her satin vest being looped up to the 
 shoulder with splendid brooches. 
 
 " Come hither, good youth," she said, in rather a tremulous 
 voice, " tell me your history." 
 
 Said drew near to the lovely speaker, and seated himself, as 
 she motioned to him to do, near the divan. He then obeyed 
 her strange request, and related his adventures from the period 
 of his quitting his father's house. The lady regarded the young 
 man attentively. It has been already observed that he was 
 very handsome ; and now his somewhat too robust form and 
 daring eye, softened by the stern hand of sorrow, his tender, 
 melancholy, expressive smile, the low, plaintive tone of his 
 voice, all were calculated to captivate the romantic fancy of an 
 eastern maiden. She listened carefully to his tale ; then, taking 
 the small silver whistle in her hand, 
 
 " Said," she answered, while the blood mounted to her fore- 
 head, " Said, this whistle is my gift ; I am the fairy who pro- 
 tected your mother, presided over your birth, watched you 
 through childhood, and am now ready to do for you whatever 
 you may request me." 
 
 Said could not answer for surprise; he fell at her feet, 
 pressed his lips to the snowy hand she rather timidly extended 
 to him, and implored to be immediately restored to his father. 
 
 The lovely fair}' appeared somewhat disconcerted : there was 
 a long pause. 
 
 " No, Said," she answered at length, " that request I cannot 
 yet grant. You remember your mother desired that the whistle 
 should not be given to you until you attained your twentieth 
 year; the disobedience of your father to that command is the 
 origin of all your troubles. Your fate will not change until you 
 reach the appointed age, which you tell me will not be for six 
 months. Until that period arrives, you must be content to 
 remain in Bagdad." 
 
 " That is indeed the worst of fates," sighed poor Said ; " but 
 I will yet make one request. I was trained by my father to 
 delight in all warlike exercises, and during my residence among 
 
THE FATE OF SAID. 59 
 
 the Arabs I attained great perfection in the art. Doubtless, 
 gracious lady, you are aware that in this city is a weekly tour- 
 nament. But in this tournament none can enter the lists who 
 is not provided with costly apparel and a richly-caparisoned 
 horse. Could you by your magic power so alter my face that I 
 should not be recognized as Kalum-Bek's servant, and provide 
 me the necessary weapons and articles of dress ?" 
 
 " That is a request worthy of thy brave spirit, noble youth," 
 replied the fairy, with animation. " Mark the situation of my 
 house well, so that you can readily find your way hither again. 
 Here every week you may find a horse, armour, weapons, and a 
 mask that shall render you quite secure from the most prying 
 eyes ; two armed and mounted squires shall be ready to attend 
 you. And now, Said, farewell. Be patient and hope : in six 
 months your twentieth birthday will arrive." 
 
 Said returned to his duty in the bazaar with revived spirits. 
 He was no longer desolate ; he had found a friend — a generous- 
 hearted, lovely, sympathising friend. And what though she were 
 an unearthly being? There was nothing to terrify the weakest 
 mind in her soft, feminine, though certainly more than humanly 
 beautiful aspect. 
 
 He continued to ruminate on this singular rencontre with his 
 protectress, until he reached the shop in the bazaar. He arrived 
 at a critical moment : Kalum-Bek was lying prostrate, sur- 
 rounded by a group of youths and children, who, dancing 
 sportively around him, prevented him from rising, and mocked 
 at his fruitless attempts to do so. Two well-dressed men stood 
 by, enjoying the scene. Said's spirit was ever roused to protect 
 the oppressed, even in the person of his harsh unjust master ; 
 his strong arm soon dispersed the more youthful portion of the 
 group. The two bystanders however, took their part, and asked 
 by what right Said interfered ? The youth answered warmly, 
 blows were exchanged, and the dispute only ended by Said giving 
 so severe a blow to one of his opponents as rendered him incapable 
 of further aggression, and induced the other to assist him in 
 effecting a retreat. 
 
 Said then assisted his crest-fallen master to rise, who over- 
 whelmed him with thanks, and, in the exuberance of his grati- 
 tude, proffered him his well-filled purse. Said declined the 
 money, but took advantage of the opportunity to request to be 
 allowed one holiday in the week ; to which his master, well 
 pleased to keep his gold, readily agreed; and for once Kalum- 
 Bek and his servant were satisfied with each other. 
 
GO THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 The following Wednesday, the day appointed for the tourna- 
 ment, Said availed himself of his newly-acquired liberty; he 
 hastened to the house of the benevolent fairy, but he was not 
 favoured by admittance to her presence. Her promise, how- 
 ever, was fulfilled. A phial was presented to him, the contents 
 of which, applied to his face, changed his complexion to an 
 olive tint, quite different from his natural one, and his hair to a 
 deeper black. He also put on a false dark beard, which gave 
 him the appearance of being ten years older than he really was. 
 He was then conducted to another room, where he found a 
 splendid dress prepared for him, which the Caliph himself need 
 not have disdained to wear. A servant courteously assisted him 
 to attire himself in a rich robe with silver flowers woven on a 
 red ground ; a breast-plate of silver circles, so skilfully devised 
 as to be perfectly flexible, and yield to every movement of the 
 body, yet so strong as to resist the most powerful thrust of the 
 sharpest lance ; a turban of fine linen, surmounted by a plume 
 of feathers, fastened by a diamond clasp; a Damascus blade, in 
 a richly embroidered sheath, the hilt of which glittered with 
 jewels of inestimable value, completed his dress ; and, having 
 surveyed himself (not without a feeling of complacency) in a 
 polished steel mirror, he hastened to descend the steps, at the 
 foot of which he found the magnificent horse destined for his 
 use, attended by two others, scarcely inferior, on which his 
 squires were mounted. He repaired to the place of rendezvous, 
 and, not to make the story too long, the illustrious stranger was 
 received with all due honour, and assigned a prominent place in 
 the ensuing combats, in which, it is almost needless to say, he 
 acquitted himself, if not to his own satisfaction, at least to the 
 admiration of all present. He vanquished the brother of the 
 Caliph, and the struggle between him and Ali, the Grand Vizier's 
 brother, accounted the strongest and bravest of men, was so 
 protracted and so equal, that it was agreed^to defer it until 
 another time. 
 
 The following day, the city resounded with the praises of the 
 handsome, noble, and victorious stranger ; and Said listened to 
 them with a throbbing heart, from his obscure corner in Kalum- 
 Bek's shop in the Bazaar. 
 
 For several weeks he repaired to the fairy's abode, and received 
 each time more magnificent apparel. He frequently saw the 
 beneficent donor, who applauded his courage, and incited him 
 to renewed efforts. Her exquisite beauty, still greater loveliness 
 of character and disposition, exercised a beneficial influence on 
 
THE FATE OF SAID. Cl 
 
 Said. She listened to all his complaints of the ignominy and 
 hardships of his present situation, to all his yearnings after 
 home, and thirst for friends and fame ; she soothed his harassed 
 spirits, urged him to patience, and prophesied brighter days to 
 come. 
 
 Said had now arrived at the crisis of his fate, the turning 
 point of his life. It was in his power, one evening, to render a 
 signal service to two individuals who were assaulted by robbers, 
 and but for Said's timely interference would have fared but ill. 
 Amid a profusion of thanks, one of these individuals drew Said 
 aside, discovered himself to him as the Caliph, presented him 
 with a purse heavily laden with gold, and placed on his finger a 
 costly ring, which would at any time open to the fortunate 
 youth the gates of the palace and the ear of the sovereign. 
 
 When Said returned to his master, he had already made up 
 his mind what steps to take, and lost no time in acquainting 
 Kalum-Bek of his intention to quit his service and return to his 
 father. The merchant was distracted at the idea; to lose his 
 " magnet of attraction " would be his ruin, and it should not be! 
 He raved — prayed — entreated — threatened — all in vain ! Said 
 was inflexible, and speedily quitted, with light heart, the tyrant's 
 dwelling. Kalum-Bek, however, was not one to submit easily 
 to a deprivation of his expected gains. He sent for the police, 
 acquainted them with Said's flight, vowed that he had no money 
 of his own, and swore that he had stolen some of his. A strict 
 search and hot pursuit were instituted : Said was discovered 
 setting out for Aleppo, in a caravan bound thither ; was suddenly 
 seized, tied hand and foot, and conducted to prison. In vain 
 the hapless youth asserted his innocence, and implored to be 
 taken before the Caliph. The purse filled with gold was drawn 
 out of his pocket : Kalum-Bek swore it belonged to him, and 
 Said was hastily condemned to complete the number of criminals 
 who were then lying in the prisons of Bagdad under sentence of 
 perpetual banishment to a desert island. Said was in despair ; 
 the convict ship was to sail on the morrow, and no hope re- 
 mained of any respite. Even Kalum-Bek pleaded for a mitiga- 
 tion of this severe sentence ; the unprincipled merchant had quite 
 defeated his own end, which was to retain a useful servant, and 
 now that his perjury was so unprofitable, he heartily repented 
 of it, and wished Said journeying homewards with his own law- 
 fully acquired gold, rather than setting sail for a desert island, 
 the victim of his avarice and perjury. But all remonstrance was 
 in vain. The officers of justice desired Kalum to leave the pri- 
 
 G 
 
62 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 soner to his fate. " Go you to your shop," said they : " you 
 have your gold, be content with that, and leave us to execute 
 judgment on the thief." 
 
 Said was then thrown into a loathsome dungeon, where he 
 found nineteen companions in misery ; they received him with 
 shouts of horrid laughter, and deeply muttered curses against 
 their judge and the Caliph. Said flung himself on his straw 
 pallet, and reviewed his past life. What a fate was his ! Torn 
 from his home and friends, to he first an Arab of the Desert, 
 hated, oppressed, his life in jeopardy every hour ; rescued from 
 this, to be the humble slave of a despotic, vindictive master ; to 
 be accused of crimes from which his soul revolted, and his hands 
 scorned to commit; now, exiled from his native country, an 
 outcast from society, the companion of the worst and wickedest 
 of men, the remainder of his life was to pass in labour, unmiti- 
 gated by one encouraging word, uncheered by one gleam of 
 hope ! Said's gentle heart was now the prey to every evil 
 passion. He reproached his father for parting from him, and 
 with unconcern for his fate ; he accused the lovely being to 
 whom he owed so much, of wilful forgetfulness of her protege ; 
 and, full of such bitter thoughts, he could offer up no prayer to 
 God, but, prayerless and hopeless and reckless, the wretched 
 youth embarked for the place of his banishment. 
 
 The prisoners were cast into a dismal hold, which admitted 
 but little light or air ; and the miseries endured by Said during 
 this short passage exceeded everything he had previously suf- 
 fered, or could, in his imagination, ever be again doomed to 
 undergo. 
 
