{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_6622/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_6622","id":"gutenberg_6622","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6622","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Children's Anthologies","Children's Myths, Fairy Tales, etc.","Folklore -- England","Folklore -- Germany","Folklore -- Scandinavia"],"text":"Produced by David Garcia, Charles Franks\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: GUY EARL OF WARWICK]\n\nLEGENDS THAT EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW\n\nA SELECTION OF THE GREAT LEGENDS OF ALL TIMES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE\n\nEDITED BY HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE\n\nILLUSTRATED AND DECORATED BY BLANCHE OSTERTAG\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nIf we knew how the words in our language were made and what they have\nmeant to successive generations of the men and women who have used them,\nwe should have a new and very interesting kind of history to read. For\nwords, like all other creations of man, were not deliberately\nmanufactured to meet a need, as are the various parts of a bicycle or of\nan automobile; but grew gradually and slowly out of experiences which\ncompelled their production. For it is one of the evidences of the\nbrotherhood of men that, either by the pressure of necessity or of the\ninstinct to describe to others what has happened to ourself and so make\ncommon property of personal experience, no interesting or influential or\nsignificant thing can befall a man that is not accompanied by a desire\nto communicate it to others.\n\nThe word legend has a very interesting history, which sheds light not\nonly on its origin but on early habits of thought and customs. It is\nderived from the Latin verb _legere_, which means \"to read.\" As\nlegends are often passed down by word of mouth and are not reduced to\nwriting until they have been known for centuries by great numbers of\npeople, it seems difficult at first glance to see any connection between\nthe Latin word and its English descendant. In Russia and other\ncountries, where large populations live remote from cities and are\npractically without books and newspapers, countless stories are told by\npeasant mothers to their children, by reciters or semi-professional\nstory-tellers, which have since been put into print. For a good many\nhundred years, probably, the vast majority of legends were not read;\nthey were heard.\n\nWhen we understand, however, what the habits of people were in the early\nChristian centuries and what the early legends were about, the original\nmeaning of the word is not only clear but throws light on the history of\nthis fascinating form of literature. The early legends, as a rule, had\nto do with religious people or with places which had religious\nassociations; they were largely concerned with the saints and were\nfreely used in churches for the instruction of the people. In all\nchurches selections from some book or books are used as part of the\nservice; readings from the Old and New Testament are included in the\nworship of all churches in Christendom. In the earliest times not only\nwere Lessons from the Old Testament and the Gospels and Epistles of the\nNew Testament read, but letters of bishops and selections from other\nwritings which were regarded as profitable for religious instruction.\nLater stories of the saints and passages from the numerous lives which\nappeared were read at different services and contributed greatly to\ntheir interest. The first legends in Christian countries were incidents\nfrom the lives of the saints and were included in the selections made\nfrom various writings for public worship; these selections were called\n_legends_. The history of the word makes clear, therefore, the\norigin and early history of the class of stories which we call legends.\n\nThe use of the stories at church services led to the collection, orderly\narrangement and reshaping of a great mass of material which grew rapidly\nbecause so many people were interested in these semi-religious tales. In\nthe beginning the stories had, as a rule, some basis in fact, though it\nwas often very slight. As time went on the element of fact grew smaller\nand the element of fiction larger; stories which were originally very\nshort were expanded into long tales and became highly imaginative. In\nthe Thirteenth Century the _Legenda Aurea_, or Golden Legend, which\nbecame one of the most popular books of the Middle Ages, appeared. In\ntime, as the taste for this kind of writing grew, the word legend came\nto include any story which, under a historical form, gave an account of\nan historical or imaginary person.\n\nDuring the Middle Ages verse-making was very popular and very widely\npractised; for versification is very easy when people are in the habit\nof using it freely, and a verse is much more easily remembered than a\nline of prose. For many generations legends were versified. It must be\nremembered that verse and poetry are often very far apart; and poetry is\nas difficult to compose as verse is easy. The versified legends were\nvery rarely poetic; they were simply narratives in verse. Occasionally\nmen of poetic genius took hold of these old stories and gave them\nbeautiful forms as did the German poet Hartmann von Aue in \"Der Arme\nHeinrich.\" With the tremendous agitation which found expression in the\nReformation, interest in legends died out, and was not renewed until the\nEighteenth Century, when men and women, grown weary of artificial and\nmechanical forms of literature, turned again to the old stories and\nsongs which were the creation of less self-conscious ages. With the\nrevival of interest in ballads, folk-stories, fairy stories and myths\ncame a revival of interest in legends.\n\nThe myths were highly imaginative and poetic explanations of the world\nand of the life of man in it at a time when scientific knowledge and\nhabits of thought had not come into existence. The fairy story was \"a\nfree poetic dealing with realities in accordance with the law of mental\ngrowth, ... a poetic wording of the facts of life, ... an endeavour to\nshape the facts of the world to meet the needs of the imagination, the\ncravings of the heart.\" The legend, dealing originally with incidents in\nthe lives of the saints and with places made sacred by association with\nholy men, has, as a rule, some slight historical basis; is cast in\nnarrative form and told as a record of fact; and, in cases where it is\nentirely imaginative, deals with some popular type of character like\nRobin Hood or Rip Van Winkle; or with some mysterious or tragic event,\nas Tennyson's \"Idylls of the King\" are poetic renderings of part of a\ngreat mass of legends which grew up about a little group of imaginary or\nsemi-historical characters; Longfellow's \"Golden Legend\" is a modern\nrendering of a very old mediaeval tale; Irving's \"Legend of Sleepy\nHollow\" is an example of purely imaginative prose, and Heine's \"Lorelei\"\nof a purely imaginative poetic legend.\n\nThe legend is not so sharply defined as the myth and the fairy story,\nand it is not always possible to separate it from these old forms of\nstories; but it always concerns itself with one or more characters; it\nassumes to be historical; it is almost always old and haunts some\nlocality like a ghost; and it has a large admixture of fiction, even\nwhere it is not wholly fictitious. Like the myth and fairy story it\nthrows light on the mind and character of the age that produced it; it\nis part of the history of the unfolding of the human mind in the world;\nand, above all, it is interesting.\n\n\nHAMILTON W. MABIE.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER PAGE\n\n\nI. HIAWATHA\n  From \"Indian Myths.\" By Ellen Emerson.\n\nII. BEOWULF\n  From \"A Book of Famous Myths and Legends.\"\n\nIII. CHILDE HORN\n  From \"A Book of Famous Myths and Legends.\"\n\nIV. SIR GALAHAD\n  Alfred Tennyson.\n\nV. RUSTEM AND SOHRAB\n  From \"The Epic of Kings. Stories Retold from Firdusi.\" By Helen Zimmern.\n\nVI. THE SEVEN SLEEPERS OF EPHESUS\n  From \"Curious Myths of the Middle Ages.\" By Sabine Baring-Gould.\n\n\nVII. GUY OF WARWICK\n  From \"Popular Romances of the Middle Ages.\" By George W. Cox,\n  M. A. and Eustace Hinten Jones.\n\n\nVIII. CHEVY CHASE\n  From \"The English and Scottish Popular Ballads.\" Edited by Francis\n  James Child.\n\n\nIX. THE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF LIR\n  From \"Gods and Fighting Men: The Story of the Tuatha de Danaan\n  and of the Fianna of Ireland.\" Arranged and put into English by Lady\n  Gregory.\n\nX. THE BELEAGUERED CITY\n  From \"Voices of the Night.\" By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\nXI. PRESTER JOHN\n  From \"Curious Myths of the Middle Ages.\" By Sabine Baring-Gould.\n\nXII. THE WANDERING JEW\n  From \"Curious Myths of the Middle Ages.\" By Sabine Baring-Gould.\n\nXIII. KING ROBERT OF SICILY\n  From \"The Wayside Inn.\" By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\nXIV. THE LIFE OF THE BEATO TORELLO DA POPPI\n  From \"Il Libro d'Oro of Those Whose Names are Written in the\n  Lamb's Book of Life.\" Translated from the Italian by Mrs. Francis\n  Alexander. Originally written in Latin by Messer Torrelo of\n  Casentino, Canonico of Fiesole, and put into Italian by Don Silvano.\n\nXV. THE LORELEI\n  From the German of Heinrich Heine.\n\nXVI. THE PASSING OF ARTHUR\n  From \"Idylls of the King.\" By Alfred Tennyson.\n\nXVII. RIP VAN WINKLE\n  Washington Irving.\n\nXVIII. THE GRAY CHAMPION\n  From \"Twice Told Tales.\" By Nathaniel Hawthorne.\n\nXIX. THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW\n  Washington Irving.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nWIGWAM LEGEND OF HIAWATHA [Footnote: This story is ascribed to Abraham\nle Fort, an Onondaga chief, a graduate of Geneva College. The poem of\nLongfellow has given it general interest. Hiawatha is an example of the\nintellectual capacity of one of that race of whom it has been said \"Take\nthese Indians in their owne trimme and naturall disposition, and they\nbee reported to bee wise, lofty spirited, constant in friendship to one\nanother: true in their promise, and more industrious than many\nothers.\"--Wood's, \"New England's Prospect,\" London, 1634.]\n\n\nOn the banks of Tioto, or Cross Lake, resided an eminent man who bore\nthe name of Hiawatha, or the Wise Man.\n\nThis name was given him, as its meaning indicates, on account of his\ngreat wisdom in council and power in war. Hiawatha was of high and\nmysterious origin. He had a canoe which would move without paddles,\nobedient to his will, and which he kept with great care and never used\nexcept when he attended the general council of the tribes. It was from\nHiawatha the people learned to raise corn and beans; through his\ninstructions they were enabled to remove obstructions from the water\ncourses and clear their fishing grounds; and by him they were helped to\nget the mastery over the great monsters which overran the country. The\npeople listened to him with ever increasing delight; and he gave them\nwise laws and maxims from the Great Spirit, for he had been second to\nhim only in power previous to his taking up his dwelling with mankind.\n\nHaving selected the Onondagas for his tribe, years passed away in\nprosperity; the Onondagas assumed an elevated rank for their wisdom and\nlearning, among the other tribes, and there was not one of these which\ndid not yield its assent to their superior privilege of lighting the\ncouncil-fire.\n\nBut in the midst of the high tide of their prosperity, suddenly there\narose a great alarm at the invasion of a ferocious band of warriors from\nthe North of the Great Lakes; and as these bands advanced, an\nindiscriminate slaughter was made of men, women, and children.\nDestruction fell upon all alike.\n\nThe public alarm was great; and Hiawatha advised them not to waste their\nefforts in a desultory manner, but to call a council of all the tribes\nthat could be gathered together, from the East to the West; and, at the\nsame time, he appointed a meeting to take place on an eminence on the\nbanks of the Onondaga Lake. There, accordingly, the chief men assembled,\nwhile the occasion brought together a vast multitude of men, women, and\nchildren, who were in expectation of some marvellous deliverance.\n\nThree days elapsed, and Hiawatha did not appear. The multitude began to\nfear that he was not coming, and messengers were despatched for him to\nTioto, who found him depressed with a presentiment that evil would\nfollow his attendance. These fears were overruled by the eager\npersuasions of the messengers; and Hiawatha, taking his daughter with\nhim, put his wonderful canoe in its element and set out for the council.\nThe grand assemblage that was to avert the threatened danger appeared\nquickly in sight, as he moved rapidly along in his magic canoe; and when\nthe people saw him, they sent up loud shouts of welcome until the\nvenerated man landed. A steep ascent led up the banks of the lake to the\nplace occupied by the council; and, as he walked up, a loud whirring\nsound was heard above, as if caused by some rushing current of air.\nInstantly, the eyes of all were directed upward to the sky, where was\nseen a dark spot, something like a small cloud, descending rapidly, and\nas it approached, enlarging in its size and increasing in velocity.\nTerror and alarm filled the minds of the multitude and they scattered in\nconfusion. But as soon as he had gained the eminence, Hiawatha stood\nstill, causing his daughter to do the same--deeming it cowardly to fly,\nand impossible, if it was attempted, to divert the designs of the Great\nSpirit. The descending object now assumed a more definite aspect; and,\nas it came nearer, revealed the shape of a gigantic white bird, with\nwide-extended and pointed wings. This bird came down with ever\nincreasing velocity, until, with a mighty swoop, it dropped upon the\ngirl, crushing her at once to the earth.\n\nThe fixed face of Hiawatha alone indicated his consciousness of his\ndaughter's death; while in silence he signalled to the warriors, who had\nstood watching the event in speechless consternation. One after the\nother stepped up to the prostrate bird, which was killed by its violent\nfall, and selecting a feather from its snow-white plumage, decorated\nhimself therewith. [Footnote: Since this event, say the Indians of this\ntribe, the plumage of the white heron has been used for their\ndecorations on the war-path.]\n\nBut now a new affliction fell upon Hiawatha; for, on removing the\ncarcass of the bird, not a trace could be discovered of his daughter.