 When the ship had nearly reached its destination, a contrary 
 wind arose, which drove it back in its course, and at length 
 increased to such a degree, that the fears of the sailors were 
 excited for the safety of the vessel. These fears were not 
 groundless ; the storm continued to increase in violence every 
 moment, until all command of the ship was lost, and it drove 
 with a frightful shock on a sunken reef of rocks. The shrieks 
 and prayers of the despairing crew were mingled in dreadful 
 ! concert with the howling of the storm. The prisoners, confined 
 j below, could only infer, from the noise above, what was the real 
 j state of the case. Their entreaties for deliverance were either 
 I unheard or unheeded ; no answer was returned, no hand ex- 
 tended to help them. At length their despair imparted strength; 
 they forced open the hatchway, ascended the steps, stood upon 
 the deck, breathed again the fresh air of heaven, witnessed once 
 
THE FATE OF SAID. 63 
 
 more the light of day, and gazed on the awful height of the waves 
 that threatened momentarily to engulph the shattered vessel. 
 But they could perceive no trace of any human being; the 
 captain and the crew had deserted the wreck, and had pro- 
 bably met only the earlier with their fate. Said lashed himself 
 to a strong plank, and committed himself to the waves. The 
 violence with which the breakers dashed over him soon deprived 
 him of consciousness, and he woke no more to a sense of his 
 situation, until he was roused by the exertions of others, and he 
 found himself on the seashore, surrounded by a group of splen- 
 didly-attired persons, who, on perceiving signs of life manifested, 
 directed the shipwrecked traveller to be conveyed into the house, 
 and treated with every consideration and all possible care. 
 
 Some days elapsed before Said was sufficiently recovered to 
 appear in the presence of his benefactor. He hastened, as soon 
 as his strength permitted him, to throw himself at his feet ; but 
 what was his astonishment when he recognised in the object of 
 his gratitude the Caliph Haroun Alraschid! 
 
 The Caliph did not at first recognise the youth, but when 
 Said drew from its hiding-place, his treasured ring, and modestly 
 recalled to his memoiy the occasion of the gift, he expressed 
 himself most desirous to fulfil all the promises of which it was 
 the pledge. Said proffered but two requests : he desired nothing 
 but the vindication of his character in Bagdad, and then a speedy 
 restoration to his parent. The Caliph immediately prepared to 
 return to the city, accompanied by Said and a numerous suite ; 
 he lost no time, on arriving there, in summoning the police- 
 officer who had apprehended Said at Kalum-Bek's instigation, 
 and the judge who had so summarily convicted and condemned 
 him. The following day, as the Caliph, the Grand Vizier, and 
 Said were about to repair to the presence chamber to receive 
 them, Mesrour, the chamberlain, informed his lord that a relation 
 of his, by name Kalum-Bek, a worthy merchant in the Bazaar, 
 desired justice from him. 
 
 " He brings a charge," continued Mesrour, " against a 
 traveller from Aleppo, who claims from him his son, a good-for- 
 nothing lad, I believe, who was but a short time in Kalum-Bek's 
 service, robbed him, and fled no one knows whither." 
 
 " I will decide between them," answered the Caliph ; " admit 
 them to my presence." 
 
 Whilst Mesrour was absent from the chamber, the Caliph 
 whispered to Said, 
 
 " The traveller from Aleppo is none other than your poor old 
 
 g 2 
 
64 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 father; he shall see how wisely I will judge. I will give him 
 reason to declare me to be a second Soloman ! Hasten, Said, 
 to conceal yourself behind the canopy of the throne until I call 
 for you, and let the police officers whom we expect be detained 
 without until I summon them." 
 
 Said's heart beat audibly as he beheld his father advance 
 towards him. What a change two years had wrought in his 
 appearance ! His frame was much bowed, his cheek pale, his 
 eye sunken, and his step that of a decrepid old man. The 
 youth could scarcely restrain himself from immediately relieving 
 his poor father's anxiety concerning him ; and still more 
 intensely did he long for permission to leave his place of con- 
 cealment when Kalum-Bek's cunning face appeared in sight, 
 and the echo of his self-satisfied voice, as he whispered to his 
 cousin the chamberlain, fell on his ear. 
 
 As soon as the Caliph had taken his place on the throne, the 
 Grand Vizier commanded silence, and demanded to know who 
 appeared as plaintiff before his master. Kalum-Bek stepped 
 forward with an unabashed countenance, and said : 
 
 " Yesterday, as I was standing at the door of my shop in the 
 bazaar, the crier passed, accompanied by the defendant; he 
 held a purse in his hand, the contents of which he offered to 
 any one who could give him information respecting a youth 
 named Said, the son of Benezar of Aleppo. You must know, 
 O Caliph, that this Said had been in my service. I therefore 
 stepped forward, and said, ' Stop, the purse is mine. I know 
 the young man well.' This old man who now appears as the 
 defendant would have embraced me in his joy — ' I am Benezar/ 
 said he, 'where is my son Said?' I then informed him how I 
 had found his son in the desert, restored him to life, received 
 him into my house, hired him as my servant, and treated him 
 with implicit confidence and unbounded kindness. I further 
 related to him how this same Said had abused my hospitality, 
 confidence, and kindness ; had robbed me of my property, and 
 absconded from the city. I then demanded the reward offered 
 for any information concerning him ; but this unreasonable old 
 man positively refused to give it to me, asserted that his son 
 was a noble, honourable youth, incapable of committing such a 
 crime, and, in short, accused me of the grossest falsehood." 
 
 It was now Benezar's turn to speak. He simply said that 
 he knew his son must be innocent of the offence imputed to 
 him, and besought the Caliph to investigate the matter. 
 
 " I hope," said Haroun, " you brought the young man in 
 
THE FATE OF SAID. 65 
 
 question before a court of justice : it was your duty to do so, 
 Kalum-Bek." 
 
 "I did so," answered Kalum, with confidence, looking 
 mockingly at the dejected Benezar. " I delivered him up to 
 justice immediately." 
 
 " Let the prefect of the police be summoned," cried the 
 Caliph, and to Kalum-Bek's astonishment, he was confronted 
 in a moment with the officer, to whom he had so fearfully lied 
 and perjured himself. 
 
 " Did you allow the young man to defend himself? " asked 
 the Caliph of the new comer. " Did you allow him time to 
 refute the charges, and procure witnesses of his innocence ? " 
 
 "He called for no witnesses," answered the prefect; "he 
 only requested admission to your presence O Caliph ! " 
 
 " I do not remember the case being brought before me," 
 replied Haroun. " Are you sure the youth appealed to me ? " 
 
 "We could not grant his request," returned the police 
 officer. " It would occupy all your time, Caliph, were we to 
 inform you of every idle appeal to your justice." 
 
 "True," said the Caliph, " if the robbery were clearly proved 
 against him, there was no necessity for my interference. You 
 had witnesses, of course, to prove the abstraction of the gold ; 
 and you, Kalum-Bek, can prove the gold stolen to belong to 
 you ? " 
 
 " Witnesses ! proof ! " repeated Kalum, turning rather pale. 
 " No, I believe there were no witnesses ; and as to the gold 
 belonging to me, you know, O commander of the faithful, one 
 piece of gold cannot be very readily distinguished from another." 
 
 " How do you know, then, that the gold belonged to you ? " 
 asked the Caliph. 
 
 " By the purse in which it was contained," answered Kalum. 
 
 " Have you the purse with you ? " pursued the Caliph. 
 
 " Here it is," said the merchant, drawing forth the purse, and 
 handing it to the Grand Vizier to give to the Caliph. 
 
 No sooner did the Vizier behold the purse, than he cried with 
 a terrible voice to the affrighted Kalum — 
 
 " Your purse — wretch ? By the beard of the Prophet, 
 the purse is mine. I gave it, filled with gold pieces, at the 
 Caliph's command, to a brave young man, who rescued us 
 from great danger." 
 
 " Can you swear that the purse belonged to you ? " asked 
 the Caliph of the Grand Vizier. 
 
 " I can," answered he ; " my daughter herself netted it." 
 
66 
 
 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 "Then," said Haroun, "has the merchant, Kalum-Bek, 
 sworn falsely, and the prefect given false judgment; but we 
 will give every man his due. We will have witnesses to the 
 fact. Call thy daughter hither," he continued to the Grand 
 Vizier. " We will place several purses before her, and she shall 
 identify the one of her own making." 
 
 A messenger was dispatched to the Vizier's house for the 
 young lady, and a few minutes afterwards, a train of veiled 
 females entered the court, the foremost of whom advanced to 
 the foot of the throne. The Caliph rose from his seat, and, out 
 of deference to her sex and rank, himself presented to this new 
 witness the purses from which she was to make her selection. 
 As the lady slightly raised her veil to examine the purses more 
 distinctly, Said, who from his place of concealment beheld 
 all that was passing in the court, caught a glimpse of her 
 features ; he could restrain himself no longer ; but throwing 
 aside the drapery of the throne which had concealed him from 
 sight, he flung himself at the feet of the Grand Vizier's 
 daughter, exclaiming — 
 
 " It is herself ! my protectress ! my benefactress ! my good 
 genius ! my guardian angel ! " 
 
 The whole court was thrown into indescribable confusion. 
 The lady suddenly retreated with her attendants, and had dis- 
 appeared from the scene, before any explanation of the youth's 
 recognition had been given. 
 
 Benezar threw himself into the arms of his son, and wept 
 aloud. The wicked merchant gazed from one to the other in 
 speechless astonishment ; he was soon made to understand all 
 that was passing around him. 
 
 Haroun Alraschid was the only one who retained his 
 presence of mind. He reascended the throne, and commanding 
 silence, stated the facts of the case too clearly for them to be 
 misunderstood. He condemned Kalum-Bek to refund the gold 
 pieces. 
 
 " And as for you," he continued, addressing the prefect, " I 
 banish you for ten years from this city and its vicinity ; during 
 which time you may study the principles of justice, and learn 
 to love the law of equity." 
 
 Kalum-Bek was congratulating himself on escaping so easily, 
 when the Caliph ordered the bastinado to be administered to 
 him, and his punishment would have been very severe, had not 
 Said petitioned for his pardon. 
 
 As soon as the court was cleared, the Grand Vizier demanded 
 
THE FATE OF SAID. 
 
 07 
 
 of Said, what was his acquaintance with his (laughter ? Said 
 entreated to he allowed to defer his answer until he had spoken 
 with the young lady, and the Caliph, whose esteem and affection 
 for Said increased every moment, enforced the request. 
 
 The result of their interview may he stated in a few words, 
 the lady acknowledged to her father that her interest had been 
 strongly excited for the handsome melancholy youth whom she 
 frequently saw in the bazaar, that she felt convinced he was 
 other than he seemed, and desirous to learn somewhat of his 
 history, had contrived to speak with him, in the manner before 
 stated. Unwilling to acknowledge the interest she took in him, 
 and fearful that if offered in her own name, his pride and 
 delicacy might restrain him from accepting pecuniary assistance, 
 she had availed herself of the knowledge she had acquired of 
 his story, to perform the part of the fairy whom he so confi- 
 dently believed to exercise a mysterious influence over his fate. 
 
 Said willingly agreed to this transformation of his protectress 
 into a being of mortal mould ; he remained at Bagdad, and not 
 long after the events related, united his fate for ever with that 
 of the Grand Vizier's lovely daughter. 
 
 A murmur of applause ran through the hall as the slave 
 ceased his tale, in which the young men heartily joined. 
 
 " Look," exclaimed the young merchant, " at that handsome 
 young man at the end of the row. Truly it is a shame to 
 think of freeing him. He is the handsomest slave in the whole 
 country. Only look at his sweet countenance, his expressive 
 eyes, and his fine figure. He might have a light occupation 
 given him — such as the fly-fanner, or pipe-carrier ; this would 
 be mere sport to him, while he himself would be an ornament 
 to the house he lived in. It is but three days since the Sheik 
 bought him, and now he is giving him his liberty ; it is folly — 
 a sin ! " 
 
 " Blame not the wisest man in Egypt," said the old man 
 energetically. " Have 1 not already told you that he gives him 
 his freedom because he thinks it an action that will draw down 
 the blessing of God. You say that he is beautiful and well 
 made, and you say truly ; the Sheik's son also, whom the pro- 
 phet will one day restore to his father's arms, was a lovely boy, 
 and must by this time be also tall and fine-looking. Ought he 
 then, for love of his gold, to free a cheap and weakly slave, and 
 then entertain hopes of seeing his child again ? No ; whoever 
 
68 
 
 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA, 
 
 designs performing a good action, should do it willingly or not 
 at all." 
 
 " And see," said another, " how constantly the Sheik's eyes 
 are fixed on that young man ; and I have made the same re- 
 mark the whole evening. During the relation of the stories, if 
 his looks wandered elsewhere, they always returned to rest on 
 the noble features of the freedman. It must be no small sacri- 
 fice to part with him." 
 
 " Do you imagine that the loss of a thousand tomans will be 
 felt by him who each day receives the treble of the sum ?" said 
 the old man. " If his glance rests with sorrow on the youth, 
 it is because he reminds him that his son may also be languish- 
 ing in a foreign land, where perchance some compassionate 
 master will in time restore him to his country and his friends." 
 
 " You are most likely right," said the young merchant ; " and 
 it shames me to think how easily I am led to put the worst 
 construction on people's motives, while you always seem to 
 regard the brighter side of things ; but mankind are everywhere 
 so bad — have you not found it so, my old friend ?" 
 
 " Not all of them," replied the old man. " Once I felt as you 
 do ; I listened to every-thing against my fellow-creatures, and 
 imagined myself injured by them, until I contracted the worst 
 possible opinion of them : but all at once it occurred to me that 
 Allah, whose justice equals his wisdom, would never have 
 permitted a state of unmixed evil to exist upon this beautiful 
 earth. I bethought me of all that I had seen, or heard, or ex- 
 perienced of evil, and I found that I had very much overrated 
 it, and had entirely overlooked the good. The works of mercy 
 which I had witnessed passed unregarded, and in the union and 
 harmony of virtuous families I had seen nothing to be com- 
 mended ; while, on the contrary, everything either improper or 
 wicked, which I perceived in the conduct of others, had made a 
 deep impression on my memory. I now began to examine 
 things with other eyes, and rejoiced in the discovery that, 
 though evil unhappily predominated (permitted, doubtless, by 
 the Supreme for some wise purpose), yet that good was not so 
 sparingly shed abroad as I had been led to imagine." 
 
 Here the old man was interrupted by the overseer of the 
 slaves, who brought a request from the Sheik that he would 
 form one of his circle. The young men were not a little sur- 
 prised at so distinguished a mark of respect being paid to their 
 old favourite, whom they had considered as little above a mendi- 
 cant. On his leaving them, they detained the overseer, to 
 
AND HIS SLAVES. 69 
 
 question him concerning the name and rank of this now to 
 them mysterious person. 
 
 " What !" exclaimed the person interrogated, while he clasped 
 his hands in astonishment, " do you not know him ?" 
 
 " Not in the least." 
 
 " And yet," continued the overseer, " you have been seen 
 several times in his company, for my lord the Sheik has himself 
 observed it. It was only lately that he said, i Those young peo- 
 ple must possess some merit to have attracted that worthy man's 
 notice.' " 
 
 " But who is he ?" said the young merchant impatiently. 
 
 " You must be joking in pretending not to know him," 
 answered the overseer. " No one enters this hall without 
 especial permission, and this very day the old man requested 
 leave to introduce some young men into it, and received the 
 gracious reply, that in Ah Banu's house he might ever do as 
 he pleased." 
 
 " Leave us no longer in suspense, we entreat you," said the 
 young men, " for on our honour we know nothing of him but 
 as a chance acquaintance." 
 
 " Well then you may indeed consider yourselves as fortunate, 
 for you have become acquainted with so celebrated a man, that 
 his very notice is an honour to you. He is no less a person 
 than Mustapha, the learned dervish." 
 
 " Mustapha ! the learned Mustapha, who educated the Sheik's 
 son ! he who has written so much, and travelled to all parts of 
 the world ? Have we indeed talked with Mustapha, and that 
 without the slightest reverence ?" 
 
 For a long time did the youths converse together on the sub- 
 ject of the dervish Mustapha, rejoicing in the conviction that 
 so venerable and celebrated a person had not thought them 
 unworthy of his notice, and had even allowed them the privi- 
 lege of contending with him in argument. They were now 
 much surprised by a message from the Sheik, requesting to 
 speak to them. Their hearts beat quickly, for never had they 
 spoken to a person of so much consequence, even in private, 
 much less before so large an assembly ; however, they calmed 
 their agitation, and followed the overseer to the presence of the 
 Sheik. 
 
 Ali Banu was seated on a richly-embroidered cushion, 
 drinking sherbet ; on his right hand sat the dervish Mustapha, 
 whose unpretending garments were spread over magnificent 
 pillows, and his mean-looking sandals rested on a handsome 
 
 H 
 
70 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA, 
 
 Persian carpet. His distinguished bearing and intelligent eye, 
 however, seemed to give him full claim to the seat to which he 
 had been invited. He appeared to be endeavouring to console 
 and encourage the Sheik, who looked grave and anxious. The 
 young men could not but fancy that it was with the view of 
 changing the current of his thought, that they were summoned 
 before him. * 
 
 " Welcome, young men," said the Sheik, " welcome to the 
 house of Ali Banu. My old friend here merits my best thanks 
 for bringing me acquainted with you, although I think he might 
 have accomplished it a little sooner. Which of you is the 
 scribe ?" 
 
 " I, my lord, at your service," said the person alluded to, 
 while he crossed his arms, and bowed profoundly. 
 
 " You are very fond of listening to tales, and of reading fine 
 verses and sentiments, are you not?" 
 
 The youth blushed, and replied, " My lord, to me there is no 
 greater pleasure ; it forms the mind, while it passes the time 
 happily away. Every one to their taste. I blame no one who 
 does not." 
 
 " Very well, very well," replied the Sheik, while he beckoned 
 the second youth to approach. " Who are you ?" said he. 
 
 " My lord, I am a surgeon's assistant, and have been fortunate 
 enough to perform some cures." 
 
 " Well," answered the Sheik, " and you have also a taste for 
 good eating, I hear. You have a fancy for dining with those 
 of your friends whose tables are most plentifully covered." 
 
 The young man looked ashamed, for he felt that the old man 
 had betrayed his foible ; but, summoning all his courage, he re- 
 plied, " My lord, I confess that I reckon a participation in the good 
 things of life, in the society of friends, to be one of the most 
 pleasurable things imaginable. My purse, it is true, only allows 
 me to regale my friends on water melons, and such like humble 
 fare. We eat them merrily, though of course our pleasure would 
 increase with greater means of entertainment." 
 
 This candid answer delighted the Sheik, who laughed right 
 heartily. " Which is the young merchant ?" said he. 
 
 The youth advanced with a graceful bow, like one who had 
 been accustomed to good society. " And you," said the. Sheik, 
 " you are fond of music and dancing in all their perfection." 
 
 To which the youth replied, " I see, my lord, that our old ac- 
 quaintance here has been amusing you with an account of our 
 respective follies. If it has succeeded in bringing a smile to 
 
AND HIS SLAVES. 71 
 
 your lip, I cannot regret the share I have borne in the ridicule. 
 As to music and dancing, nothing to me can be so delightful. 
 Think not, my lord, that I blame those who do not — " 
 
 " Enough," said the Sheik, waving his hand, with a smile. 
 " You mean to say, ' Every one after his own way of thinking.' 
 But there is one more, he who has so great a desire of travelling. 
 Who are you, young sir ?" 
 
 " My lord, I am a landscape painter, either in fresco or on 
 canvas. I have the most ardent wish to see foreign countries, 
 where after enjoying the sight of their beauties for a time, I 
 may transfer them to canvas, and bring them away, under the 
 conviction that a scene from nature is always more beautiful 
 than the finest of mere inventions." 
 
 A shade passed over the Sheik's countenance, whilst he at- 
 tentively regarded the young man. 
 
 " I too had once a dear son," said he, "who must, if he lives, 
 be now about the same age as yourselves. Had he been spared 
 to me, you would have formed his companions, and your every 
 wish should have been gratified. With one he would have read, 
 with another have frequented society, where music was to be 
 heard, with a third have entertained friends and kept good 
 cheer, and with the painter have wandered through all the 
 beauties of his native land. But Allah has otherwise willed it, 
 and without a murmur I bend to that will. Still the power re- 
 mains to me to fulfil your wishes, and you shall depart from Ali 
 Banu's house with joyful hearts. You, my learned friend," 
 said he, turning to the scribe, " shall henceforth occupy the si- 
 tuation of my librarian. Add to the number of my books when 
 you will, and the only task I shall impose upon you will be to 
 repeat to me anything beautiful you may chance to meet with in 
 them. You who know what constitutes a good table shall be the 
 purveyor of my entertainments. I live alone and unjoyously, 
 but it is expected that in the office I hold I should invite a great 
 many persons to my table. You will represent me on these oc- 
 casions, and invite your own friends whenever it pleases you, 
 and I promise you something better than water melons to regale 
 them on. The young merchant I must not take from his lu- 
 crative and honourable employment, but every evening, my 
 young friend, you will find my dancers and singers at your 
 service ; and you, Mr. painter, shall have the means of visiting 
 foreign lands, and perfecting your eye by practice. My trea- 
 surer shall give you a thousand pieces of gold to begin your 
 journey with; also two horses and a slave, with which you 
 
 H 2 
 
72 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA, 
 
 may start to-morrow. Go where you will, and whatever beau- 
 ties of landscape you may see, paint them for me." 
 