\nHer body had vanished from the earth. Shades of anguish contracted the\ndark face of Hiawatha. He stood apart in voiceless grief. No word was\nspoken. His people waited in silence, until at length arousing himself,\nhe turned to them and walked in calm dignity to the head of the council.\n\nThe first day he listened with attentive gravity to the plans of the\ndifferent speakers; on the next day he arose and said: \"My friends and\nbrothers; you are members of many tribes, and have come from a great\ndistance. We have come to promote the common interest, and our mutual\nsafety. How shall it be accomplished? To oppose these Northern hordes in\ntribes singly, while we are at variance often with each other, is\nimpossible. By uniting in a common band of brotherhood we may hope to\nsucceed. Let this be done, and we shall drive the enemy from our land.\nListen to me by tribes. You, the Mohawks, who are sitting under the\nshadow of the great tree, whose branches spread wide around, and whose\nroots sink deep into the earth, shall be the first nation, because you\nare warlike and mighty. You, the Oneidas, who recline your bodies\nagainst the everlasting stone that cannot be moved, shall be the second\nnation, because you always give wise counsel. You, the Onondagas, who\nhave your habitation at the foot of the great hills, and are\novershadowed by their crags, shall be the third nation, because you are\ngreatly gifted in speech. You, the Senecas, whose dwelling is in the\ndark forest, and whose home is all over the land, shall be the fourth\nnation, because of your superior cunning in hunting. And you, the\nCayugas, the people who live in the open country and possess much\nwisdom, shall be the fifth nation, because you understand better the art\nof raising corn and beans, and making lodges. Unite, ye five nations,\nand have one common interest, and no foe shall disturb and subdue you.\nYou, the people who are the feeble bushes, and you who are a fishing\npeople, may place yourselves under our protection, and we will defend\nyou. And you of the South and West may do the same, and we will protect\nyou. We earnestly desire the alliance and friendship of you all.\nBrothers, if we unite in this great bond, the Great Spirit will smile\nupon us, and we shall be free, prosperous, and happy; but if we remain\nas we are, we shall be subject to his frown. We shall be enslaved,\nruined, perhaps annihilated. We may perish under the war-storm, and our\nnames be no longer remembered by good men, nor be repeated in the dance\nand song. Brothers, those are the words of Hiawatha. I have spoken. I am\ndone.\" [Footnote: Canassatego, a renowned chief of the Confederacy, in\nhis remarkable piece of advice to the Colonial Commissioners of\nLancaster in July, 1744, seems to imply that there was an error in this\nplan of Hiawatha, as it did not admit all nations into their Confederacy\nwith equal rights.]\n\nThe next day his plan of union was considered and adopted by the\ncouncil, after which Hiawatha again addressed the people with wise words\nof counsel, and at the close of this speech bade them farewell; for he\nconceived that his mission to the Iroquois was accomplished, and he\nmight announce his withdrawal to the skies. He then went down to the\nshore, and assumed his seat in his mystical canoe. Sweet music was heard\nin the air as he seated himself; and while the wondering multitude stood\ngazing at their beloved chief, he was silently wafted from sight, and\nthey saw him no more. He passed to the Isle of the Blessed, inhabited by\nOwayneo [Footnote: A name for their Great Spirit in the dialect of the\nIroquois.] and his manitos.\n\n  And they said, \"Farewell forever!\"\n  Said, \"Farewell, O Hiawatha!\"\n  And the forests, dark and lonely,\n  Moved through all their depths of darkness^\n  Sighed, \"Farewell, O Hiawatha!\"\n  And the waves upon the margin,\n  Rising, rippling on the pebbles,\n  Sobbed, \"Farewell, O Hiawatha!\"\n  And the heron, the shuh-shu-gah,\n  From her haunts among the fen-lands,\n  Screamed, \"Farewell, O Hiawatha!\"\n    Thus departed Hiawatha,\n  Hiawatha the Beloved,\n  In the glory of the sunset,\n  In the purple mists of evening,\n  To the regions of the home-wind,\n  Of the northwest wind, Keewaydin,\n  To the Islands of the Blessed,\n  To the kingdom of Ponemah,\n  To the land of the Hereafter.\n\n[Footnote: \"The Song of Hiawatha,\" by H. W. Longfellow.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nBEOWULF\n\n\nOld King Hrothgar built for himself a great palace, covered with gold,\nwith benches all round outside, and a terrace leading up to it. It was\nbigger than any hall men had ever heard of, and there Hrothgar sat on\nhis throne to share with men the good things God had given him. A band\nof brave knights gathered round him, all living together in peace and\njoy.\n\nBut there came a wicked monster, Grendel, out of the moors. He stole\nacross the fens in the thick darkness, and touched the great iron bars\nof the door of the hall, which immediately sprang open. Then, with his\neyes shooting out flame, he spied the knights sleeping after battle.\nWith his steel finger nails the hideous fiend seized thirty of them in\ntheir sleep. He gave yells of joy, and sped as quick as lightning across\nthe moors, to reach his home with his prey.\n\nWhen the knights awoke, they raised a great cry of sorrow, whilst the\naged King himself sat speechless with grief. None could do battle with\nthe monster, he was too strong, too horrible for any one to conquer. For\ntwelve long years Grendel warred against Hrothgar; like a dark shadow of\ndeath he prowled round about the hall, and lay in wait for his men on\nthe misty moors. One thing he could not touch, and that was the King's\nsacred throne.\n\nNow there lived in a far-off land a youngster called Beowulf, who had\nthe strength of thirty men. He heard of the wicked deeds of Grendel, and\nthe sorrow of the good King Hrothgar. So he had made ready a strong\nship, and with fourteen friends set sail to visit Hrothgar, as he was in\nneed of help. The good ship flew over the swelling ocean like a bird,\ntill in due time the voyagers saw shining white cliffs before them. Then\nthey knew their journey was at an end; they made fast their ship,\ngrasped their weapons, and thanked God that they had had an easy voyage.\n\nNow the coastguard spied them from a tower. He set off to the shore,\nriding on horseback, and brandishing a huge lance.\n\n\"Who are you,\" he cried, \"bearing arms and openly landing here? I am\nbound to know from whence you come before you make a step forward.\nListen to my plain words, and hasten to answer me.\" Beowulf made answer\nthat they came as friends, to rid Hrothgar of his wicked enemy Grendel,\nand at that the coastguard led them on to guide them to the King's\npalace. Downhill they ran together, with a rushing sound of voices and\narmed tread, until they saw the hall shining like gold against the sky.\nThe guard bade them go straight to it, then, wheeling round on his\nhorse, he said, \"It is time for me to go. May the Father of All keep you\nin safety. For myself, I must guard the coast.\"\n\nThe street was paved with stone, and Beowulf's men marched along,\nfollowing it to the hall, their armour shining in the sun and clanging\nas they went. They reached the terrace, where they set down their broad\nshields. Then they seated themselves on the bench, while they stacked\ntheir spears together and made themselves known to the herald. Hrothgar\nspeedily bade them welcome. They entered the great hall with measured\ntread, Beowulf leading the way. His armour shone like a golden net-work,\nand his look was high and noble, as he said, \"Hail, O King! To fight\nagainst Grendel single-handed have I come. Grant me this, that I may\nhave this task alone, I and my little band of men. I know that the\nterrible monster despises weapons, and therefore I shall bear neither\nsword, nor shield, nor buckler. Hand to hand I will fight the foe, and\ndeath shall come to whomsoever God wills. If death overtakes me, then\nwill the monster carry away my body to the swamps, so care not for my\nbody, but send my armour to my King. My fate is in God's hands.\"\n\nHrothgar loved the youth for his noble words, and bade him and his men\nsit down to the table and merrily share the feast, if they had a mind to\ndo so. As they feasted, a minstrel sang with a clear voice. The Queen,\nin cloth of gold, moved down the hall and handed the jewelled cup of\nmead to the King and all the warriors, old and young. At the right\nmoment, with gracious words, she brought it to Beowulf. Full of pride\nand high purpose, the youth drank from the splendid cup, and vowed that\nhe would conquer the enemy or die.\n\nWhen the sun sank in the west, all the guests arose. The King bade\nBeowulf guard the house, and watch for the foe. \"Have courage,\" he said,\n\"be watchful, resolve on success. Not a wish of yours shall be left\nunfulfilled, if you perform this mighty deed.\"\n\nThen Beowulf lay down to rest in the hall, putting off from him his coat\nof mail, helmet, and sword.\n\nThrough the dim night Grendel came stealing. All slept in the darkness,\nall but one! The door sprang open at the first touch that the monster\ngave it. He trod quickly over the paved floor of the hall; his eyes\ngleamed as he saw a troop of kinsmen lying together asleep. He laughed\nas he reckoned on sucking the life of each one before day broke. He\nseized a sleeping warrior, and in a trice had crunched his bones. Then\nhe stretched out his hand to seize Beowulf on his bed. Quickly did\nBeowulf grip his arm; he stood up full length and grappled with him with\nall his might, till his fingers cracked as though they would burst.\nNever had Grendel felt such a grip; he had a mind to go, but could not.\nHe roared, and the hall resounded with his yells, as up and down he\nraged, with Beowulf holding him in a fast embrace. The benches were\noverturned, the timbers of the hall cracked, the beautiful hall was all\nbut wrecked. Beowulf's men had seized their weapons and thought to hack\nGrendel on every side, but no blade could touch him. Still Beowulf held\nhim by the arm; his shoulder cracked, and he fled, wounded to death,\nleaving hand, arm, and shoulder in Beowulf's grasp. Over the moors, into\nthe darkness, he sped as best he might, and to Beowulf was the victory.\n\nThen, in the morning, many a warrior came from far and near. Riding in\ntroops, they tracked the monster's path, where he had fled stricken to\ndeath. In a dismal pool he had yielded up his life.\n\nRacing their horses over the green turf, they reached again the paved\nstreet. The golden roof of the palace glittered in the sunlight. The\nKing stood on the terrace and gave thanks to God. \"I have had much woe,\"\nhe said, \"but this lad, through God's might, has done the deed that we,\nwith all our wisdom, could not do. Now I will heartily love you,\nBeowulf, as if you were my son. You shall want for nothing in this\nworld, and your fame shall live forever.\"\n\nThe palace was cleansed, the walls hung anew with cloth of gold, the\nwhole place was made fair and straight, for only the roof had been left\naltogether unhurt after the fight.\n\nA merry feast was held. The King brought forth out of his treasures a\nbanner, helmet, and mail coat. These he gave to Beowolf; but more\nwonderful than all was a famous sword handed down to him through the\nages. Then eight horses with golden cheekplates were brought within the\ncourt; one of them was saddled with King Hrothgar's own saddle,\ndecorated with silver. Hrothgar gave all to Beowulf, bidding him enjoy\nthem well. To each of Beowulf's men he gave rich gifts. The minstrels\nsang; the Queen, beautiful and gracious, bore the cup to the King and\nBeowulf. To Beowulf she, too, gave gifts: mantle and bracelets and\ncollar of gold. \"Use these gifts,\" she said, \"and prosper well! As far\nas the sea rolls your name shall be known.\"\n\nGreat was the joy of all till evening came. Then the hall was cleared of\nbenches and strewn with beds. Beowulf, like the King, had his own bower\nthis night to sleep in. The nobles lay down in the hall, at their heads\nthey set their shields and placed ready their helmets and their mail\ncoats. Each slept, ready in an instant to do battle for his lord.\n\nSo they sank to rest, little dreaming what deep sorrow was to fall on\nthem.\n\nHrothgar's men sank to rest, but death was to be the portion of one.\nGrendel the monster was dead, but Grendel's mother still lived. Furious\nat the death of her son, she crept to the great hall, and made her way\nin, clutched an earl, the King's dearest friend, and crushed him in his\nsleep. Great was the uproar, though the terror was less than when\nGrendel came. The knights leapt up, sword in hand; the witch hurried to\nescape, she wanted to get out with her life.\n\nThe aged King felt bitter grief when he heard that his dearest friend\nwas slain. He sent for Beowulf, who, like the King, had had his own\nsleeping bower that night. The youth stood before Hrothgar and hoped\nthat all was well.\n\n\"Do not ask if things go well,\" said the sorrowing King, \"we have fresh\ngrief this morning. My dearest friend and noblest knight is slain.\nGrendel you yourself destroyed through the strength given you by God,\nbut another monster has come to avenge his death. I have heard the\ncountry folk say that there were two huge fiends to be seen stalking\nover the moors, one like a woman, as near as they could make out, the\nother had the form of a man, but was huger far. It was he they called\nGrendel. These two haunt a fearful spot, a land of untrodden bogs and\nwindy cliffs. A waterfall plunges into the blackness below, and twisted\ntrees with gnarled roots overhang it. An unearthly fire is seen gleaming\nthere night after night. None can tell the depth of the stream. Even a\nstag, hunted to death, will face his foes on the bank rather than plunge\ninto those waters. It is a fearful spot. You are our only help, dare you\nenter this horrible haunt?\"\n\nQuick was Beowulf's answer: \"Sorrow not, O King! Rouse yourself quickly,\nand let us track the monster. Each of us must look for death, and he who\nhas the chance should do mighty deeds before it comes. I promise you\nGrendel's kin shall not escape me, if she hide in the depths of the\nearth or of the ocean.\"\n\nThe King sprang up gladly, and Beowulf and his friends set out. They\npassed stony banks and narrow gullies, the haunts of goblins.\n\nSuddenly they saw a clump of gloomy trees, overhanging a dreary pool. A\nshudder ran through them, for the pool was blood-red.