 The young men knew not how to believe such joyful tidings, 
 and their gratitude rendered them speechless : they would have 
 kissed the ground before their benefactor's feet, had he allowed 
 it. " Give your thanks," said he, " to this wise man, who 
 pointed you out to me, and believe me that I am amply repaid 
 by the pleasure of knowing four such cheerful young men as 
 yourselves." 
 
 The dervish Mustapha declined all thanks. " You see," 
 said he, " how dangerous it is to judge hastily. Have I said too 
 much of this excellent man ?" 
 
 " Let us have one more story from our newly-freed slaves," 
 interrupted the Sheik, and the young men retired to their for- 
 mer stations. 
 
 The handsome slave, to whom all eyes had been long at- 
 tracted, now rose, and, bowing to the Sheik, began in a sweet- 
 toned voice the following relation : — 
 
AND HIS SLAVES. 73 
 
 Cfte Movy of aimanstin 
 
 ir, the persons who have had the honour of speak- 
 ing before you to-day were enabled to relate 
 many wonderful circumstances, which their fo- 
 reign travel has supplied them with, while I with 
 shame confess that I know not a single tale 
 worthy of your notice. Nevertheless, if it would not weary 
 you, I would relate some singular adventures which befel a 
 friend of mine. 
 
 In the Algerine privateer, from which your compassion re- 
 leased me, was a young man about my own age, who had no 
 appearance of being born to the slave's dress which he wore. 
 As my greatest discomfort arose from the necessity of associating 
 with rough ill-mannered persons, with whom I had no ideas 
 in common, or those whose language I did not understand, I 
 endeavoured to pass as much time as I could with this young 
 man, whose name was Almansor. He was by speech an 
 Egyptian. One day, while conversing very happily together, 
 we agreed to relate our mutual adventures ; those of my friend, 
 however, far surpassed my own in interest. 
 
 The father of Almansor was a man of some consequence in 
 a large Egyptian town, the name of which he did not tell me. 
 The days of his childhood were passed with loving friends, and 
 amid the most brilliant prosperity. His education, however, was 
 not neglected ; his mind was advanced for his age, and his fa- 
 ther, who was a very superior person, had instructed him in the 
 ways of virtue, and had engaged as a tutor an extremely learned 
 man, by whom he was fully instructed in all that was necessary 
 for a youth to know. When Almansor was about ten years of 
 age, a war broke out between his country and the Franks, who 
 came over the sea to prosecute their hostile intentions. The 
 boy's father did not appear to have much favoured these people, 
 
 H 3 
 
74 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA, 
 
 for one day, while he was preparing to attend the morning 
 prayer at the Mosque, they entered his house, and after first 
 interrogating his wife as to her sentiments towards their nation, 
 which she declined to give, they carried off her son to their 
 camp. 
 
 [During this recital the Sheik sat with his face buried in his 
 hands, and a murmur oT displeasure ran through the hall. 
 The friends of the Sheik with one accord exclaimed against 
 the folly of the young man, who, instead of administering com- 
 fort to his wounded mind, had but renewed his sorrow. The 
 overseer of the slaves sharply reprimanded the youth, who ap- 
 peared to be profoundly astonished at the effect his story had 
 produced, and demanded what there could be in his narrative 
 that could have so much affected the Sheik. At these words 
 Ali Banu turned him round, and entreated his friends to ab- 
 stain from all severity towards the young man, "For how can he," 
 said he, " in the three days which he has passed under this 
 roof, have become acquainted with my melancholy history? 
 Think you that among all the horrors committed by these 
 Franks no other father can have suffered as I have, and may 
 not this very Almansor — but go on with your story, my 
 young friend." The young slave bowed, and continued] — 
 
 In this manner was the young Almansor conveyed to the 
 hostile camp, where, however, he experienced the kindest treat- 
 ment; for one of the leaders, delighted with the boy's conversa- 
 tion, which he understood by means of an interpreter, allowed 
 him to share his tent, and took an apparently deep interest in his 
 well-doing ; notwithstanding all which, however, the child con- 
 tinued to languish for his parents. For many days he wept un- 
 ceasingly ; but his sorrow produced no effect on the persons 
 by whom he was surrounded. On the breaking up of the camp, 
 Almansor dared to hope that he might be restored to his home ; 
 but no, the army changed its quarters, and carried on hostilities 
 against the Mamelukes. 
 
 Almansor accompanied them, after vainly imploring the 
 generals to send him to his parents ; they told him that they 
 held him as a hostage for his father's faith. Thus did many 
 days of march pass away. One day, however, a movement in 
 the army took place which did not escape the boy's observation. 
 There was a talk about packing up, returning, embarking ; and 
 Almansor's joy was at its full, for surely now they would set 
 him at liberty. Horses and waggons were ordered to the sea 
 coast, and they speedily arrived in sight of the ships at anchor. 
 
AND HIS SLAVES. 75 
 
 The embarkation of the soldiers commenced, but night came 
 on before a quarter of the boats had left the shore. Almansor 
 counted each hour as it passed, in expectation of being returned 
 to his family, until wearied out with watching, he sank into a 
 deep slumber, so deep as to warrant the idea that something 
 had been mixed with the water which he drank, for the purpose 
 of stupifying him. On awaking, he found himself in a small 
 room, which appeared perfectly strange to him. He sprang from 
 the couch on which he had been laid, but fell on touching the 
 ground, which rocked to and fro, while every thing in the little 
 chamber appeared to dance around him. Reaching out his 
 hands, he clung to the wainscoting, and endeavoured to make 
 his way out of the room. 
 
 An extraordinary roaring and hissing sounded in his ears, 
 and he knew not whether he was awake or in a dream, never 
 having either seen or heard any thing like it before. At last he 
 reached a narrow flight of steps, and, having with some difficulty 
 mounted to the top, experienced the deepest anguish at the 
 sight that met his eyes. All was sky and sea, and he discovered 
 himself to be on board ship. Amidst his weeping and lamen- 
 tation he insisted on being taken back, and even endeavoured 
 to throw himself into the sea that he might swim home ; but 
 the Franks held him fast, and endeavoured to pacify him with 
 a promise of restoring him to his parents on condition of his 
 obedience. 
 
 These foreigners had, however, no intention of keeping their 
 word, for the ship was yet many days at sea, and at last ap- 
 proached not the coast of Egypt, but Europe. Before they 
 could effect a landing, however, the vessel, in which Almansor 
 was, was attacked by a ship belonging to another nation, and 
 he was made prisoner a second time. His new masters treated 
 him kindly, and on hearing his story, promised in due time to 
 liberate him. At last they arrived at a seaport town, and dis- 
 embarked. Their journey was continued then for many days 
 through the interior of the country, and wherever they went, a 
 crowd collected to look at Almansor, as they had spread a report 
 that he was the son of the king of Egypt, who had sent him to 
 Europe to be educated. 
 
 After travelling several days more, they arrived at a large 
 town, which formed the termination of their journey, where 
 Almansor was placed in the house of a physician, to be in- 
 structed in the manners and customs of the country. 
 
 An immediate change of dress was deemed necessary for 
 
76 the" sheik of Alexandria, 
 
 the young Mussulman, who found the European fashion ex- 
 tremely confined and uncomfortable, and much less handsome 
 than his Egyptian garb. No longer did he dare to cross his 
 arms over his breast in the eastern form of salutation. On the 
 contrary, his respect to any person was to be shown by pulling 
 off the hideous felt hat which he wore, in common with every 
 one else, with one hand, while he waved the other, accompany- 
 ing this motion with a scrape of his right foot. No longer did 
 he dare to sit cross legged, as he was wont to do in his native 
 land. A high-backed chair was the only seat allowed him, 
 while his legs vainly endeavoured to reach the ground. The 
 very method of eating had something strange in it to him, as 
 he had been totally unused to an iron fork. 
 
 He was forbidden to use the eastern expression of " Salem 
 aleikum" under pain of a beating ; he hardly dared to think, 
 much less to speak or write, in his own tongue ; and although 
 he continued to dream in his own beloved accents, he would 
 perhaps have entirely forgotten the language had it not been for 
 an inhabitant of the town, with whom he contracted an intimate 
 friendship. This person was an old and very learned professor, 
 who professed a slight knowledge of many of the eastern lan- 
 guages, such as Arabic, Persian, Coptic, and even Chinese. 
 Of course he was regarded as a prodigy by his townsfolk, and 
 he received a very ample remuneration for the lessons he gave. 
 He invited the young Almansor to visit him one day in every 
 week, and treated him with the greatest kindness, setting be- 
 fore him the choicest fruits, &c. &c; so that the youth felt him- 
 self at home. 
 
 This old man indulged in the most extraordinary fancies. He 
 ordered for Almansor a suit of such clothes as persons of the 
 highest rank wear in Egypt : these he placed in a spare room 
 of his house until the day of Almansor s arrival, when he had 
 him arrayed in them, and conducted into an apartment of the 
 house which it pleased the old professor to name his little 
 Arabia. This room was filled with palms, bamboos, and 
 young cedars, and was decked with the most beautiful 
 flowers of the east. Persian carpets were spread over the 
 floors, and around the walls were cushioned seats; but no 
 table or chair or article of European furniture was to be seen. 
 On one of these cushions sat the venerable man, with as changed 
 an appearance from that which he ordinarily wore as was pos- 
 sible to conceive. A fine Turkish shawl was wound round his 
 head in form of a turban. A flowing grey beard descended to 
 
AND HIS SLAVES. 77 
 
 his waist, which looked perfectly in character with so profound 
 a sage. His dress was a talar, made out of a brocaded dres- 
 sing gown, wide Turkish trowsers, yellow slippers ; and peace- 
 fid as he was at all other times, he on these days girded on a 
 Turkish scimitar, and stuck a poignard in his belt, inlaid with 
 imitations of precious stones. He, moreover, smoked a pipe of 
 two ells in length, and was attended by servants also dressed in 
 the eastern fashion, the half of whom had their faces and hands 
 coloured black. 
 