\n\nAll sat down by the edge of the pool, while the horn sounded a cheerful\nblast. In the water were monstrous sea-snakes, and on jutting points of\nland were dragons and strange beasts: they tumbled away, full of rage,\nat the sound of the horn.\n\nOne of Beowulf's men took aim at a monster with his arrow, and pierced\nhim through, so that he swam no more.\n\nBeowulf was making ready for the fight. He covered his body with armour\nlest the fiend should clutch him. On his head was a white helmet,\ndecorated with figures of boars worked in silver. No weapon could hurt\nit. His sword was a wonderful treasure, with an edge of iron; it had\nnever failed any one who had needed it in battle.\n\n\"Be like a father to my men, if I perish,\" said Beowulf to Hrothgar,\n\"and send the rich gifts you have given me to my King. He will see that\nI had good fortune while life lasted. Either I will win fame, or death\nshall take me.\"\n\nHe dashed away, plunging headlong into the pool. It took nearly the\nwhole day before he reached the bottom, and while he was still on his\nway the water-witch met him. For a hundred years she had lived in those\ndepths. She made a grab at him, and caught him in her talons, but his\ncoat of mail saved him from her loathsome fingers. Still she clutched\nhim tight, and bore him in her arms to the bottom of the lake; he had no\npower to use his weapons, though he had courage enough. Water-beasts\nswam after him and battered him with their tusks.\n\nThen he saw that he was in a vast hall, where there was no water, but a\nstrange, unearthly glow of firelight. At once the fight began, but the\nsword would not bite--it failed its master in his need; for the first\ntime its fame broke down. Away Beowulf threw it in anger, trusting to\nthe strength of his hands. He cared nothing for his own life, for he\nthought but of honour.\n\nHe seized the witch by the shoulder and swayed her so that she sank on\nthe pavement. Quickly she recovered, and closed in on him; he staggered\nand fell, worn out. She sat on him, and drew her knife to take his life,\nbut his good mail coat turned the point. He stood up again, and then\ntruly God helped him, for he saw among the armour on the wall an old\nsword of huge size, the handiwork of giants. He seized it, and smote\nwith all his might, so that the witch gave up her life.\n\nHis heart was full of gladness, and light, calm and beautiful as that of\nthe sun, filled the hall. He scanned the vast chamber, and saw Grendel\nlying there dead. He cut off his head as a trophy for King Hrothgar,\nwhose men the fiend had killed and devoured.\n\nNow those men who were seated on the banks of the pool watching with\nHrothgar saw that the water was tinged with blood. Then the old men\nspoke together of the brave Beowulf, saying they feared they would never\nsee him again. The day was waning fast, so they and the King went\nhomeward. Beowulf's men stayed on, sick at heart, gazing at the pool.\nThey longed, but did not expect, to see their lord and master.\n\nUnder the depths, Beowulf was making his way to them. The magic sword\nmelted in his hand, like snow in sunshine; only the hilt remained, so\nvenomous was the fiend that had been slain therewith. He brought nothing\nmore with him than the hilt and Grendel's head. Up he rose through the\nwaters where the furious sea-beasts before had chased him. Now not one\nwas to be seen; the depths were purified when the witch lost her life.\nSo he came to land, bravely swimming, bearing his spoils. His men saw\nhim, they thanked God, and ran to free him of his armour. They rejoiced\nto get sight of him, sound and whole.\n\nNow they marched gladly through the highways to the town. It took four\nof them to carry Grendel's head. On they went, all fourteen, their\ncaptain glorious in their midst. They entered the great hall, startling\nthe King and Queen, as they sat at meat, with the fearful sight of\nGrendel's head.\n\nBeowulf handed the magic hilt to Hrothgar, who saw that it was the work\nof giants of old. He spake to Beowulf, while all held their peace,\npraised him for his courage, said that he would love him as his son,\nand bade him be a help to mankind, remembering not to glory in his own\nstrength, for he held it from God, and death without more ado might\nsubdue it altogether. \"Many, many treasures,\" he said, \"must pass from\nme to you to-morrow, but now rest and feast.\"\n\nGladly Beowulf sat down to the banquet, and well he liked the thought of\nthe rest.\n\nWhen day dawned, he bade the King farewell with noble words, promising\nto help him in time of need. Hrothgar with tears and embraces let him\ngo, giving him fresh gifts of hoarded jewels. He wept, for he loved\nBeowulf well, and knew he would never see him any more.\n\nThe coastguard saw the gallant warriors coming, bade them welcome, and\nled them to their ship. The wind whistled in the sails, and a pleasant\nhumming sound was heard as the good ship sped on her way. So Beowulf\nreturned home, having done mighty deeds and gained great honour.\n\nIn due time Beowulf himself became King, and well he governed the land\nfor fifty years. Then trouble came.\n\nA slave, fleeing from his master, stumbled by an evil chance into the\nden of a dragon. There he saw a dazzling hoard of gold, guarded by the\ndragon for three hundred winters. The treasure tempted him, and he\ncarried off a tankard of gold to give to his master, to make peace with\nhim.\n\nThe dragon had been sleeping, now he awoke, and sniffed the scent of an\nenemy along the rock. He hunted diligently over the ground; he wanted to\nfind the man who had done the mischief in his sleep. In his rage he\nswung around the treasure mound, dashing into it now and again to seek\nthe jewelled tankard. He found it hard to wait until evening came, when\nhe meant to avenge with fire the loss of his treasure.\n\nPresently the sun sank, and the dragon had his will. He set forth,\nburning all the cheerful homes of men: his rage was felt far and wide.\nBefore dawn he shot back again to his dark home, trusting in his mound\nand in his craft to defend himself.\n\nNow Beowulf heard that his own home had been burnt to the ground. It was\na great grief to him, almost making him break out in a rage against\nProvidence. His breast heaved with anger.\n\nHe meant to rid his country of the plague, and to fight the dragon\nsingle handed. He would have thought it shame to seek him with a large\nband, he who, as a lad, had killed Grendel and his kin. As he armed for\nthe fray, many thoughts filled his mind; he remembered the days of his\nyouth and manhood. \"I fought many wars in my youth,\" he said, \"and now\nthat I am aged, and the keeper of my people, I will yet again seek the\nenemy and do famously.\"\n\nHe bade his men await him on the mountain-side. They were to see which\nof the two would come alive out of the tussle.\n\nThere the aged King beheld where a rocky archway stood, with a stream of\nfire gushing from it; no one could stand there and not be scorched. He\ngave a great shout, and the dragon answered with a hot breath of flame.\nBeowulf, with drawn sword, stood well up to his shield, when the burning\ndragon, curved like an arch, came headlong upon him. The shield saved\nhim but little; he swung up the sword to smite the horrible monster, but\nits edge did not bite. Sparks flew around him on every side; he saw that\nthe end of his days had come.\n\nHis men crept away to the woods to save their lives. One, and one only,\nWiglaf by name, sped through the smoke and flame to help his lord.\n\n\"My Lord Beowulf!\" he cried, \"with all your might defend life, I will\nsupport you to the utmost.\"\n\nThe dragon came on in fury; in a trice the flames consumed Wiglaf's\nshield, but, nothing daunted, he stepped under the shelter of Beowulf's,\nas his own fell in ashes about him. The King remembered his strength of\nold, and he smote with his sword with such force that it stuck in the\nmonster's head, while splinters flew all around. His hand was so strong\nthat, as men used to say, he broke any sword in using it, and was none\nthe worse for it.\n\nNow, for the third time, the dragon rushed upon him, and seized him by\nthe neck with his poisonous fangs. Wiglaf, with no thought for himself,\nrushed forward, though he was scorched with the flames, and smote the\ndragon lower down than Beowulf had done. With such effect the sword\nentered the dragon's body that from that moment the fire began to cease.\n\nThe King, recovering his senses, drew his knife and ended the monster's\nlife. So these two together destroyed the enemy of the people. To\nBeowulf that was the greatest moment of his life, when he saw his work\ncompleted.\n\nThe wound that the dragon had given him began to burn and swell, for the\npoison had entered it. He knew that the tale of his days was told. As he\nrested on a stone by the mound, he pondered thoughtfully, looking on the\ncunning work of the dwarfs of old, the stone arches on their rocky\npillars. Wiglaf, with tender care, unloosed his helmet and brought him\nwater, Beowulf discoursing the while: \"Now I would gladly have given my\narmour to my son, had God granted me one. I have ruled this people fifty\nyears, and no King has dared attack them. I have held my own with\njustice, and no friend has lost his life through me. Though I am sick\nwith deadly wounds, I have comfort in this. Now go quickly, beloved\nWiglaf, show me the ancient wealth that I have won for my people, the\ngold and brilliant gems, that I may then contentedly give up my life.\"\n\nQuickly did Wiglaf enter the mound at the bidding of his master. On\nevery side he saw gold and jewels and choice vases, helmets and\nbracelets, and over head, a marvellous banner, all golden, gleaming with\nlight, so that he could scan the surface of the floor and see the\ncurious treasured hoards. He filled his lap full of golden cups and\nplatters, and also took the brilliant banner.\n\nHe hastened to return with his spoils, wondering, with pain, if he\nshould find his King still alive. He bore his treasures to him, laid\nthem on the ground, and again sprinkled him with water. \"I thank God,\"\nsaid the dying King, \"that I have been permitted to win this treasure\nfor my people; now they will have all that they need. But I cannot be\nany longer here. Bid my men make a lofty mound on the headland\noverlooking the sea, and there place my ashes. In time to come men shall\ncall it Beowulf's Barrow, it shall tower aloft to guide sailors over the\nstormy seas.\"\n\nThe brave King took from his neck his golden collar, took his helmet and\nhis coronet, and gave them to his true knight, Wiglaf. \"Fate has swept\nall my kinsmen away,\" said he, \"and now I must follow them.\"\n\nThat was his last word, as his soul departed from his bosom, to join the\ncompany of the just.\n\nOf all Kings in the world, he was, said his men, the gentlest to his\nknights and the most desirous of honour.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nCHILDE HORN\n\n\nThere dwelt once in Southland a King named Altof, who was rich,\npowerful, and gentle. His Queen was named Gotthild, and they had a young\nson called Horn. The rain never rained, the sun never shone upon a\nfairer boy; his skin was like roses and lilies, and as clear as glass;\nand he was as brave as he was handsome. At fifteen years old his like\nwas not to be seen in all the kingdoms around. He had a band of\nplay-fellows, twelve boys of noble birth, but not one of them could\nthrow the ball so high as Horn. Out of the twelve, two were his special\ncompanions, and one of them, Athulf, was the best of the company, while\nthe other, Figold, was altogether the worst.\n\nIt came to pass one summer morning that good King Altof was riding on\nthe sea-shore with only two attendants, and he looked out to sea and saw\nfifteen ships lying in the offing. It was the heathen Vikings who had\ncome from Northland, bent on plundering Christian lands. When these saw\nthe three Norsemen, they swarmed on to shore like a pack of wolves, all\narmed and full of battle fury. They slew the King and his knights, and\nmade themselves masters of the whole land.\n\nQueen Gotthild wept much for her lord, and more for her son, Childe\nHorn, who could not now ascend his father's throne. She clad herself in\nmourning garments, the meanest she could find, and went to dwell in a\ncave, where she prayed night and day for her son, that he might be\npreserved from the malice of his enemies, at whose mercy he and his\ncomrades lay. At first they thought to have slain him, but one of their\nleaders was touched by his glorious beauty, and so he said to the boy,\n\"Horn, you are a fair stripling and a bold, and when you come to years,\nyou and your band here, you are like to prove too many for us, so I am\ngoing to put you all in a boat and let it drift out to sea--where may\nthe gods preserve you, or else send you to the bottom; but, for all our\nsakes, you cannot remain here.\"\n\nThen they led the boys down to the shore, placed them in a little skiff,\nand pushed it off from the land. All but Horn wrung their hands in fear.\nThe waves rose high, and, as the boat was tossed up and down, the lads\ngave themselves up for lost, not knowing whither they were driven; but\nwhen the morning of the second day broke, Horn sprang up from where he\nsat in the forepart of the skiff, crying, \"I hear the birds sing, and I\nsee the grass growing green--we are at the land!\" Then they sprang right\ngladly on shore, and Horn called after the boat as it floated away, \"A\ngood voyage to thee, little boat! May wind and wave speed thee back to\nSouthland. Greet all who knew me, and chiefly the good Queen Gotthild,\nmy mother. And tell the heathen King that some day he shall meet his\ndeath at my hand.\"\n\nThen the boys went on till they came to a city, where reigned King\nAylmer of Westland--whom God reward for his kindness to them. He asked\nthem in mild words whence they came, \"for in good sooth,\" said he,\n\"never have I seen so well-favoured a company\"; and Horn answered\nproudly, \"We are of good Christian blood, and we come from Southland,\nwhich has just been raided by pagans, who slew many of our people, and\nsent us adrift in a boat, to be the sport of the winds and waves. For a\nday and a night we have been at sea without a rudder; and now we have\nbeen cast upon your coast, you may enslave or slay us, if but, it please\nthee, show us mercy.\"\n\nThen the good King asked, \"What is your name, my child?\" and the boy\nanswered. \"Horn, at your pleasure, my Lord King; and if you need a\nservant, I will serve you well and truly.\"\n\n\"Childe Horn,\" said the King, \"you bear a mighty name for one so young\nand tender.\n\n  \"Over hills and valleys oft the horn has rung,\n  In the royal palace long the horn has hung.\n  So shall thy name, O Hornchild, through every land resound,\n  And the fame of thy wondrous beauty in all the West be found.\"\n\nSo Horn found great favour with the King, and he put him in charge of\nAthelbrus, the house-steward, that he might teach him all knightly\nduties, and he spared no pains with him, nor yet with his companions;\nbut well trained as they all were, Horn was far ahead of them both in\nstature and noble bearing. Even a stranger looking at him could guess\nhis lofty birth, and the splendour of his marvellous beauty lit up all\nthe palace; while he won all hearts, from the meanest grooms to the\ngreatest of the court ladies.\n\nNow the fairest thing in that lordly court was the King's only daughter,\nRiminild. Her mother was dead, and she was well-beloved of her father,\nas only children are. Not a word had she ever ventured to speak to Horn\nwhen she saw him among the other knights at the great feasts, but day\nand night she bore his image in her heart. One night she dreamed that he\nentered her apartments (and she wondered much at his boldness), and in\nthe morning she sent for Athelbrus, the house-steward, and bade him\nconduct Horn into her presence. But he went to Athulf, who was the pure\nminded and true one of Horn's two chosen companions, while Figold, the\nother, was a wolf in sheep's clothing, and said to him, \"You shall go\nwith me in Horn's stead to the Princess.\"\n\nSo he went, and she, not recognising him in the ill-lighted room,\nstretched out her hand to him, crying, \"Oh, Horn, I have loved you long.\nNow plight me your troth.\"\n\nBut Athulf whispered to her, \"Hold! I am not Horn. I am but his friend,\nAthulf, as unlike him as may well be. Horn's little finger is fairer\nthan my whole body; and were he dead, or a thousand miles off, I would\nnot play him false.\"\n\nThen Riminild rose up in anger and glared upon the old steward, crying,\n\"Athelbrus, you wicked man, out of my sight, or I shall hate you for\nevermore! All shame and ill befall you if you bring me not Childe Horn\nhimself!\"\n\n\"Lady and Princess,\" answered Athelbrus warily, \"listen, and I will tell\nyou why I brought Athulf. The King entrusted Horn to my care, and I\ndread his anger. Now be not angry with me, and I will fetch him\nforthwith.\"\n\nThen he went away, but, instead of Horn, this time he called Figold, the\ndeceiver, and said to him, \"Come with me, instead of Horn, to the royal\nPrincess. Do not betray yourself, lest we both suffer for it.\"\n\nWillingly went the faithless one with him, but to Figold the maid held\nnot out her hand--well she knew that he was false, and she drove him\nfrom her presence in rage and fury. Athelbrus feared her anger, and said\nto himself, \"To make my peace with her I must now send her the true\nHorn.\" He found him in the hall presenting the wine cup to the King, and\nwhispered to him, \"Horn, you are wanted in the Princess's apartments\";\nand when Horn heard this his hand holding the full goblet so trembled\nthat the wine ran over the edge. He went straight into the presence of\nthe royal maiden, and as he knelt before her his beauty seemed to light\nup the room.\n\n\"Fair befall thee and thy maidens, O Lady!\" said he. \"The house-steward\nhas sent me hither to ask thy will.\"\n\nThen Riminild stood up, her cheeks red as the dawn, and told him of her\nlove; and Horn took counsel with himself how he should answer her.\n\n\"May God in heaven bless him whom thou weddest, whoever he may be,\" he\nsaid. \"I am but a foundling, and the King's servant to boot--it would be\nagainst all rule and custom were he to wed me with thee.\"\n\nWhen Riminild heard this her heart died within her, and she fell\nfainting on the floor; but Horn lifted her up, and advised her to\nrequest her father that he might now receive knighthood. \"An then,\" said\nhe, \"I will win you by my brave deeds.\"\n\nWhen she heard that, she recovered herself and said, \"Take my ring here\nto Master Athelbrus, and bid him from me ask the King to make you a\nknight.\"\n\nSo Horn went and told all to Athelbrus, who sought the King forthwith,\nand said, \"To-morrow is a festival; I counsel thee to admit Horn to\nknighthood.\" And the King was pleased, and said, \"Good! Horn is well\nworthy of it. I will create him a knight to-morrow, and he himself shall\nconfer it on his twelve companions.\"\n\nThe next day the newly knighted one went to Riminild's bower, and told\nher that now he was her own true knight, and must go forth to do brave\ndeeds in her name, and she said she would trust him evermore, and she\ngave him a gold ring with her name graven on it, which would preserve\nhim from all evil. \"Let this remind thee of me early and late,\" she\nsaid, \"and thou canst never fall by treachery.\" And then they kissed\neach other, and she closed the door behind him, with tears.\n\nThe other knights were feasting and shouting in the King's hall, but\nHorn went to the stable, armed from head to foot. He stroked his\ncoal-black steed, then sprang upon his back and rode off, his armour\nringing as he went. Down to the seashore he galloped, singing joyously\nand praying God soon to send him the chance to do some deed of knightly\ndaring, and there he met a band of pagen marauders, who had just landed\nfrom their pirate-ship. Horn asked them civilly what they wanted there,\nand one of the pagans answered insolently, \"To conquer the land and slay\nall that dwell in it, as we did to King Altof, whose son now serves a\nforeign lord.\"\n\nHorn, on hearing this, drew his sword and struck off the fellow's head;\nthen he thought of his dead father and of his mother in her lonely cave;\nhe looked on his ring and thought of Riminild, and dashed among the\npirates, laying about him right and left, till, I warrant you, there\nwere few of them left to tell the tale. \"This,\" he cried, \"is but the\nforetaste of what will be when I return to my own land and avenge my\nfather's death!\"\n\nThen he rode back to the palace and told the King how he had slain the\ninvaders, and \"Here,\" he said, \"is the head of the leader, to requite\nthee, O King, for granting me knighthood.\"\n\nThe next day the King went a-hunting in the forest, and the false Figold\nrode at his side, but Horn stayed at home. And Figold spoke to the King\nout of his wicked heart and said, \"I warn thee, King Aylmer, Horn is\nplotting to dishonour thee--to rob thee of thy daughter and of thy\nkingdom to boot. He is even now plotting with her in her bower.\"\n\nThen the King galloped home in a rage, and burst into Riminild's bower,\nand there, sure enough, he found Horn, as Figold had said. \"Out of my\nland, base foundling!\" he cried. \"What have you to do with the young\nQueen here?\"\n\nAnd Horn departed without a word. He went to the stable, saddled his\nhorse, then he girded on his sword and returned to the palace; he\ncrossed the hall and entered Riminild's apartments for the last time.\n\"Lady,\" he said, \"I must go forth to strange lands for seven years; at\nthe end of that time I will either return or send a messenger; but if I\ndo neither, you may give yourself to another, nor wait longer for me.\nNow kiss me a long farewell.\"\n\nRiminild promised to be true to him, and she took a gold ring from her\nfinger, saying, \"Wear this above the other which I gave you, or if you\ngrow weary of them, fling them both away, and watch to see if its two\nstones change colour; for if I die, the one will turn pale, and if I am\nfalse, the other will turn red.\"\n\n\"Riminild,\" said Childe Horn, \"I am yours for evermore! There is a pool\nof clear water under a tree in the garden--go there daily and look for\nmy shadow in the water. If you see it not, know that I am unaltered; and\nif you see it, know that I no longer love thee.\"\n\nThen they embraced and kissed each other, and Horn parted from her, and\nrode down to the coast, and took passage on a ship bound for Ireland.\nWhen he landed there, two of its King's sons met him, and took him to\ntheir father, good King Thurstan, before whom Horn bowed low, and the\nKing bade him welcome, and praised his beauty, and asked his name.\n\n\"My name is Good Courage,\" said Horn boldly, and the King was well\npleased.\n\nNow, at Christmas, King Thurstan made a great feast, and in the midst of\nit one rushed in crying, \"Guests, O King! We are besieged by five\nheathen chiefs, and one of them proclaims himself ready to fight any\nthree of our knights single handed to-morrow at sunrise.\"\n\n\"That would be but a sorry Christmas service,\" said King Thurstan; \"who\ncan advise me how best to answer them?\" Then Horn spoke up from his seat\nat the table, \"If these pagans are ready to fight, one against three,\nwhat may not a Christian dare? I will adventure myself against them all,\nand one after another they shall go down before my good sword.\"\n\nHeavy of heart was King Thurstan that night, and little did he sleep.\nBut \"Sir Good Courage\" rose early and buckled on his armour. Then he\nwent to the King and said, \"Now, Sir King, come with me to the field,\nand I will show you in what coin to pay the demands of these heathen.\"\nSo they rode on together in the twilight, till they came to the green\nmeadow, where a giant was waiting for them. Horn greeted him with a blow\nthat brought him to the ground at once, and ran another giant through\nthe heart with his sword; and when their followers saw that their\nleaders were slain, they turned and fled back to the shore, but Horn\ntried to cut them off from their ships, and in the scrimmage the King's\ntwo sons fell. At this Horn was sore grieved, and he fell upon the\npagans in fury, and slew them right and left, to avenge the King and\nhimself.\n\nBitterly wept King Thurstan when his sons were brought home to him on\ntheir biers; there was great mourning for the young princes, who were\nburied with high honours in the vault under the church. Afterwards the\nKing called his knights together and said to Horn, \"Good Courage, but\nfor you we were all dead men. I will make you my heir; you shall wed my\ndaughter Swanhild, who is bright and beautiful as the sunshine, and\nshall reign here after me.\"\n\nSo Horn lived there for six years, always under the name of Good\nCourage, but he sent no messenger to Riminild, not wishing any man to\nknow his secret, and consequently Riminild was in great sorrow on his\naccount, not knowing whether he was true to her or not. Moreover, the\nKing of a neighbouring country sought her hand in marriage, and her\nfather now fixed a day for the wedding.\n\nOne morning, as Horn was riding to the forest, he saw a stranger\nstanding in the wayside, who, on being questioned said, \"I come from\nWestland, and I seek the Knight Sir Horn. Riminild the maiden is in sore\nheaviness of spirit, bewailing herself day and night, for on Sunday next\nshe is to be married to a King.\"\n\nThen was Horn's grief as great as that of Riminild. His eyes overflowed\nwith tears. He looked at his ring with its colored stones; the one had\nnot turned red, but it seemed to him that the other was turning pale.\n\"Well knew my heart that you would keep your troth with me, Riminild,\"\nsaid he to himself, \"and that never would that stone grow red; but this\npaling one bodes ill. And you doubtless have often looked in the garden\npool for my shadow, and have seen naught there but your own lovely\nimage. _That_ shadow shall never come, O sweet love, Riminild, to\nprove to you that your love is false, but he himself shall come and\ndrive all shadows away.\n\n\"And you, my trusty messenger,\" he said aloud, \"go back to maid Riminild\nand tell her that she shall indeed wed a King next Sunday, for before\nthe church bells ring for service I will be with her.\"\n\nThe Princess Riminild stood on the beach and looked out to sea, hoping\nto see Horn coming in his helmet and shield to deliver her; but none\ncame, save her own messenger, who was washed up on the shore--drowned!\nAnd she wrung her hands in her anguish.\n\nHorn had gone immediately to King Thurstan, and, after saluting him,\ntold him his real name and his present trouble. \"And now, O King,\" said\nhe, \"I pray you to reward me for all my services by helping me to get\npossession of Riminild. Your daughter, Swanhild, will I give to a man\nthe best and faithfullest ever called to the ranks of knighthood.\"\n\nThen said the King, \"Horn, follow your own counsel\"; then he sent for\nhis knights, and many of them followed Horn, so that he had a thousand\nor more at his command. The wind favoured their course, and in a few\nhours the ships cast anchor on the shore of Westland. Horn left his\nforces in a wood while he went on to learn what was doing. Well did he\nknow the way, and lightly did he leap over the stones. As he went he met\na pilgrim, and asked him the latest news, who answered, \"I come from a\nwedding feast--but the bride's true love is far away, and she only\nweeps. I could not stay to see her grief.\"\n\n\"May God help me!\" said Horn: \"but this is sorrowful news. Let us change\ngarments, good pilgrim. I must go to the feast, and once there I vow. I\nwill give them something by which to remember Horn!\" He blackened his\neyebrows, and took the pilgrim's hat and staff, and when he reached the\ngate of the palace, the porter was for turning him back, but Horn took\nhim up and flung him over the bridge, and then went on to the hall where\nthe feast was being held. He sat down among the lowest, on the beggar's\nbench, and glowered round from under his blackened eyebrows. At a\ndistance he saw Riminild sitting like one in a dream; then she rose to\npour out mead and wine for the knights and squires, and Horn cried out,\n\"Fair Queen, if ye would have God's blessing, let the beggar's turn come\nnext.\"\n\nShe set down the flagon of wine, and poured him out brown beer in a jug,\nsaying: \"There, drink that off at a draught, thou boldest of beggar\nmen!\" But he gave it to the beggars, his companions, saying \"I am not\ncome to drink jugs of beer, but goblets of wine. Fair Queen,\" he cried,\n\"thou deemest me a beggar, but I am rather a fisherman, come to haul in\nmy net, which I left seven years ago hanging from a fair hand here in\nWestland.\" Then was Riminild much troubled within herself, and she\nlooked hard at Horn. She reached him the goblet and said, \"Drink wine\nthen, fisherman, and tell me who thou art.\"\n\nHe drank from the goblet, and then dropped into it the gold ring, and\nsaid, \"Look, O Queen, at what thou findest in the goblet, and ask no\nmore who I am.\" The Queen withdrew into her bower with her four maidens,\nand when she saw the gold ring that she had given to Horn, she was sore\ndistressed, and cried out, \"Childe Horn must be dead, for this is his\nring.