 Almansor could not help feeling at first much surprised at 
 this exhibition, but he soon found that the hours he passed in 
 the society of this old man were the happiest of his life. He 
 was not obliged here to speak the language of the Europeans, 
 or to accost his friend in any other manner than that of his native 
 land ; to which the old Persian would answer with great com- 
 placency, and then sign to the boy to seat himself by his side ; 
 when they began to speak alternately in the Persian, Arabic, 
 and Coptic languages, calling this a truly learned eastern con- 
 versation. Near the professor stood a servant, or, as his master 
 on such days called him, a slave, with a large book in his hand. 
 This proved, however, to be no other than a dictionary, which 
 was resorted to whenever the old man by a sign declared him- 
 self at a loss for a word. Sherbet and such-like refreshments 
 were then brought in Turkish vessels, and Almansor, to his old 
 friend's great delight, could not but say that everything was 
 arranged in strict conformity with the customs of the east. The 
 professor possessed a great many Persian manuscripts, and, as 
 Almansor read very fluently in that language, it was of great use 
 to the old man to read them over with the boy, and thus cor- 
 rect his own pronunciation. 
 
 These were indeed days of happiness to poor Almansor, and 
 seldom did he leave his kind friend's house without a present of 
 some kind or other : at one time, of money ; at another, of linen 
 or such-like useful stuff, with which he was not provided by the 
 doctor. Some years thus passed away, but his desire to see his 
 home again was unabated. At the age of fifteen he met 
 with an adventure which had a great influence on his future 
 fate. 
 
 One day as he was crossing a bridge over a broad river that 
 runs through the town, he saw leaning on the balustrade, a man 
 clad in the dress of a simple citizen. This person turned round 
 and looked at Almansor, and seemed to take an interest in the 
 appearance of the young Egyptian. He accosted him, and on 
 
78 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA, 
 
 discovering his birth and country, he desired Almansor to relate 
 to him his story. Almansor pleased to have met with a new 
 friend at once complied, and related his whole history, ending 
 at last with a flood of bitter tears, and inquiring of the stranger 
 if it were in his power to assist him in getting back to his own 
 dear country. 
 
 The person to whom he spoke smiled, and asked him in what 
 manner he thought he could assist him. 
 
 " I feel," said Almansor, " that I have no right to demand 
 anything of you who are an entire stranger to me, especially as 
 you seem to be poor like myself, but perhaps you are acquainted 
 with some of the people about the sultan of this country, 
 some janissary, reis effendi, or capitan bashaw ; could you not 
 put in a good word for me, through them ? Get them to 
 ask the sultan to set me at liberty, and to give me some money 
 to take me home ; and, above all things, keep it secret from 
 the doctor and the Arabian professor." 
 
 "Who is the Arabian professor ?" asked the stranger. 
 
 " Oh, he is a most wonderful man, about whom I will talk 
 to you another time. If those two were to hear of it, I should 
 never get away. But will you speak for me ?" 
 
 " Come with me," replied his friend, " we will see what I can 
 do for you." 
 
 "Now?" cried the boy in alarm. "Now! not for the 
 world ! the doctor would beat me. I must make haste home." 
 
 " What have you in that basket ?" asked the other, de- 
 taining him. 
 
 Almansor coloured, and seemed averse to shewing the con- 
 tents of his basket ; but at length he said — " Sir, I am here 
 a lower servant than the lowest of my father's slaves ; my 
 avaricious master sends me every day a league, for the sake 
 of saving a few pence in the purchase of fish and vegetables, as 
 the dirty market over the bridge is cheaper than that in our 
 part of the town. Only look at these nasty herrings, this 
 handful of salad, and this bit of butter, for which I have every 
 day to walk two leagues. Alas ! if my father did but know it !" 
 
 The person to whom Almansor spoke was much affected by 
 the youth's condition, and begged him to take courage and go 
 with him. " The doctor," said he, " shall do you no harm, even 
 if he be obliged for one day to forego his herrings and his salad. 
 Be of good heart." So taking Almansor by the hand, he led 
 him away. The thought of the doctor made the boy's heart 
 beat loud ; but he felt so much confidence in the words and 
 
AND HIS SLAVES. 
 
 79 
 
 manner of his friend, t hat he decided to follow wherever he 
 might lead him. They arrived at last at a noble palace into 
 which the stranger entered. 
 
 " Do you live here, sir ?" asked Almansor. 
 
 " This is my house," answered his friend, " and I will now 
 present you to my wife." 
 
 " Well, you have a very fine dwelling ; I suppose the sultan 
 provides your lodging for you," continued the boy. 
 
 " Yes ; I live at the king's expense," answered his com- 
 panion, as they entered the palace. 
 
 After mounting a broad and handsome staircase, they entered 
 a spacious hall, where Almansor was desired to deposit his 
 basket. His companion then led him into a magnificent apart- 
 ment, where sat a lady on a couch. The gentleman spoke to her 
 in a strange language on some subject which caused them both a 
 great deal of amusement. The lady then asked Almansor, 
 a great many questions concerning Egypt; after which the 
 gentleman told him that he thought it would be better for them 
 to go at once to the king, and endeavour to interest him in his 
 favour. 
 
 Almansor was dreadfully alarmed at the proposition ; but he 
 thought of his present misery, and of the dear home from which 
 he was banished, and said, " God gives courage to the unhappy, 
 and he will not desert a poor boy like me. I will go with you 
 to the sultan ; but tell me, am I to go on my knees to him ? 
 Am I to bow my forehead to the earth ? What must I do ?" 
 
 Both his friends now laughed again, and assured him that 
 this was not necessary. 
 
 "Is he very terrible and awful to look at?" asked the boy; 
 " and has he a long beard ? and flashing eyes ? tell me, what sort 
 of looking person is he ?" 
 
 His guide laughed anew, and answered, " I will not de- 
 scribe him to you, Almansor ; you shall yourself guess what 
 sort of person he is ; but I will give you a token by which to 
 know him. Every one takes off his hat in the presence of the 
 king, or sultan as you call him : you may therefore be sure that 
 he who retains his hat on his head is he himself." 
 
 Thus saying, he took him by the hand, and led him into the 
 hall of audience. The nearer he approached to the council 
 chamber, the louder beat his heart ; and by the time he reached 
 the door, his knees knocked together with alarm. On its being 
 opened by a servant, he beheld a half circle of about thirty 
 persons all richly dressed, and covered with gold and stars, 
 
80 THE SHEIK OF ALEXANDRIA, 
 
 as is the custom in that country with the agas and bashaws of 
 the king ; and Almansor could not help thinking what a very 
 mean appearance his companion would make amongst so much 
 parade. Every hat was taken off, and as Almansor looked 
 around for him who had the right of retaining it, his eyes rested 
 on his companion, whose hat, wonderful to relate, remained 
 unmoved. The boy's astonishment was excessive. After a 
 moment, however, of perplexity, he lifted his own hat, exclaim- 
 ing, as he did so — 
 
 " Salem aleikum, are you sultan ?" 
 
 "You have rightly guessed," answered the king (for he it 
 was) ; " and, besides that, I am your friend. Say no longer that 
 you are unhappy, but only that a complication of unfortunate 
 circumstances have conspired against you. God hath not for- 
 saken you ; and his Providence has so ordered it that you 
 should have this day met each other. Be assured that you 
 shall return to your country by the first vessel that sails. Go 
 now to my wife, and entertain her with an account of your 
 Arabian professor. I will have the herrings and the salad sent 
 to the doctor ; for you will remain, until your departure from 
 this country, in my palace." 
 
 On his ceasing to speak, Almansor threw himself at his feet, 
 and, kissing his hand, begged his pardon for not knowing that 
 he was the king, owing to his not having seen anything about 
 him to make him think so. 
 
 " You are right," said the king ; " when a ruler chooses to be 
 disguised, it is not always easy to read his dignity on his fore- 
 head." 
 
 He then waved his hand, and the boy withdrew. 
 
 From that day Almansor lived happily in the palace. He con- 
 trived, at times, to visit the Arabian professor, but he never saw 
 the doctor again. In the course of a few weeks, the king sent 
 him word that a vessel was in the roads, on the point of sailing 
 along with some others for Egypt. Almansor was beside him- 
 self with joy ; a few days sufficed for his outfit, and, with a 
 heart full of gratitude, and laden with presents and treasures, 
 he took his leave, and embarked. 
 
 But it was the will of Allah that he should undergo new 
 trials, and that his fortitude should be still longer proved by 
 distress. He was, therefore, not yet permitted to reach the 
 shores of his native land. The sea is as much infested by 
 robbers as the desert, where so many caravans are plundered, 
 and the owners ill-treated. A privateer from Tunis overtook 
 
AND HIS SLAVES. 
 
 81 
 
 and captured the vessel, which had been separated from its com- 
 panions by a storm, and the crew were taken to Algiers and sold. 
 
 Almansor was now deprived of all hopes of ever returning to 
 his father and his home. He remained for five years in the 
 service of a rich man, who imposed no severer task upon him 
 however than that of watering his plants, and assisting to cul- 
 tivate the garden. His master dying without leaving any near 
 relation, his property was divided, and his slaves were dispersed. 
 Almansor fell into the hands of a slave-dealer, who at this time 
 was fitting out a ship to convey his slaves to a better market. 
 
 By chance I also belonged to this man, and was shipped 
 on board the same vessel as Almansor. We there became 
 acquainted, and there he detailed to me the wonderful events of 
 his life. But when we landed, who could doubt that an espe- 
 cial Providence was working in his favour ? For it was in his 
 own country that we stood, and in the market-place of his 
 native town we were openly offered for sale, and, oh my lord ! 
 to make up the sum of his happiness, his own beloved father 
 was his purchaser ! 
 
 The relation of the foregoing story had produced a deep effect 
 on the mind of the Sheik, and his feelings had, unknown to the 
 relator, been very much moved : his breast heaved, his eyes 
 burned, and he had felt often tempted to interrupt the young 
 slave. The ending of the story seemed by no means to satisfy 
 him. 
 
 " He is about one-and-twenty, say you ?" asked he. 
 " My lord, he is of my age ; I am two-and-twenty." 
 " And you have not yet told us in what town he was born." 
 " If I do not mistake," answered the young man, " it was in 
 Alexandria." 
 
 " Alexandria !" cried the Sheik. " Gracious Allah ! surely 
 it is my son ! where is he ? Did you not say his name was 
 Kairam ? Had he dark eyes and brown hair ? " 
 
 M Yes ; when he was particularly sorrowful, he called him- 
 self Kairam, and not Almansor." 
 
 " But, tell me, did his father purchase him in your presence ? 
 Did he say it was his father ? Alas ! he is not then my son." 
 