\"\n\nShe then sent one of her waiting-maids to command the stranger to her\npresence, and Horn, all unrecognised, appeared before her. \"Tell me,\nhonest pilgrim, where thou gottest this ring?\" she asked him.\n\n\"I took it,\" said he, \"from the finger of a man whom I found lying sick\nunto death in a wood. Loudly he was bewailing himself and the lady of\nhis heart, one Riminild, who should at this time have wedded him.\" As he\nspoke he drew his cap down over his eyes, which were full of tears.\n\nThen Riminild cried, \"Break, heart, in my bosom! Horn is no more--he who\nhath already caused thee so many tender pangs.\" She threw herself on her\ncouch and called for a knife, to kill the bridegroom and herself.\n\nHer maidens shrieked with fear, but Horn flung his arms around her and\npressed her to his heart. Then he cast away hat and staff, and wiped the\nbrown stain from his face, and stood up before his love in his own fair\ncountenance, asking, \"Dear love, Riminild, know thou me not now? Away\nwith your grief and kiss me--I am Horn!--Horn, your true lover and born\nslave.\"\n\nShe gazed into his eyes. At first she could not believe that it was he,\nbut at last she could doubt no longer; she fell upon his neck, and in\nthe sweet greetings that followed were two sick hearts made whole.\n\n\"Horn, you miscreant! how could you play me such a trick?\"\n\n\"Have patience, sweet love, maid Riminild, and I will tell you all. Now\nlet me go and finish my work, and when it is done I will come and rest\nat your side.\"\n\nSo he left her, and went back to the forest, and Riminild sent for\nAthulf, who met her with a doleful countenance. \"Athulf!\" she cried,\n\"rejoice with me! Horn has come--I tell you Horn is here!\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said Athulf, \"that cannot be. Who hath brought thee such an idle\ntale? Day and night have I stood here watching for him, but he came not,\nand much I fear me the noble Horn is dead.\"\n\n\"I tell you he is living,\" she said--\"aye, and more alive than ever. Go\nto the forest and find him--he is there with all his faithful\nfollowers.\"\n\nAthulf made haste to the forest, still unbelieving, but soon his heart\nbounded for joy, for there rode Horn in his shining armour at the head\nof his troops. Athulf rode to his side, and they returned together to\nthe city, where Riminild was watching them from her turret. And Horn\npointed to her and cried to his company, \"Knights, yonder is my\nbride--help me to win her!\"\n\nThen was there a fierce storming of the gate--the shock of it shook\nRiminild's tower--and Horn and his heroes burst, all unheralded, into\nthe King's hall. Fierce and furious was the bridal dance that followed;\nthe tumult of it rose up to Riminild, and she prayed, \"God preserve my\nlover in this wild confusion!\"\n\nRight merrily danced her dancer, and all unscathed he flashed through\nthe hall, thanks to his true love and God's care. King Aylmer and the\nbridegroom confronted him and the younger, the bridegroom King, asked\nhim what he sought there. \"I seek my bride,\" said he, \"and if you do not\ngive her up to me I will have your life.\"\n\n\"Better thou should have the bride than that,\" said the other; \"though I\nwould sooner be torn in pieces than give thee either.\" And he defended\nhimself bravely, but it availed him naught. Horn struck off his head\nfrom his shoulders, so that it bounded across the hall. Then cried Horn\nto the other guests, \"The dance is over!\" after which he proclaimed a\ntruce, and, throwing himself down on a couch, spake thus to King Aylmer:\n\"I was born in Southland, of a royal race. The pagan Vikings slew King\nAltof, my father, and put me out to sea with my twelve companions. You\ndid train me for the order of knighthood, and I have dishonoured it by\nno unworthy deeds, though you did drive me from your kingdom, thinking I\nmeant to disgrace you through your daughter. But that which you credited\nme with I never contemplated. Accept me then, O King, for your\nson-in-law. Yet will I not claim my bride till I have won back my\nkingdom of Southland. That will I accomplish quickly, with the help of\nmy brave knights and such others as I pray you to lend me, leaving in\npledge therefor the fairest jewel in my crown, until King Horn shall be\nable to place Queen Riminild beside him on his father's throne.\"\n\nAs he spoke Riminild entered, and Horn took her hand and led her to her\nfather, and the young couple stood before the old King--a right royal\npair. Then King Aylmer spoke jestingly, \"Truly I once did chide a young\nknight in my wrath, but never King Horn, whom I now behold for the first\ntime. Never would I have spoken roughly to King Horn, much less\nforbidden him to woo a Princess.\"\n\nThen all the knights and lords came offering their good wishes to the\nhappy pair; and the old house-steward, Athelbrus, would have bent the\nknee to his former pupil, but Horn took the old man in his arms and\nembraced him, thanking him for all the pains he had taken with his\nbreeding.\n\nHorn's twelve companions came also, and did him homage as their\nsovereign, and he rejoiced to see them all, but especially Athulf the\nbrave and true. \"Athulf,\" he told him, \"thou hast helped me to win my\nbride here, now come with me to Southland and help me to make a home for\nher. And you, too, shall win a lady--I have already chosen her; her name\nis Swanhild, and she will look fair even beside Riminild.\" Then did\nAthulf rejoice, but Figold, the traitor, was ready to sink into the\nground with shame and envy.\n\nThen Horn returned to his ship, taking Athulf with him, but Figold he\nleft behind. Truly it is ill knowing what to do with a traitor, whether\nyou take him to the field or leave him at home.\n\nOn went the ship before a favouring wind; the voyage lasted but four\ndays. Horn landed at midnight, and he and Athulf went inland together.\nOn the way they came upon a noble looking knight asleep under his\nshield, upon which a cross was painted, and Horn cried to him, \"Awake,\nand tell us what they are doing here. Thou seemest to be a Christian, I\ntrow, else would I have hewn thee in pieces with my sword!\"\n\nThe good knight sprang up aghast, and said, \"Against my will I am\nserving the heathen who rule here. I am keeping a place ready for Horn,\nthe best loved of all heroes. Long I have wondered why he does not\nbestir himself to return and fight for his own. God give him power so to\ndo till he slay every one of these miscreants. They put him out to sea,\na tender boy, with his twelve playmates, one of whom was my only son,\nAthulf. Dearly he loved Horn, and was beloved by him. Could I but see\nthem both once more, I should feel that I could die in peace.\"\n\n\"Then rejoice,\" they told him, \"for Horn and Athulf are here!\"\n\nJoyfully did the old man greet the youths; he embraced his son and bent\nthe knee to Horn, and all three rejoiced together.\n\n\"Where is your company?\" asked the old knight. \"I suppose you two have\ncome to explore the land. Well, your mother still lives, and if she knew\nyou to be living would be beside herself with joy.\"\n\n\"Blessed be the day that I and my men landed here,\" said Horn. \"We will\ncatch these heathen dogs, or else tame them. We will speak to them in\nour own language.\"\n\nThen Horn blew his horn, so that all on board the ship heard it and came\non shore. As the young birds long for the dawn, so Horn longed for the\nfight that should free his country from her enemies. From morning to\nnight the battle raged, till all the heathen, young and old, were slain,\nand young King Horn himself slew the pirate King. Then he went to\nchurch, with all his people, and an anthem was sung to the glory of God,\nand Horn gave thanks aloud for the restoration of his kingdom, after\nwhich he sought the place where his mother dwelt. How his heart wept for\njoy when he saw her! He placed a crown on her head, and arrayed her in\nrich robes, and brought her up to the palace. \"Thou art glad to have thy\nchild again,\" he said to her in the joy of his heart, \"but I will make\nthee gladder still by bringing thee home a daughter, one who will please\nthee well.\" And he thought of his love, Riminild, with whom, however,\nthings were just then going very much amiss.\n\nFor as son as Horn had departed, the treacherous Figold had collected a\ngreat army of workmen and made them build him a tower in the sea, which\ncould only be reached when the tide was out. Now about this time Horn\nhad a dream, in which he saw Riminild on board a ship at sea, which\npresently went to pieces, and she tried to swim ashore, steering with\nher lily-white hand, while Figold, the traitor, sought to stop her with\nthe point of his sword. Then he awoke and cried, \"Athulf, true friend,\nwe must away across the sea. Unless we make all speed some evil will\nbefall us.\" And in the midst of a storm they set sail.\n\nIn the meantime Figold had left his tower and appeared in the presence\nof King Aylmer. Cunningly, out of his false heart spoke the traitor,\n\"King Aylmer, Horn has sent me word that he would have his bride handed\nover to my care. He has regained his crown and realm and would fain have\nher there to be his Queen.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said the King, \"let her go with thee.\"\n\nBut Riminild was much displeased at the thought of being put into the\nhands of Figold, whom in her soul she would not trust.\n\n\"Why comes not Horn for me himself?\" she asked. \"I know not the way to\nhis kingdom either by land or by sea.\"\n\n\"But I know it,\" said Figold, \"and I will soon bring thee thither, most\nbeauteous queen.\" But his wicked smile made her uneasy at heart.\n\n\"If Horn could not come himself,\" she said, \"why did he not send Athulf,\nhis faithful friend?\" But this question pleased the traitor so little\nthat he gave her no answer.\n\nHer father blessed her, and she set forth, wringing her white hands.\n\nMeanwhile, Horn, sailing from the south, was driven in shore by a storm,\nand he beheld Figold's high tower, and asked who had built such an ugly\nthing. He thought he heard a low murmuring as his ship flew past it\nbefore the wind, but knew not what it might be. Soon he saw the\nbattlements of King Aylmer's palace rising in the distance; there\nRiminild should be, looking out for him, but all was bare and empty. It\nseemed to him as though a star were missing from heaven; and as he\ncrossed the threshold the ill news was told him how Figold had carried\noff Riminild. Horn had no mind to linger with the King. \"Come, Athulf,\ntrue friend,\" said he, \"and help me to search for her.\" So they searched\nfar and near, in vain, till at last Horn remembered that strange tower\nin the sea, and set sail for the lonely fortress where Figold had the\nfair princess in his evil keeping. \"Now, my eleven companions, and you,\ntoo, Athulf,\" said he, \"abide here while I go up alone with my horn. God\nhath shown me how to order this attempt.\"\n\nHe left his sword on the ship, and took only a fishing line with a long\nhook. Then round and round the tower he walked, and he blew a loud blast\nout into the raging storm, until a head appeared out of a hole in the\nwall of the tower--it was that wicked knave Figold's; and Horn cast his\nline, and hauled the writhing traitor clean out of the tower. He whirled\nround the sea wolf at the end of the line, and swung him over the water\nby the sheer force of his arm, so that he was cast over to Athulf in the\nship; and sore afraid was the traitor when the true men on board seized\nhim.\n\nThen Horn took up his bugle once more and sounded it so loudly that at\nthe first blast the door was uncovered; at the second he could enter the\ntower; the third was heard as he led Riminild forth. Lightly did he\nclasp her round the waist and swing her into his boat, and then pulled\nfor the ship.\n\nHe brought Riminild on board his ship, and called to his band, \"Ho\nthere, my trusty eleven! Our voyage is ended, and we will now go merrily\nhome. And you, Athulf, my chosen and tried friend, shall now have your\nguerdon; I will bring you to your bride Swanhild, and Riminild and I\nwill be wedded at the same time--the same wedding feast shall serve us\nboth.\n\n\"And Riminild, my sweet pearl, whom I have rescued from the deep, not\nall that I have suffered on your account grieves me like the perfidy\nthis false one wrought on you, my loving heart. Through him the goodly\ntale of my twelve followers is broken; now when they gather round the\ntable, one seat will ever be empty. Must it ever be that no dozen of men\ncan be got together but one will prove a traitor?\"\n\nThen he bade them \"Set the traitor in the boat and let it drift out to\nsea, as we poor children were made to do aforetime. Let the waves bear\naway treachery as once they bore innocence--our ship will make better\nspeed; and as for him, let him drift till he find a land where no\ntraitors are.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nSIR GALAHAD\n\n\n  My good blade carves the casques of men,\n    My tough lance thrusteth sure,\n  My strength is as the strength of ten,\n    Because my heart is pure.\n  The shattering trumpet shrilleth high,\n    The hard brands shiver on the steel,\n  The splinter'd spear-shafts crack and fly,\n    The horse and rider reel:\n  They reel, they roll in changing lists,\n    And when the tide of combat stands,\n  Perfume and flowers fall in showers,\n    That lightly rain from ladies' hands.\n\n  How sweet are looks that ladies bend\n    On whom their favours fall!\n  For them I battle till the end,\n    To save from shame and thrall:\n  But all my heart is drawn above,\n    My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine:\n  I never felt the kiss of love,\n    Nor maiden's hand in mine.\n  More bounteous aspects on me beam,\n    Me mightier transports move and thrill;\n  So keep I fair thro' faith and prayer\n    A virgin heart in work and will.\n\n  When down the stormy crescent goes,\n    A light before me swims,\n  Between dark stems the forest glows,\n    I hear a noise of hymns:\n  Then by some secret shrine I ride;\n    I hear a voice but none are there;\n  The stalls are void, the doors are wide,\n    The tapers burning fair.\n  Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth,\n    The silver vessels sparkle clean,\n  The shrill bell rings, the censer swings,\n    And solemn chaunts resound between.\n\n  Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres\n    I find a magic bark;\n  I leap on board: no helmsman steers:\n    I float till all is dark.\n  A gentle sound, an awful light!\n    Three angels bear the Holy Grail:\n  With folded feet, in stoles of white,\n    On sleeping wings they sail.