 The young man's feelings would no longer be restrained ; 
 tears of joy bathed his cheeks; while, throwing himself towards 
 
2 THE LEGEND OF THE HIRSCH GULDEN. 
 
 some of those graces which shone so conspicuously in his wife. 
 Many women would, in her place, have feared and shunned 
 this harsh man ; but such was not the case with the lovely lady 
 of Zollern : she dearly loved her husband, and sought, with her 
 soft, white hand, to smoothe the gloomy wrinkles from his brow ; 
 nor did she ever leave him, though he rarely addressed her, to 
 seek other companionship, not even to tend her own little son, 
 whom the Count would not permit to be brought into his pre- 
 sence more than once a-week. The nurse was desired to bring 
 the child to him as he sat at table : he took it for a moment in 
 his arms, and pressed his lips once coldly on its infant brow, 
 and then, scarcely deigning to look at it, he returned it to its 
 nurse's arms. 
 
 On the little one's third birth-day, however, the Count com- 
 manded him to be richly attired, and having desired his own 
 gigantic coal-black horse, and another of slighter, though not 
 less beautiful, proportions, to be brought to the castle gateway, 
 he took his little son in his arms, and descended the great stair- 
 case. The Lady Hedwig gazed in wonder at him : she was not 
 accustomed to interfere with her husband's movements, but on 
 this occasion her lips were no longer sealed, and anxiety for her 
 child prompted the question — 
 
 " Whither are you bound, my Lord ? 99 
 
 No answer was returned. 
 
 " Where are you taking the little one ?" she inquired, timidly, 
 " Cuno was about to walk out with me." 
 
 " Weiss schon," answered the Storm-Cloud of Zollern, and 
 increased his pace. 
 
 On reaching the gateway, he placed the child on the smaller 
 horse, tied him fast into the saddle, and mounting the black 
 charger, he rode away from the castle, leading the animal which 
 bore his little son. At first the child greatly enjoyed his ride ; 
 he laughed, clapped his tiny hands, and pulled the horse's 
 mane in order to quicken its pace. The Count smiled grimly, 
 and said to himself — "We will make a man of you yet." 
 But when they reached the plain, the Count put spurs to his 
 horse, and rode away as on the wings of the wind. The 
 poor child, bewildered and frightened, implored his father 
 to relax his speed ; but the Count, on the contrary, renewed 
 his efforts, until poor Cuno was blinded and breathless. His 
 poor little heart beat with terror, and the tears rolled quickly 
 down his cheeks. " If the child is thus frightened at his first 
 ride, what will become of him ?" cried the disappointed father. 
 
THE LEGEND OF THE HIRSCHGULDEN. 3 
 
 M Peace ! or 99 He was about to utter some fearful curse 
 
 against the little innocent, when his horse reared, and. the bridle 
 of the other slipped from his grasp, as he made a vigorous 
 effort to master his own horse. When he had done so, and 
 looked anxiously around for his child, it was nowhere to be 
 seen ; the horse stood near him without its little rider. Cold 
 and cruel as the Count's nature was, he did not contemplate 
 unmoved the almost certain death of his only child, and he 
 retraced his steps, seeking anxiously to discover some trace of 
 the lost one. At length, at a sudden turn in the road, he was 
 struck by observing a solitary cottage built under the shelter 
 of a few trees. Judging by its appearance, it was quite te- 
 nantless, and it was therefore with surprise he heard a low 
 murmuring sound; he advanced to the window, and leaning 
 over the sill to gaze into the room, a childish voice called to 
 him, and he beheld his little lost one cradled in the arms of an 
 old woman. 
 
 "Where did you find my son, old witch?" cried the Count 
 in great wrath. " Bring him immediately to me ; I cannot dis- 
 mount, for my horse is unmanageable." 
 
 " Softly — softly, sir," said the old woman : " you may thank 
 me for your son's life. I chanced to pass at the moment your 
 horse reared : the band which fastened the child into the saddle 
 was loosened by the start, and he would have been dashed to 
 the ground had I not caught him in my arms." 
 
 " Weiss schon," exclaimed the Storm-Cloud ; " bring him to 
 me." 
 
 " Give me first a hirschgulden," answered the old woman. 
 
 "A hirschgulden for you!" returned the Count ; "you are 
 not worth so much ; give me my child immediately, or I will set 
 the dogs at you ;" and with this he threw some coppers through 
 the window. 
 
 " And I am not worth a hirschgulden ! " repeated the old 
 woman, " we shall see. You may keep your pennies, Sir Count, 
 and remember my words, the whole of that boy's inheritance 
 shall one day be worth no more than a hirschgulden." As she 
 spoke she threw the penny-pieces back to the Count, and with 
 so true an aim that they all fell into the leathern purse which he 
 still held in his hand. 
 
 Zollern could not at first speak, for astonishment ; but he soon 
 recovered himself sufficiently to give utterance to his usual im- 
 precations : he then seized his rifle, cocked it, and pointed it in 
 at the window. The old woman continued quietly to soothe the 
 
 I 3 
 
4 THE LEGEND OF THE HIRSCHGULDEN. 
 
 child — " Be a good gentle boy," she whispered to him, " and 
 God mil supply thy cruel father's place to thee." She then 
 rose, lifted him into the Count's arms, and pointing her shri- 
 velled finger at them. " Zollern ! Zollem !" she exclaimed, as 
 she hastened away, " the Hirschgulden is still due to me." 
 
 This was the first and last time the Storm-Cloud of Zollern 
 ever rode forth with his little son ; he made up his mind that 
 he was a weak, timid child, looked on him with disgust, and 
 repelled with the utmost severity all his little attempts to wan 
 his father's affections. The Lady Hedwig had ^borne uncom- 
 i plainingly the Count's harshness towards herself, but his treat- 
 ment of the child wounded her very soul. She (sickened with 
 terror whenever the boy approached his father, and often when 
 Cuno, after some heavy and unmerited punishment, had sobbed 
 himself to sleep in her arms, did she pray that they might soon 
 be buried in one grave ; and soon, indeed, was the grave the 
 resting-place of her worn-out frame, and the paradise of God 
 the refuge of her broken heart/ 1 - She died whilst still in early 
 youth, and left her little Cuno lonely upon earth. 
 
 The Baron's affections were now more than ever estranged 
 from his child : he was seldom at home, and left him entirely 
 to the care of his nurse and Father Joseph the chaplain. 
 
 Soon after the Lady Hedwig's death, the Count married a 
 beautiful and wealthy lady. But Cuno was not the less neglected 
 on this account ; his stepmother conceived an aversion for him 
 before she saw him, and this, after the birth of her own chil- 
 dren, increased to positive hatred. As Cuno's brothers grew 
 up, his life became more and more miserable : they had the 
 good fortune not to fall from their horses the first time they 
 rode forth with the Storm- Cloud of Zollern, and were, in con- 
 sequence, considered by him as promising to be fine brave men, 
 worth the trouble of bringing up ; he loved them with all the 
 affection of which his rough nature was capable, kept them 
 constantly in his society, and taught them to ride and shoot, with 
 all other manly exercises. They could, however, neither read 
 nor write ; they feared neither God nor man, and, before they 
 were ten years old, were conversant with all their father's oaths 5 
 they were insensible to all affection, even for each other; and 
 no brotherly bond united them, except when they conspired to 
 torment Cuno. 
 
 Cuno's education had been, meanwhile, conducted on a very 
 different principle. Trained in the school of adversity, his 
 mind was far in advance of his years. Shunned and disliked 
 
THE LEGEND OF THE HIRSCHGULDEN. 5 
 
 by those around him, he had early learned to look to Heaven 
 for protection and companionship. Injured and oppressed him- 
 self, his sympathy was excited towards those similarly situated, 
 and, to the best of his ability, he was a " ministering angel" to 
 all the poor and afflicted in the neighbourhood of his father's 
 castle. He naturally became silent and reserved, but his dispo- 
 sition was far from moody or sullen. A single word of kind- 
 ness served to dissolve the icy band his repressed affections 
 had laid upon his heart, and to light up his eyes with an almost 
 heavenly expression. Nothing could be more desolate than his 
 situation. He rose in the morning, and went forth whither he 
 would ; and no one troubled himself as to why or where he went, 
 or when he would return. He said his prayer, and lay down at 
 night without a single voice bidding him good-night, and it was 
 then more than ever that the memory of his mother recurred to 
 the orphan's thoughts. His only friends were the chaplain, Father 
 Joseph, and the old woman who had once saved his life. He 
 went daily to her little cottage and there, as he sat on a low 
 stool by her side, she would tell him of his mother, of her 
 beauty, her piety, her kindness to the poor, her tender care of 
 her child, her obedience to his stern father. The Frau Feldhei- 
 merin, as the old woman was called, also taught the little boy 
 many useful things ; she could prepare salves and simple medi- 
 cines from flowers and herbs, and she was well acquainted with 
 all the legends which abound in every part of Germany. To 
 these, Cuno would listen for hours, as he sat on his little stool, 
 weaving baskets, or contriving fishing lines under her direction ; 
 nor did he trouble himself that the Frau Feldheimerin was 
 looked upon as a witch, and that fearful stories were told of her 
 power over the elements, and of her nightly visits to the 
 Brocken, the far-famed rendezvous of all the witches in the 
 land, to which it is affirmed they repair on broom-sticks ! Nor 
 did Cuno's education end here ; Father Joseph, besides in- 
 structing him in his religious duties, taught him also the then 
 rare arts of reading and writing, with as much as he himself 
 knew concerning the history of past ages. 
 
 Cuno's superior acquirements only tended to increase the 
 dislike that his parents and step-brothers evinced for him. 
 They despised him for his meek and quiet spirit, and the Count 
 and his lady rejoiced in the pride and haughtiness of their 
 younger sons. They encouraged them in their quarrels, though 
 the Count feared that in their excitement the one might deal the 
 other a deadly blow ; for his mind dwelt much on the Frau 
 
6 THE LEGEND OF THE HIRSCH GULDEN. 
 
 Feldheimerin's prediction. He was anxious to avert it by every 
 means in his power. From the eminence on which Hohen Zol- 
 lern was erected could be seen two other lofty hills, and he 
 determined to build on each of them, and thus leave a castle to 
 each of his three sons. He hastened to execute his idea, and 
 named one of the fortresses after his favourite son Schalksberg; 
 Little Schalk, or " rogue," being the nickname of the smaller of 
 the twin brothers. The other castle he was much inclined to 
 call Hirschguldenberg, in contempt of the old witch, who had 
 estimated his whole inheritance at that price ; but he contented 
 himself with naming it Hirschberg, and to this day the ruins 
 of Schalksberg and Hirschberg may be seen by the Alpine tra- 
 veller. It was the intention of the Count to leave Zollern to his 
 eldest son Cuno, Schalksberg to his little Schalk, and Hirsch- 
 berg to Wolf, his namesake ; but this arrangement did not at 
 all suit the grasping hand of his ambitious wife, and she had no 
 rest until the noble Castle of Zollern, which was Cuno's by 
 right of primogeniture, was willed away to Wolf, and the 
 newly-erected Hirschberg assigned as the inheritance of the 
 orphan. 
 
 Soon after the signing of the will, the Count was attacked by 
 a fatal disease. The Storm-Cloud of Zollern died as he had 
 lived. To the physician, who informed him of his approaching 
 end, he answered, "Weiss schon ;" and to the chaplain who 
 urged him to prepare for it, he muttered, " Dummes zeug." 
 Before the corpse was laid in the grave, the Countess brought 
 the will to Cuno, desiring him, scornfully, to make use of his 
 learning to read it, and informing him that as Hirschberg was 
 his allotted inheritance, Zollern no longer afforded him a home, 
 and that the sooner he quitted it the better. No word of com- 
 plaint or reproach escaped from the lips of Cuno, though how 
 bitterly he felt the parting from his childhood's home needs not 
 to be told. Every room in the castle was fraught with some 
 sweet though sad remembrance of his sainted mother. The 
 evening before the day fixed for his departure, he entered for 
 the last time the apartment which had been hers. It was in an 
 unfrequented part of the building, and it was, therefore, much 
 in the state in which she had left it. There, in the deep recess, 
 stood her chair, and beside it her little table, on which she was 
 accustomed to place her work or her missal. The view from 
 the window was familiar to him ; the very air seemed redolent 
 of his happier childish days; and, losing the command over 
 I his feelings, which long years of practice had perfected, he fell 
 
THE LEGEND OF THE H I RSCH GULDEN. 7 
 
 on his knees before his mother's accustomed seat, and, burying 
 his face in his hands, he wept aloud. And for a moment the 
 youth lost himself in the child. He was his tender mother's 
 little Cuno again. He imagined himself kneeling, as had been 
 his wont, at her feet ; her gentle fingers seemed twined in his 
 clustering curls ; he could feel her breath as she bent over him, 
 and her lips touched his burning forehead ; from his inmost 
 soul there arose the cry of " Mother ! mother!" and he was 
 answered only by the harsh echoes of the deserted halls. Then 
 he arose to a sense of his desolateness ; but, at the same mo- 
 ment, a sweet peace stole into his heart, the vesper bells chimed 
 forth from the convent in the valley, their notes softened by the 
 distance seemed like the chaunt of angels, and he fancied he 
 could recognise the silvery tones of his mother's voice, and the 
 words seemed to him as the Almighty's charge to Joshua — 
 " Be strong, and of a good courage ; be not afraid, neither be 
 thou dismayed ; for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever 
 thou goest I" And the orphan was comforted. He dried his 
 tearful eyes, and stilled his throbbing breast ; and no human 
 eye could discover on his countenance an indication of the 
 struggle with which he tore himself from Zollern, and betook 
 himself to his new home at Hirschberg. 
 
 As the Countess and her twin sons, who were now on the 
 verge of manhood, sat one evening on the castle terrace, they 
 perceived a train of horsemen winding their way down the 
 opposite hill of Hirschberg ; when they reached the valley, and 
 commenced the ascent of Hohen Zollern, the twins recognised 
 in the foremost rider their brother of Hirschberg. 
 
 " Is it, indeed, Cuno ?" cried the Countess. " What can in- 
 duce him to honour us with a visit ? Perchance he finds his 
 castle too large and lonely for him, and is come to seek us as 
 guests. I should not have given him credit for so much good 
 nature and good breeding. Let us go down to the gateway to 
 receive him. After our visit is over, he will not allow us to quit 
 Hirschberg without a present. A horse to thee, Wolf, and 
 caparisons to thee, little Schalk ; for myself, I have long coveted 
 the splendid jewels he inherited from his mother !" 
 
 " I wish for none of Cuno's gifts!" replied Wolf, " and I will 
 not curry favour with him. Some day, however, I hope he may 
 follow our father, and leave us to inherit Hirschberg; then, 
 good mother, the jewels are yours at a fair price." 
 
 " What !" retorted the Countess, " would you have me pur- 
 chase the baubles of my son ? Is it thus you reward me for 
 
8 . THE LEGEND OF THE HIRSCHGULDEN. 
 
 procuring for you the inheritance of Zollern ? Had it not been 
 for my prayers and tears, Cuno would now be lord of his ances- 
 tor's home, and we forced to inhabit the uncultivated woods of 
 Hirschberg. Tell me, little Schalk, shall not the jewels be 
 mine ?" 
 
 " Our brother of Hirschberg still owns them, good mother," 
 replied the lad, laughing; "but in case of his death, I will 
 promise to take the jewels as my share of the inheritance, and, 
 then, mother, either you or the Jew may possess them, accord- 
 ing, of course, to which bids highest !" 
 
 The Countess had now to conceal her indignation against 
 her mercenary sons, and welcome with smiles and smooth 
 words the Baron von Hirschberg, in whose pale, sad counte- 
 nance, she gladly thought to trace premature old age and early 
 decay. 
 
 Cuno alighted from his horse, and saluted the Countess and 
 her sons, gravely, but courteously ; for, though he had expe- 
 rienced nothing but neglect and unkindness from them, his 
 gentle heart did not forget that they were his brothers, and that 
 this wicked woman had, at least, loved his father. 
 
 " Indeed," said the Countess, graciously, " we are much 
 beholden to you for your early visit. How goes it with you at 
 Hirschberg ? Very lonely, I doubt not ? Well, your goodly 
 castle will not, I venture to predict, long want a mistress, now 
 you have commenced your visits !" 
 
 " I have not given a thought to that subject, madam," replied 
 Cuno. "The company I require, and which I have ridden 
 hither to request, is of a different nature." 
 
 "We shall, I am sure, be most happy to contribute in any 
 way to your entertainment," interrupted the lady, as she cast a 
 significant glance at her sons. 
 
 Cuno continued calmly : " I wish to remove Father J oseph, 
 the chaplain, to Hirschberg. He is my old tutor and friend — 
 as loath to lose me as I am unwilling to part from him ; we 
 therefore arranged it thus before I left Zollern. I am also 
 about to settle the Frau Feldheimerin in my new possessions ; 
 she once saved my life, and now that she is old and weak, I 
 will not desert her. I have enough rooms in Hirschberg for 
 her to end her days there in comfort." 
 
 Wolf bit his lips for vexation, and the lady turned pale with 
 rage; the careless little Schalk laughed out, "Where, good 
 mother, is Wolf's horse, and where the rich caparisons for me ? 
 A goodly pair, in truth, are Father Joseph and Frau Feld- 
 
THE LEGEND OF THE H I RSCH GULDEN. 9 
 
 heimerin. In the forenoon our worthy brother can study 
 Greek and Latin with the chaplain, and by way of relaxation 
 he can, after dinner, dabble a little in witchcraft under the 
 Fran Feldheimerin's directions !" 
 
 " Do not treat the matter so lightly," cried the Countess ; " it 
 is a disgrace to the whole family, and will be noised about 
 through the whole country that the Count von Zollern has 
 attired the old witch Feldheimerin in silks and jewels, and 
 taken her to live with him at Hirschberg. Such like fancies he 
 inherited from his mother, who was ever inclined to demean 
 herself; could his father know what he is about to do, his 
 leaden coffin could not contain him." 
 
 "Just so," replied little Schalk, laughing again; "I can 
 hear my father's ' Weiss schon — dummes zeug' distinctly." 
 
 Cuno was far from wishing to quarrel with his stepbrothers. 
 On the contrary, he did all that in him lay to conciliate them 
 and their fierce mother. But all his endeavours were in vain ; 
 angry and bitter words, or cold, contemptuous civility, were the 
 results of his visits, and he was about to discontinue them, when 
 he discovered, as he thought, a means of winning his brothers' 
 affections. 
 
 In the valley between the three castles lay a fish-pond, which, 
 however exactly situated in the centre of the three inheritances, 
 was included in the possessions of the owner of Hirschberg. 
 This pond produced the best pike and carp in the whole neigh- 
 bourhood, and was, to the twin brothers, who were fond of fishing, 
 an eye-sore from their separate abodes. They were too proud 
 either to fish in it unknown to Cuno, or to request his leave to do so. 
 
 Cuno knew how much they wished to possess this pond, and 
 he thought he might with its assistance gain their good-will. 
 He sent to request them to meet him on its banks, and receiving 
 them with every demonstration of brotherly affection, he pro- 
 posed that they should divide it between them. "There is " 
 said he, " room and fish for more than three : let us, then, share it 
 together." 
 
 "You are very kind, brother," replied little Schalk, smiling 
 disdainfully : " we accept your offer ; but tell us what you con- 
 sider an equivalent fer this gracious permission, and the weekly 
 loss of perhaps two hundred fishes ? " 
 
 "I will take nothing in return," said Cuno earnestly; "I 
 shall consider myself well repaid in occasionally meeting you 
 here, and exchanging a few friendly words with you ; remember 
 we are all the sons of one father." 
 
10 THE LEGEND OF THE HIRSCH GULDEN. 
 
 " Indeed," answered little Schalk, " I am glad you are so 
 sociably disposed, brother Hirschberg ; but solitude and silence 
 are necessary to anglers. I think," he continued contemptu- 
 ously, " we may dispense with our fraternal meetings ; and if we 
 accept your offer, we will allot different days for our fishing. 
 Monday and Thursday may suit you, Cuno ; Tuesday and Friday 
 for you, Wolf ; and Wednesday and Saturday for myself. This 
 appears to me the best plan. What say you, Wolf ? " 
 
 " I will accept nothing," answered Wolf surlily. " I will 
 share nothing ; the pond is as much ours as yours, for it lies 
 in the centre of all our lands. I will not, therefore, receive as a 
 favour that which you ought to concede as our right. The 
 only plan to which I will agree, is that of casting lots for it." 
 
 " I never cast lots in such matters," replied Cuno, his heart 
 sore with the scorn of one brother and the churlishness of the 
 other. 
 
 " I thought not, " cried little Schalk, in his accustomed 
 jesting tone. " Good Wolf ! how could you imagine that our 
 saint-like brother would sacrifice his fishes to the blind god of 
 chance ? But I have another plan to propose. Let us commence 
 fishing at once, and he who by the hour of twelve has taken 
 most fishes shall become the owner of the pond." 
 
 "I am a fool," said Cuno, "to suffer that which rightfully 
 belongs to me to be thus disputed ; but God knows my only 
 wish is to be at peace with you, and it shall be as you have 
 said." 
 