\n  Ah, blessed vision! blood of God!\n    My spirit beats her mortal bars,\n  As down dark tides the glory slides,\n    And star-like mingles with the stars.\n\n  When on my goodly charger borne\n    Thro' dreaming towns I go,\n  The cock crows ere the Christmas morn,\n    The streets are dumb with snow.\n  The tempest crackles on the leads,\n    And, ringing, spins from brand and mail;\n  But o'er the dark a glory spreads,\n    And gilds the driving hail.\n\n  I leave the plain, I climb the height;\n    No branchy thicket shelter yields;\n  But blessed forms in whistling storms\n    Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields.\n\n  A maiden knight--to me is given\n    Such hope, I know not fear;\n  I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven\n    That often meet me here.\n  I muse on joy that will not cease,\n    Pure spaces clothed in living beams,\n  Pure lilies of eternal peace,\n    Whose odors haunt my dreams;\n  And, stricken by an angel's hand,\n    This mortal armour that I wear,\n  This weight and size, this heart and eyes,\n    Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air.\n\n  The clouds are broken in the sky,\n    And thro' the mountain-walls\n  A rolling organ-harmony\n    Swells up, and shakes and falls.\n  Then move the trees, the copses nod,\n    Wings flutter, voices hover clear:\n  \"O just and faithful knight of God!\n    Ride on! the prize is near.\"\n  So pass I hostel, hall, and grange;\n    By bridge and ford, by park and pale,\n  All-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide,\n    Until I find the Holy Grail.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nRUSTEM AND SOHRAB\n\n\nGive ear unto the combat of Sohrab against Rustem, though it be a tale\nreplete with tears.\n\nIt came about that on a certain day Rustem arose from his couch, and his\nmind was filled with forebodings. He bethought him therefore to go out\nto the chase. So he saddled Rakush and made ready his quiver with\narrows. Then he turned him unto the wilds that lie near Turan, even in\nthe direction of the city of Samengan. And when he was come nigh unto\nit, he started a herd of asses and made sport among them till that he\nwas weary of the hunt. Then he caught one and slew it and roasted it for\nhis meal, and when he had eaten it and broken the bones for the marrow,\nhe laid himself down to slumber, and Rakush cropped the pasture beside\nhim.\n\nNow while the hero was sleeping there passed by seven knights of Turan,\nand they beheld Rakush and coveted him. So they threw their cords at him\nto ensnare him. But Rakush, when he beheld their design, pawed the\nground in anger, and fell upon them as he had fallen upon the lion. And\nof one man he bit off the head, and another he struck down under his\nhoofs, and he would have overcome them all, but they were too many. So\nthey ensnared him and led him into the city, thinking in their hearts,\n\"Verily a goodly capture have we made.\" But Rustem when he awoke from\nhis slumbers was downcast and sore grieved when he saw not his steed,\nand he said unto himself:\n\n\"How can I stand against the Turks, and how can I traverse the desert\nalone?\"\n\nAnd his heart was full of trouble. Then he sought for the traces of the\nhorse's hoofs, and followed them, and they led him even unto the gates\nof the city. Now when those within beheld Rustem, and that he came\nbefore them on foot, the King and the nobles came forth to greet him,\nand inquired of him how this was come about. Then Rustem told them how\nRakush was vanished while he slumbered, and how he had followed his\ntrack even unto these gates. And he sware a great oath, and vowed that\nif his courser were not restored unto him many heads should quit their\ntrunks. Then the King of Samengan, when he saw that Rustem was beside\nhimself with anger, spoke words of soothing, and said that none of his\npeople should do wrong unto the hero; and he begged him that he would\nenter into his house and abide with him until that search had been made,\nsaying:\n\n\"Surely Rakush cannot be hid.\"\n\nAnd Rustem was satisfied at these words, and cast suspicion from his\nspirit, and entered the house of the King, and feasted with him, and\nbeguiled the hours with wine. And the King rejoiced in his guest, and\nencompassed him with sweet singers and all honour. And when the night\nwas fallen the King himself led Rustem unto a couch perfumed with musk\nand roses, and he bade him slumber sweetly until the morning. And he\ndeclared to him yet again that all was well for him and for his steed.\n\nNow when a portion of the night was spent, and the star of morning stood\nhigh in the arch of heaven, the door of Rustem's chamber was opened, and\na murmur of soft voices came in from the threshold. And there stepped\nwithin a slave bearing a lamp perfumed with amber, and a woman whose\nbeauty was veiled came after her. And as she moved musk was scattered\nfrom her robes. And the women came nigh unto the bed of the hero heavy\nwith wine and slumber. And he was amazed when he saw them. And when he\nhad roused him somewhat he spake and said:\n\n\"Who are thou, and what is thy name and thy desire, and what seekest\nthou from me in the dark night?\"\n\nThen the Peri-faced answered him, saying, \"I am Tahmineh, the daughter\nof the King of Samengan, the race of the leopard and the lion, and none\nof the princes of this earth are worthy of my hand, neither hath any man\nseen me unveiled. But my heart is torn with anguish, and my spirit is\ntossed with desire, for I have heard of thy deeds of prowess, and how\nthou fearest neither Deev nor lion, neither leopard nor crocodile, and\nhow thy hand is swift to strike, and how thou didst venture alone into\nMazinderan, and how wild asses are devoured of thee, and how the earth\ngroaneth under the tread of thy feet, and how men perish at thy blows,\nand how even the eagle dareth not swoop down upon her prey when she\nbeholdeth thy sword. These things and more have they told unto me, and\nmine eyes have yearned to look upon thy face. And now hath God brought\nthee within the gates of my father, and I am come to say unto thee that\nI am thine if thou wilt hear me, and if thou wilt not, none other will I\nespouse. And consider, O Pehliva, how that love has obscured mine\nunderstanding and withdrawn me from the bosom of discretion, yet\nperadventure God will grant unto me a son like to thee for strength and\nvalour, to whom shall be given the empire of the world. And if thou wilt\nlisten unto me, I will lead forth before thee Rakush thy steed, and I\nwill place under thy feet the land of Samengan.\"\n\nNow while this moon of beauty was yet speaking, Rustem regarded her. And\nhe saw that she was fair, and that wisdom abode in her mind; and when he\nheard of Rakush, his spirit was decided within him, and he held that\nthis adventure could not end save gloriously. So he sent a Mubid unto\nthe King and demanded the hand of Tahmineh from her father. And the\nKing, when he heard the news, was rejoiced, and gave his daughter unto\nthe Pehliva, and they concluded an alliance according to custom and the\nrites. And all men, young and old, within the house and city of the King\nwere glad at this alliance, and called down blessings upon Rustem.\n\nNow Rustem, when he was alone with the Peri-faced, took from his arm an\nonyx that was known unto all the world. And he gave it to her, and said:\n\n\"Cherish this jewel, and if Heaven cause thee to give birth unto a\ndaughter, fasten it within her locks, and it will shield her from evil;\nbut if it be granted unto thee to bring forth a son, fasten it upon his\narm, that he may wear it like his father. And he shall be strong as\nKeriman, of stature like unto Saum the son of Neriman, and of grace of\nspeech like unto Zal, my father.\"\n\nThe Peri-faced, when she had heard these words, was glad in his\npresence. But when the day was passed there came in unto them the King\nher father, and he told Rustem how that tidings of Rakush were come unto\nhis ears, and how that the courser would shortly be within the gates.\nAnd Rustem, when he heard it, was filled with longing after his steed,\nand when he knew that he was come he hastened forth to caress him. And\nwith his own hands he fastened the saddle, and gave thanks unto Ormuzd,\nwho had restored his joy between his hands. Then he knew that the time\nto depart was come. And he opened his arms and took unto his heart\nTahmineh the fair of face, and he bathed her cheek with his tears and\ncovered her hair with kisses. Then he flung him upon Rakush, and the\nswift-footed bare him quickly from out of her sight. And Tahmineh was\nsorrowful exceedingly, and Rustem too was filled with thoughts as he\nturned him back unto Zaboulistan. And he pondered this adventure in his\nheart, but to no man did he speak of what he had seen or done.\n\nNow when nine moons had run their course there was born unto Tahmineh a\nson in the likeness of his father, a babe whose mouth was filled with\nsmiles, wherefore men called him Sohrab. And when he numbered but one\nmonth he was like unto a child of twelve, and when he numbered five\nyears he was skilled in arms and all the arts of war, and when ten years\nwere rolled above his head there was none in the land that could resist\nhim in the games of strength. Then he came before his mother and spake\nwords of daring. And he said:\n\n\"Since I am taller and stouter than my peers, teach unto me my race and\nlineage, and what I shall say when men ask me the name of my sire. But\nif thou refuse an answer unto my demands, I will strike thee out from\nthe rolls of the living.\"\n\nWhen Tahmineh beheld the ardour of her son, she smiled in her spirit\nbecause that his fire was like to that of his father. And she opened her\nmouth and said:\n\n\"Hear my words, O my son, and be glad in thine heart, neither give way\nin thy spirit to anger. For thou art the offspring of Rustem, thou art\ndescended from the seed of Saum and Zal, and Neriman was thy forefather.\nAnd since God made the world it hath held none like unto Rustem, thy\nsire.\"\n\nThen she showed to him a letter written by the Pehliva, and gave to him\nthe gold and jewels Rustem had sent at his birth. And she spake and\nsaid:\n\n\"Cherish these gifts with gratitude, for it is thy father who hath sent\nthem. Yet remember, O my son, that thou close thy lips concerning these\nthings; for Turan groaneth under the hand of Afrasiyab, and he is foe\nunto Rustem the glorious. If, therefore, he should learn of thee, he\nwould seek to destroy the son for hatred of the sire. Moreover, O my\nboy, if Rustem learned that thou wert become a mountain of valour,\nperchance he would demand thee at my hands, and the sorrow of thy loss\nwould crush the heart of thy mother.\"\n\nBut Sohrab replied, \"Nought can be hidden upon earth for aye. To all men\nare known the deeds of Rustem, and since my birth be thus noble,\nwherefore hast thou kept it dark from me so long? I will go forth with\nan army of brave Turks and lead them unto Iran, I will cast Kai Kaous\nfrom off his throne, I will give to Rustem the crown of the Kaianides,\nand together we will subdue the land of Turan, and Afrasiyab shall be\nslain by my hands. Then will I mount the throne in his stead. But thou\nshalt be called Queen of Iran, for since Rustem is my father and I am\nhis son no other kings shall rule in this world, for to us alone\nbehoveth it to wear the crowns of might. And I pant in longing after the\nbattlefield, and I desire that the world should behold my prowess. But a\nhorse is needful unto me, a steed tall and strong of power to bear me,\nfor it beseemeth me not to go on foot before mine enemies.\"\n\nNow Tahmineh, when she had heard the words of this boy, rejoiced in her\nsoul at his courage. So she bade the guardians of the flocks lead out\nthe horses before Sohrab her son. And they did as she had bidden, and\nSohrab surveyed the steeds, and tested their strength like as his father\nhad done before him of old, and he bowed them under his hand, and he\ncould not be satisfied. And thus for many days did he seek a worthy\nsteed. Then one came before him and told of a foal sprung from Rakush,\nthe swift of foot. When Sohrab heard the tidings he smiled, and bade\nthat the foal be led before him. And he tested it and found it to be\nstrong. So he saddled it and sprang upon its back, and cried, saying:\n\n\"Now that I own a horse like thee, the world shall be made dark to\nmany.\"\n\nThen he made ready for war against Iran, and the nobles and warriors\nflocked around him. And when all was in order Sohrab came before his\ngrandsire and craved his counsel and his aid to go forth into the land\nof Iran and seek out his father. And the King of Samengan, when he heard\nthese wishes, deemed them to be just, and he opened the doors of his\ntreasures without stint and gave unto Sohrab of his wealth, for he was\nfilled with pleasure at this boy. And he invested Sohrab with all the\nhonours of a King, and he bestowed on him all the marks of his good\npleasure.\n\nMeantime a certain man brought news unto Afrasiyab that Sohrab was\nmaking ready an army to fall upon Iran, and to cast Kai Kaous from off\nhis throne. And he told Afrasiyab how the courage and valour of Sohrab\nexceeded words. And Afrasiyab, when he heard this, hid not his\ncontentment, and he called before him Human and Barman, the doughty.\nThen he bade them gather together an army and join the ranks of Sohrab,\nand he confided to them his secret purpose, but he enjoined them tell no\nman thereof. For he said:\n\n\"Into our hands hath it been given to settle the course of the world.\nFor it is known unto me that Sohrab is sprung from Rustem the Pehliva,\nbut from Rustem must it be hidden who it is that goeth out against him,\nthen peradventure he will perish by the hands of this young lion, and\nIran, devoid of Rustem, will fall a prey into my hands. Then we will\nsubdue Sohrab also, and all the world will be ours. But if it be written\nthat Sohrab fall under the hand of Tehemten, then the grief he shall\nendure when he shall learn that he hath slain his son will bring him to\nthe grave for sorrow.\"\n\nSo spake Afrasiyab in his guile, and when he had done unveiling his\nblack heart he bade the warriors depart unto Samengan. And they bare\nwith them gifts of great price to pour before the face of Sohrab. And\nthey bare also a letter filled with soft words. And in the letter\nAfrasiyab lauded Sohrab for his resolve, and told him how that if Iran\nbe subdued the world would henceforth know peace, for upon his own head\nshould he place the crown of the Kaianides; and Turan, Iran, and\nSamengan should be as one land.