 They then parted for a time. The twin brothers sent servants 
 in all directions to seek for worms and flies to serve for bait. 
 Cuno, however, took nothing with him but the rod he was 
 accustomed to use, and the bait which in his childish days the 
 Frau Feldheimerin had taught him to prepare. Though he was 
 the first at the pond, he waited until his stepbrothers arrived, 
 and then suffered them to select the best places. Notwith- 
 standing all these concessions on his part, his brothers regarded 
 him with ill- dissembled hatred ; and when the appointed time 
 arrived, and they proceeded according to their own arrangement 
 to number the fish and decide on the ownership of the pond, 
 their pent-up wrath broke forth with the utmost violence when 
 they discovered that Cuno was undoubtedly the successful angler. 
 Wolf snapped his rod in twain, and flung it into the pond. " It 
 is always the case," he cried, "with those who use lawful instru- 
 ments to attain their ends. As for you, brother Von Hirschberg, 
 no one can wonder at your success, when your long apprentice- 
 
THE LEGEND OF THE HIRSCHGULDEN. 11 
 
 ship and consequent perfection in the art of witchcraft is con- 
 sidered. 
 
 "True, 1 had forgotten Frau Feldheimerin," interrupted 
 little Schalk : " if you had sooner reminded me of Cuno's dealings 
 with her, I had not ventured on such unequal warfare." 
 
 Cuno's gentle spirit was roused past all endurance. " I have 
 struggled long with your injustice and unkindness," he ex- 
 claimed, " but I will do so no longer ; the last bond between 
 us is broken ; go hence, unnatural brothers, and God grant, 
 when your last hours draw on, your souls may fare as well as 
 that of the harmless woman whom, in your unholy wrath, you 
 accuse of dealings with the evil one." 
 
 "You are right, brother Cuno," replied little Schalk, with 
 his usual scornful smile, " the Frau Feldheimerin is no witch. 
 Did she not prophesy to our father, that a good part of his in- 
 heritance should sell for no more than a Hirschgulden ? and the 
 prediction was so far verified, that when he died the limits of 
 his possessions could not be seen from the highest tower in 
 Hohen Zollern. No, no, Frau Feldheimerin is no witch ; she 
 is nothing more than a foolish old woman, and you a pale- 
 faced credulous fellow." 
 
 So saying, the youth turned on his heel, and hastened away ; 
 for, notwithstanding his bold words, he stood in awe of his 
 elder brother's strong arm; he was quickly followed by Wolf, 
 who did not, however, depart until he had bestowed on Cuno 
 all the reproaches he could think of. 
 
 The unhappy orphan returned to his empty, cheerless home, 
 and the unkindness of his only relatives weighed so heavily on 
 his spirits that he became dangerously ill, and would, in all 
 probability have died, had it not been for the unceasing and 
 unwearied care of the good father Joseph, and the despised Frau 
 Feldheimerin. 
 
 When his step-brothers heard of his precarious state, they 
 held a banquet, and drank to his speedy dissolution, determin- 
 ing that the one who first heard the joyful news should fire a 
 salute from the battlements of his castle, and should receive, 
 as his reward, the best cask of wine from Cuno's cellar. 
 Wolf dispatched a servant to wait in the neighbourhood of 
 Hirschberg to receive the earliest intelligence, and little Schalk 
 went so far as to attempt to bribe one of Cuno's squires to give 
 him the first intimation of the much-desired event. This squire, 
 however, loved his pious and gentle master more than all the 
 gold his wicked brother could offer him, and he refused the 
 
12 THE LEGEND OF THE HIRSCHGULDEN. 
 
 bribe. Cuno could not believe his brothers to be guilty of such 
 an enormity ; he was at last persuaded by the Frau to test the 
 truth of the story by his pretended death ; the squire was com- 
 missioned to inform the step-brother's spy of it ; and indeed the 
 whole affair proved to be but too well-founded. The cannons 
 thundered first from the battlements of one castle, and were 
 quickly succeeded by still louder demonstrations of rejoicings 
 from the other. Wolf set off instantly for Hirschberg : he did 
 not, however, arrive there alone ; little Schalk, who had quitted 
 his castle at the same moment his brother left Zollern, met him 
 at the pond, and they proceeded together on their way, disputing 
 as they went respecting the partition of the inheritance. As 
 they crossed the drawbridge, and passed under the portcullis 
 to enter the court of the castle, the first object that met their 
 startled gaze was the living figure of their brother Cuno ! He 
 stood at the window, and gazed on the intruders in no friendly 
 manner ; his face, emaciated by illness, was flushed with anger ; 
 his usually gently beaming eyes darted fire, and his soft voice 
 was raised in accents of indignant wrath. 
 
 " Even until now," he cried, have I cherished affection for 
 you in this foolish heart, but it is steeled now and for ever ! 
 Come not within reach of my rifle, ye inhuman monsters, or 
 you will learn to your cost that at Hirschberg also is the art of 
 shooting known." The twin-brothers did not wait to see his 
 threat put into execution ; they set spurs to their horses, and 
 were quickly at the foot of the hill. Cuno fired off his rifle at 
 their retreating figures ; he aimed high in the air, however, for 
 he did not wish to harm them ; and then, the transient excite- 
 ment of passion over, he retired to the solitude of his chamber, 
 to bewail afresh the desolateness of his situation. 
 
 The day following, Cuno made his will, and Frau Feldheime- 
 rin said to Father Joseph, " Had it not been for their over- 
 eagerness to possess our poor master's wealth, his wicked 
 
 brothers would have probably inherited it all ; but now ." 
 
 The good old woman had no clue, however, by which to dis- 
 cover who it was whom Cuno had constituted his heirs, instead 
 of his natural or rather unnatural ones. Her lord decidedly 
 though gently, evaded all her questions on the subject, and she 
 remained in ignorance until her death, which took place within 
 a year. Cuno had her interred in the Castle chapel, with all 
 the respect due to one who had stood him in the stead of a 
 mother. 
 
 He was not, however, doomed long to bear his oppressive 
 
THE LEGEND OF THE HIRSCHGULDEN. 13 
 
 lot : he died in his 28th year, and the general belief was, that 
 his death was the result of poison, skilfully conveyed to him 
 by little Schalk. The good Father Joseph administered to him 
 the last rites of the church, and committed him whom he had 
 loved, to the earth ; nor did he survive him very long. 
 
 The thunder of the cannons again woke the echoes of the 
 three hills. 
 
 " This time we know that he is dead," said little Schalk, sig- 
 nificantly, as he met his twin brother by appointment at the 
 fish-pond. 
 
 " True," replied Wolf ; " and, if we should be again de- 
 ceived, and his pale face should once more stare down upon us, 
 with his rifle in his hand, I too have a rifle, and will not delay 
 long in using it." 
 
 As they crossed the drawbridge, they encountered a train of 
 horsemen, who came from an opposite direction. The leader 
 of the company was a perfect stranger to the brothers : his 
 dress was simple, his demeanour grave and formal. They 
 imagined him to be some friend of Cuno's, who wished to 
 honour his memory by attending his interment. They cour- 
 teously saluted him, praised their departed brother, and little 
 Schalk even succeeded in shedding a few hypocritical tears. 
 The stranger answered not a word until they all three stood in 
 the castle-hall ; then, drawing a piece of silver from his purse, 
 he flung it on the table, exclaiming as he did so — 
 
 " There, sirs, is the legacy bequeathed you by the deceased ; 
 the sum is quite correct — a hirschgulden, I believe." 
 
 The brothers were at a loss to understand the stranger ; they 
 exchanged glances, and finally laughed aloud. 
 
 The object of their ridicule did not, however, allow himself to 
 be disconcerted ; he drew forth a document, witnessed, signed, 
 and sealed, which proved to be Cuno's mil, and read its con- 
 tents aloud. The whole of his property, with the exception of 
 his mother's splendid jewels, he desired might be sold, in case 
 of his death, for the miserable sum of a hirschgulden, which 
 was to be paid to his heirs at law ; the jewels were also to be 
 sold, and the proceeds to be devoted to the erection of a hos- 
 pital in the town of Balingen. The stranger was the represen- 
 tative of the citizens of Wurtemberg, who had become the pur- 
 chasers of Cuno's property ; and no flaw could be detected in 
 the document, by right of which he now proceeded to take pos- 
 session of everything : the castle, the woods, the town of Balin- 
 gen, all was willed away from the step-brothers, even to the 
 
14 THE LEGEND OF THE HIRSCHGULDEN. 
 
 fish-pond ; and all they inherited of the long-coveted estate was 
 a hirschgulden. 
 
 The next morning- Wolf rode over to Schalksberg. 
 
 " How," said he to his brother, " 'shall we dispose of our 
 mighty legacy ? Shall we spend it in drink or at play ?" 
 
 " In drink," replied little Schalk; " that is the fairer way, as 
 we can then share it equally. We will ride into Balingen, and 
 show the good folks there how little we take it to heart that 
 their poor little town is lost to us." 
 
 " Agreed !" answered Wolf; " and at The Lamb, in Balingen, 
 we can procure wine fit for an emperor's table." 
 
 They mounted their horses, and reached Balingen towards 
 noon. They ordered red wine, and drank to the amount of a 
 hirschgulden. They then called the landlord, and Wolf, draw- 
 ing forth the silver coin, stamped with the likeness of a bound- 
 ing fawn, threw it on the table. 
 
 " There," said he, "is the worth of your wine." 
 
 The man took the silver coin, and, after examining it well — 
 
 " Sirs," said he, " the hirschgulden is a good one, and I 
 hope it may profit you ; for my wine, however, you must pay 
 me in other coin, for this very morning a commissioner from 
 Wurtemburg has given out, in the name of the count of that 
 city, who now owns our little town, that the circulation of every 
 hirschgulden is prohibited." 
 
 The twin brothers turned pale with rage. 
 
 " Have you other money ? " inquired Wolf. 
 
 " No," said little Schalk ; " have not you ?" 
 
 Promising the landlord to send him the amount in other coin, 
 they moodily mounted their horses, and returned home. Neither 
 spoke until they reached the fish-pond, where their roads sepa- 
 rated. As they parted at this cross-way — 
 
 " Well," said little Schalk, " we have inherited as good as 
 nothing ; moreover the wine was villanous." 
 
 " True," answered Wolf ; " and, worse than all, the Frau- 
 Feldheimerin's prediction has at last been realized. His whole 
 estate estimated at a hirschgulden !" 
 
 " Weiss schon," answered Schalk, jestingly. 
 
 " Dummes zeug," muttered Wolf, moodily ; and the twins 
 parted. 
 
•