\n\nWhen Sohrab had read this letter, and saw the gifts and the aid sent out\nto him, he rejoiced aloud, for he deemed that now none could withstand\nhis might. So he caused the cymbals of departure to be clashed, and the\narmy made them ready to go forth. Then Sohrab led them into the land of\nIran. And their track was marked by desolation and destruction, for they\nspared nothing that they passed. And they spread fire and dismay abroad,\nand they marched on unstayed until they came unto the White Castle, the\nfortress wherein Iran put its trust.\n\nNow the guardian of the castle was named Hujir, and there lived with him\nGustahem the grave, but he was grown old, and could aid no longer save\nwith his counsels. And there abode also his daughter Gurdafrid, a\nwarlike maid, firm in the saddle, and practised in the fight. Now when\nHujir beheld from afar a dusky cloud of armed men he came forth to meet\nthem. And Sohrab, when he saw him, drew his sword, and demanded his\nname, and bade him prepare to meet his end. And he taunted him with\nrashness that he was come forth thus unaided to stand against a lion.\nBut Hujir answered Sohrab with taunts again, and vowed that he would\nsever his head from his trunk and send it for a trophy unto the Shah.\nYet Sohrab only smiled when he heard these words, and he challenged\nHujir to come near. And they met in combat, and wrestled sore one with\nanother, and stalwart were their strokes and strong; but Sohrab overcame\nHujir as though he were an infant, and he bound him and sent him captive\nunto Human.\n\nBut when those within the castle learned that their chief was bound they\nraised great lamentation, and their fears were sore. And Gurdafrid, too,\nwhen she learned it, was grieved, but she was ashamed also for the fate\nof Hujir. So she took forth burnished mail and clad herself therein, and\nshe hid her tresses under a helmet of Roum, and she mounted a steed of\nbattle and came forth before the walls like to a warrior. And she\nuttered a cry of thunder, and flung it amid the ranks of Turan, and she\ndefied the champions to come forth to single combat. And none came, for\nthey beheld her how she was strong, and they knew not that it was a\nwoman, and they were afraid. But Sohrab, when he saw it, stepped forth\nand said:\n\n\"I will accept thy challenge, and a second prize will fall into my\nhands.\"\n\nThen he girded himself and made ready for the fight. And the maid, when\nshe saw he was ready, rained arrows upon him with art, and they fell\nquick like hail, and whizzed about his head; and Sohrab, when he saw it,\ncould not defend himself, and was angry and ashamed. Then he covered his\nhead with his shield and ran at the maid. But she, when she saw him\napproach, dropped her bow and couched a lance, and thrust at Sohrab with\nvigour, and shook him mightily, and it wanted little and she would have\nthrown him from his seat. And Sohrab was amazed, and his wrath knew no\nbounds. Then he ran at Gurdafrid with fury, and seized the reins of her\nsteed, and caught her by the waist, and tore her armour, and threw her\nupon the ground. Yet ere he could raise his hand to strike her, she drew\nher sword and shivered his lance in twain, and leaped again upon her\nsteed. And when she saw that the day was hers, she was weary of further\ncombat, and she sped back unto the fortress. But Sohrab gave rein unto\nhis horse, and followed after her in his great anger. And he caught her,\nand seized her, and tore the helmet off her head, for he desired to look\nupon the face of the man who could withstand the son of Rustem. And lo!\nwhen he had done so, there rolled forth from the helmet coils of dusky\nhue, and Sohrab beheld it was a woman that had overcome him in the\nfight. And he was confounded. But when he had found speech he said:\n\n\"If the daughters of Iran are like to thee, and go forth unto battle,\nnone can stand against this land.\"\n\nThen he took his cord and threw it about her, and bound her in its\nsnare, saying:\n\n\"Seek not to escape me, O moon of beauty, for never hath prey like unto\nthee fallen between my hands.\"\n\nThen Gurdafrid, full of wile, turned unto him her face that was\nunveiled, for she beheld no other means of safety, and she said unto\nhim:\n\n\"O hero without flaw, is it well that thou shouldest seek to make me\ncaptive, and show me unto the army? For they have beheld our combat, and\nthat I overcame thee, and surely now they will gibe when they learn that\nthy strength was withstood by a woman. Better would it beseem thee to\nhide this adventure, lest thy cheeks have cause to blush because of me.\nTherefore let us conclude a peace together. The castle shall be thine,\nand all it holds; follow after me then, and take possession of thine\nown.\"\n\nNow Sohrab, when he had listened, was beguiled by her words and her\nbeauty, and he said:\n\n\"Thou dost wisely to make peace with me, for verily these walls could\nnot resist my might.\"\n\nAnd he followed after her unto the heights of the castle, and he stood\nwith her before its gates. And Gustahem, when he saw them, opened the\nportal, and Gurdafrid stepped within the threshold, but when Sohrab\nwould have followed after her she shut the door upon him. Then Sohrab\nsaw that she had befooled him, and his fury knew no bounds. But ere he\nwas recovered from his surprise she came out upon the battlements and\nscoffed at him, and counselled him to go back whence he was come; for\nsurely, since he could not stand against a woman, he would fall an easy\nprey before Rustem, when the Pehliva should have learned that robbers\nfrom Turan were broken into the land. And Sohrab was made yet madder for\nher words, and he departed from the walls in his wrath, and rode far in\nhis anger, and spread terror in his path. And he vowed that he would yet\nbring the maid into subjection.\n\nIn the meantime Gustahem the aged called before him a scribe, and bade\nhim write unto Kai Kaous all that was come about, and how an army was\ncome forth from Turan, at whose head rode a chief that was a child in\nyears, a lion in strength and stature. And he told how Hujir had been\nbound, and how the fortress was like to fall into the hands of the\nenemy; for there were none to defend it save only his daughter and\nhimself and he craved the Shah to come to their aid.\n\nAlbeit when the day had followed yet again upon the night, Sohrab made\nready his host to fall upon the castle. But when he came near thereto he\nfound it was empty, and the doors thereof stood open, and no warriors\nappeared upon its walls. And he was surprised, for he knew not that in\nthe darkness the inmates were fled by a passage that was hidden under\nthe earth. And he searched the building for Gurdafrid, for his heart\nyearned after her in love and he cried aloud:\n\n\"Woe, woe is me that this moon is vanished behind the clouds!\"\n\nNow when Kai Kaous had gotten the writing of Gustahem, he was sore\nafflicted and much afraid, and he called about him his nobles and asked\ntheir counsels. And he said:\n\n\"Who shall stand against this Turk? For Gustahem doth liken him in power\nunto Rustem, and saith he resembleth the seed of Neriman.\"\n\nThen the warriors cried with one accord, \"Unto Rustem alone can we look\nin this danger!\"\n\nAnd Kai Kaous hearkened to their voice, and he called for a scribe and\ndictated unto him a letter. And he wrote unto his Pehliva, and invoked\nthe blessings of Heaven upon his head, and he told him all that was come\nto pass, and how new dangers threatened Iran, and how to Rustem alone\ncould he look for help in his trouble. And he recalled unto Tehemten all\nthat he had done for him in the days that were gone by, and he entreated\nhim once again to be his refuge. And he said:\n\n\"When thou shalt receive this letter, stay not to speak the word that\nhangeth upon thy lips; and if thou bearest roses in thy hands, stop not\nto smell them, but haste thee to help us in our need.\"\n\nThen Kai Kaous sent forth Gew with this writing unto Zaboulistan, and\nbade him neither rest nor tarry until he should stand before the face of\nRustem. And he said--\n\n\"When thou hast done my behest, turn thee again unto me; neither abide\nwithin the courts of the Pehliva, nor linger by the roadside.\"\n\nAnd Gew did as the Shah commanded, and took neither food nor rest till\nhe set foot within the gates of Rustem. And Rustem greeted him kindly,\nand asked him of his mission; and when he had read the writing of the\nShah, he questioned Gew concerning Sohrab. For he said:\n\n\"I should not marvel if such an hero arose in Iran, but that a warrior\nof renown should come forth from amid the Turks, I cannot believe it.\nBut thou sayest none knoweth whence cometh this knight. I have myself a\nson in Samengan, but he is yet an infant, and his mother writeth to me\nthat he rejoiceth in the sports of his age, and though he be like to\nbecome a hero among men, his time is not yet come to lead forth an army.\nAnd that which thou sayest hath been done; surely it is not the work of\na babe. But enter, I pray thee, into my house, and we will confer\ntogether concerning this adventure.\"\n\nThen Rustem bade his cooks make ready a banquet, and he feasted Gew, and\ntroubled his head with wine, and caused him to forget cares and time.\nBut when morn was come Gew remembered the commands of the Shah that he\ntarry not, but return with all speed, and he spake thereof to Rustem,\nand prayed him to make known his resolve. But Rustem spake, saying:\n\n\"Disquiet not thyself, for death will surely fall upon these men of\nTuran. Stay with me yet another day and rest, and water thy lips that\nare parched. For though this Sohrab be a hero like to Saum and Zal and\nNeriman, verily he shall fall by my hands.\"\n\nAnd he made ready yet another banquet, and three days they caroused\nwithout ceasing. But on the fourth Gew uprose with resolve, and came\nbefore Rustem girt for departure. And he said:\n\n\"It behoveth me to return, O Pehliva, for I bethink me how Kai Kaous is\na man hard and choleric, and the fear of Sohrab weigheth upon his heart,\nand his soul burneth with impatience, and he hath lost sleep, and hath\nhunger and thirst on this account. And he will be wroth against us if we\ndelay yet longer to do his behest.\"\n\nThen Rustem said, \"Fear not, for none on earth dare be angered with me.\"\n\nBut he did as Gew desired, and made ready his army, and saddled Rakush,\nand set forth from Zaboulistan, and a great train followed after him.\n\nNow when they came nigh unto the courts of the Shah, the nobles came\nforth to meet them, and do homage before Rustem. And when they were come\nin, Rustem gat him from Rakush and hastened into the presence of his\nlord. But Kai Kaous, when he beheld him, was angry, and spake not, and\nhis brows were knit with fury; and when Rustem had done obeisance before\nhim, he unlocked the doors of his mouth, and words of folly escaped his\nlips. And he said:\n\n\"Who is Rustem, that he defieth my power and disregardeth my commands?\nIf I had a sword within my grasp I would spilt his head like to an\norange. Seize him, I command, and hang him upon the nearest gallows, and\nlet his name be never spoken in my presence.\"\n\nWhen he heard these words Gew trembled in his heart, but he said, \"Dost\nthou set forth thy hand against Rustem?\"\n\nAnd the Shah when he heard it was beside himself, and he cried with a\nloud voice that Gew be hanged together with the other; and he bade Tus\nlead them forth. And Tus would have led them out, for he hoped the anger\nof the Shah would be appeased; but Rustem broke from his grasp and stood\nbefore Kai Kaous, and all the nobles were filled with fear when they saw\nhis anger. And he flung reproaches at Kai Kaous, and he recalled to him\nhis follies, and the march into Mazinderan and Hamaveran, and his flight\ninto Heaven; and he reminded him how that but for Rustem he would not\nnow be seated upon the throne of light. And he bade him threaten Sohrab\nthe Turk with his gallows, and he said:\n\n\"I am a free man and no slave, and am servant alone unto God; and\nwithout Rustem Kai Kaous is as nothing, And the world is subject unto\nme, and Rakush is my throne, and my sword is my seal, and my helmet my\ncrown. And but for me, who called forth Kai Kobad, thine eyes had never\nlooked upon this throne. And had I desired it I could have sat upon its\nseat. But now am I weary of thy follies, and I will turn me away from\nIran, and when this Turk shall have put you under his yoke I shall not\nlearn thereof.\"\n\nThen he turned him and strode from out the presence-chamber. And he\nsprang upon Rakush, who waited without, and he was vanished from before\ntheir eyes ere yet the nobles had rallied from their astonishment. And\nthey were downcast and oppressed with boding cares, and they held\ncounsel among themselves what to do; for Rustem was their mainstay, and\nthey knew that, bereft of his arm and counsel, they could not stand\nagainst this Turk. And they blamed Kai Kaous, and counted over the good\ndeeds that Rustem had done for him, and they pondered and spake long.\nAnd in the end they resolved to send a messenger unto Kai Kaous, and\nthey chose from their midst Gudarz the aged, and bade him stand before\nthe Shah. And Gudarz did as they desired, and he spake long and without\nfear, and he counted over each deed that had been done by Rustem; and he\nreproached the Shah with his ingratitude, and he said how Rustem was the\nshepherd, and how the flock could not be led without its leader. And Kai\nKaous heard him unto the end, and he knew that his words were the words\nof reason and truth, and he was ashamed of that which he had done, and\nconfounded when he beheld his acts thus naked before him. And he humbled\nhimself before Gudarz, and said:\n\n\"That which thou sayest, surely it is right.\"\n\nAnd he entreated Gudarz to go forth and seek Rustem, and bid him forget\nthe evil words of his Shah, and bring him back to the succor of Iran.\nAnd Gudarz hastened forth to do as Kai Kaous desired, and he told the\nnobles of his mission, and they joined themselves unto him, and all the\nchiefs of Iran went forth in quest of Rustem. And when they had found\nhim, they prostrated themselves into the dust before him, and Gudarz\ntold him of his mission, and he prayed him to remember that Kai Kaous\nwas a man devoid of understanding, whose thoughts flowed over like to\nnew wine that fermenteth. And he said:\n\n\"Though Rustem be angered against the King, yet hath the land of Iran\ndone no wrong that it should perish at his hands. Yet, if Rustem save it\nnot, surely it will fall under this Turk.\"\n\nBut Rustem said, \"My patience hath an end, and I fear none but God. What\nis this Kai Kaous that he should anger me? and what am I that I have\nneed of him? I have not deserved the evil words that he spake unto me,\nbut now will I think of them no longer, but cast aside all thoughts of\nIran.\"\n\nWhen the nobles heard these words they grew pale, and fear took hold on\ntheir hearts. But Gudarz, full of wisdom, opened his mouth, and said:\n\n\"O Pehliva! the land, when it shall learn of this, will deem that Rustem\nis fled before the face of this Turk; and when men shall believe that\nTehemten is afraid, they will cease to combat, and Iran will be\ndowntrodden at his hands. Turn thee not, therefore, at this hour from\nthy allegiance to the Shah, and tarnish not thy glory by this retreat,\nneither suffer that the downfall of Iran rest upon thy head. Put from\nthee, therefore, the words that Kai Kaous spake in his empty anger, and\nlead us forth to battle against this Turk. For it must not be spoken\nthat Rustem feared to fight a beardless boy.\"\n\nAnd Rustem listened, and pondered these words in his heart, and knew\nthat they were good. But he said:\n\n\"Fear hath never been known of me, neither hath Rustem shunned the din\nof arms, and I depart not because of Sohrab, but because that scorn and\ninsult have been my recompense.\"\n\nYet when he had pondered a while longer, he saw that he must return unto\nthe Shah. So he did that which he knew to be right, and he rode till he\ncame unto the gates of Kai Kaous, and he strode with a proud step into\nhis presence.\n\nNow when the Shah beheld Rustem from afar, he stepped down from off his\nthrone and came before Pehliva, and craved his pardon for that which was\ncome about. And he said how he had been angered because Rustem had\ntarried in his coming, and how haste was his birthright, and how he had\nforgotten himself in his vexation. But now was his mouth filled with the\ndust of repentance. And Rustem said:\n\n\"The world is the Shah's, and it behoveth thee to do as beseemeth thee\nbest with thy servants. And until old age shall my loins be girt in\nfealty unto thee. And may power and majesty be thine for ever!\"\n\nAnd Kai Kaous answered and said, \"O my Pehliva, may thy days be blessed\nunto the end!\"\n\nThen he invited him to feast with him, and they drank wine till far into\nthe night, and held counsel together how they should act; and slaves\npoured rich gifts before Rustem, and the nobles rejoiced, and all was\nwell again within the gates of the King.\n\nThen when the sun had risen and clothed the world with love, the\nclarions of war were sounded throughout the city, and men made them\nready to go forth in enmity before the Turks. And the legions of Persia\ncame forth at the behest of their Shah, and their countless thousands\nhid the earth under their feet, and the air was darkened by their\nspears. And when they were come unto the plains where stood the fortress\nof Hujir, they set up their tents as was their manner. So the watchman\nsaw them from the battlements, and he set up a great cry. And Sohrab\nheard the cry, and questioned the man wherefore he shouted; and when he\nlearned that the enemy were come, he rejoiced, and demanded a cup of\nwine, and drank to their destruction. Then he called forth Human and\nshowed him the army, and bade him be of good cheer, for he said that he\nsaw within its ranks no hero of mighty mace who could stand against\nhimself. So he bade his warriors to a banquet of wine, and he said that\nthey would feast until the time was come to meet their foes in battle.\nAnd they did as Sohrab said.\n\nNow when night had thrown her mantle over the earth, Rustem came before\nthe Shah and craved that he would suffer him to go forth beyond the camp\nthat he might see what manner of man was this stripling. And Kai Kaous\ngranted his request, and said that it was worthy a Pehliva of renown.\nThen Rustem went forth disguised in the garb of a Turk, and he entered\nthe castle in secret, and he came within the chamber where Sohrab held\nhis feast. Now when he had looked upon the boy he saw that he was like\nto a tall cypress of good sap, and that his arms were sinewy and strong\nlike to the flanks of a camel, and that his stature was that of a hero.\nAnd he saw that round about him stood brave warriors. And slaves with\ngolden bugles poured wine before them, and they were all glad, neither\ndid they dream of sorrow. Then it came about that while Rustem regarded\nthem, Zindeh changed his seat and came nigh unto the spot where Rustem\nwas watching. Now Zindeh was brother unto Tahmineh, and she had sent him\nforth with her son that he might point out to him his father, whom he\nalone knew of all the army, and she did it that harm might not befall if\nthe heroes should meet in battle. Now Zindeh, when he had changed his\nseat, thought that he espied a watcher, and he strode toward the place\nwhere Rustem was hid, and he came before him and said--\n\n\"Who art thou? Come forth into the light that I may behold thy face.\"\n\nBut ere he could speak further, Rustem had lifted up his hand and struck\nhim, and laid him dead upon the ground.\n\nNow Sohrab, when he saw that Zindeh was gone out, was disquieted, and he\nasked of his slaves wherefore the hero returned not unto the banquet. So\nthey went forth to seek him, and when they had found him in his blood,\nthey came and told Sohrab what they had seen. But Sohrab would not\nbelieve it; so he ran to the spot and bade them bring torches, and all\nthe warriors and singing girls followed after him. Then when Sohrab saw\nthat it was true he was sore grieved; but he suffered not that the\nbanquet be ended, for he would not that the spirits of his men be damped\nwith pity. So they went back yet again to the feast.\n\nMeanwhile Rustem returned him to the camp, and as he would have entered\nthe lines he encountered Gew, who went around to see that all was safe.\nAnd Gew, when he saw a tall man clad In the garb of a Turk, drew his\nsword and held himself ready for combat. But Rustem smiled and opened\nhis mouth, and Gew knew his voice, and came to him and questioned him\nwhat he did without in the darkness. And Rustem told him. Then he went\nbefore Kai Kaous also and related what he had seen, and how no man like\nunto Sohrab was yet come forth from amid the Turks. And he likened him\nunto Saum, the son of Neriman.\n\nNow when the morning was come, Sohrab put on his armour. Then he went\nunto a height whence he could look down over the camp of the Iranians.\nAnd he took with him Hujir, and spake to him, saying:\n\n\"Seek not to deceive me, nor swerve from the paths of truth. For if thou\nreply unto my questions with sincerity, I will loosen thy bonds and give\nthee treasures; but if thou deceive me, thou shalt languish till death\nin thy chains.\"\n\nAnd Hujir said, \"I will give answer unto thee according to my\nknowledge.\"\n\nThen Sohrab said, \"I am about to question thee concerning the nobles\nwhose camps are spread beneath our feet, and thou shalt name unto me\nthose whom I point out. Behold yon tent of gold brocade, adorned with\nskins of leopard, before whose doors stand an hundred elephants of war.\nWithin its gates is a throne of turquoise, and over it floateth a\nstandard of violet with a moon and sun worked in its centre. Tell unto\nme now whose is this pavilion that standeth thus in the midst of the\nwhole camp?\"\n\nAnd Hujir replied, \"It pertaineth unto the Shah of Iran.\"\n\nThen Sohrab said, \"I behold on its right hand yet another tent draped in\nthe colours of mourning, and above it floateth a standard whereon is\nworked an elephant.\"\n\nAnd Hujir said, \"It is the tent of Tus, the son of Nuder, for he beareth\nan elephant as his ensign.\"\n\nThen Sohrab said, \"Whose is the camp in which stand many warriors clad\nin rich armour? A flag of gold with a lion worked upon it waveth along\nits field.\"\n\nAnd Hujir said, \"It belongeth unto Gudarz the brave. And those who stand\nabout it are his sons, for eighty men of might are sprung from his\nloins.\"\n\nThen Sohrab said, \"To whom belongeth the tent draped with green tissues?\nBefore its doors is planted the flag of Kawah. I see upon its throne a\nPehliva, nobler of mien than all his fellows, whose head striketh the\nstars. And beside him standeth a steed tall as he, and his standard\nshoweth a lion and a writhing dragon.\"\n\nWhen Hujir heard this question he thought within himself, \"If I tell\nunto this lion the signs whereby he may know Rustem the Pehliva, surely\nhe will fall upon him and seek to destroy him. It will beseem me better,\ntherefore, to keep silent, and to omit his name from the list of the\nheroes.\" So he said unto Sohrab:\n\n\"This is some ally who is come unto Kai Kaous from far Cathay, and his\nname is not known unto me.\"\n\nAnd Sohrab when he heard it was downcast, and his heart was sad that he\ncould nowhere discover Rustem; and though it seemed unto him that he\nbeheld the marks whereby his mother said that he would know him, he\ncould not credit the words of his eyes against the words of Hujir. Still\nhe asked yet again the name of the warrior, and yet again Hujir denied\nit unto him, for it was written that that should come to pass which had\nbeen decreed. But Sohrab ceased not from his questionings. And he asked:\n\n\"Who dwelleth beneath the standard with the head of a wolf?\"\n\nAnd Hujir said, \"It is Gew, the son of Gudarz, who dwelleth within that\ntent, and men call him Gew the valiant.\"\n\nThen Sohrab said, \"Whose is the seat over which are raised awnings and\nbrocades of Roum, that glisten with gold in the sunlight?\"\n\nAnd Hujir said, \"It is the throne of Fraburz, the son of the Shah.\"\n\nThen Sohrab said, \"It beseemeth the son of a Shah to surround himself\nwith such splendour.\"\n\nAnd he pointed unto a tent with trappings of yellow that was encircled\nby flags of many colours. And he questioned of its owner.\n\nAnd Hujir said, \"Guraz the lion-hearted is master therein.\"\n\nThen Sohrab, when he could not learn the tent of his father, questioned\nHujir concerning Rustem, and he asked yet a third time of the green\ntent. Yet Hujir ever replied that he knew not the name of its master.\nAnd when Sohrab pressed him concerning Rustem, he said that Rustem\nlingered in Zaboulistan, for it was the feast of roses. But Sohrab\nrefused to give ear unto the thought that Kai Kaous should go forth to\nbattle without the aid of Rustem, whose might none could match. So he\nsaid unto Hujir:\n\n\"And thou show not unto me the tents of Rustem, I will strike thy head\nfrom off thy shoulders, and the world shall fade before thine eyes.\nChoose, therefore, the truth or thy life.\"\n\nAnd Hujir thought within himself, \"Though five score men cannot\nwithstand Rustem when he be roused to battle-fury, my mind misgiveth me\nthat he may have found his equal in this boy. And, for that the\nstripling is younger, it might come about that he subdue the Pehliva.\nWhat recketh my life against the weal of Iran? I will therefore abandon\nme into his hands rather than show unto him the marks of Rustem the\nPehliva. So he said:\n\n\"Why seekest thou to know Rustem the Pehliva? Surely thou wilt know him\nin battle, and he shall strike thee dumb, and quell thy pride of youth.\nYet I will not show him unto thee.\"\n\nWhen Sohrab heard these words he raised his sword and smote Hujir, and\nmade an end of him with a great blow. Then he made himself ready for\nfight, and leaped upon his steed of battle, and he rode till he came\nunto the camp of the Iranians, and he broke down the barriers with his\nspear, and fear seized upon all men when they beheld his stalwart form\nand majesty of mien and action. Then Sohrab opened his mouth, and his\nvoice of thunder was heard even unto the far ends of the camp. And he\nspake words of pride, and called forth the Shah to do battle with him,\nand he sware with a loud voice that the blood of Zindeh should be\navenged. Now when Sohrab's voice had run throughout the camp, confusion\nspread within its borders, and none of those who stood about the throne\nwould accept his challenge for the Shah. And with one accord they said\nthat Rustem was their sole support, and that his sword alone could cause\nthe sun to weep. And Tus sped him within the courts of Rustem. And\nRustem said:\n\n\"The hardest tasks doth Kai Kaous ever lay upon me.\"\n\nBut the nobles would not suffer him to linger, neither to waste time in\nwords, and they buckled upon him his armour, and they threw his\nleopard-skin about him, and they saddled Rakush, and made ready the hero\nfor the strife. And they pushed him forth, and called after him:\n\n\"Haste, haste, for no common combat awaiteth thee, for verily Ahriman\nstandeth before us.\"\n\nNow when Rustem was come before Sohrab, and beheld the youth, brave and\nstrong, with a breast like unto Saum, he said to him:\n\n\"Let us go apart from hence, and step forth from out the lines of the\narmies.\"\n\nFor there was a zone between the camps that none might pass. And Sohrab\nassented to the demand of Rustem, and they stepped out into it, and made\nthem ready for single combat. But when Sohrab would have fallen upon\nhim, the soul of Rustem melted with compassion, and he desired to save a\nboy thus fair and valiant. So he said unto him:\n\n\"O young man, the air is warm and soft, but the earth is cold. I have\npity upon thee, and would not take from thee the boon of life. Yet if we\ncombat together, surely thou wilt fall by my hands, for none have\nwithstood my power, neither men nor Deevs nor dragons. Desist,\ntherefore, from this enterprise, and quit the ranks of Turan, for Iran\nhath need of heroes like unto thee.\"\n\nNow while Rustem spake thus, the heart of Sohrab went out to him. And he\nlooked at him wistfully, and said:\n\n\"O hero, I am about to put unto thee a question, and I entreat of thee\nthat thou reply to me according to the truth. Tell unto me thy name,\nthat my heart may rejoice in thy words, for it seemeth unto me that thou\nart none other than Rustem, the son of Zal, the son of Saum, the son of\nNeriman,\"\n\nBut Rustem replied, \"Thou errest, I am not Rustem, neither am I sprung\nfrom the race of Neriman. Rustem is a Pehliva, but I, I am a slave, and\nown neither a crown nor a throne,\"\n\nThese words spake Rustem that Sohrab might be afraid when he beheld his\nprowess, and deem that yet greater might was hidden in the camp of his\nenemy. But Sohrab when he heard these words was sad, and his hopes that\nwere risen so high were shattered, and the day that had looked so bright\nwas made dark unto his eyes. Then he made him ready for the combat, and\nthey fought, until their spears were shivered and their swords hacked\nlike unto saws. And when all their weapons were bent, they betook them\ninto clubs, and they waged war with these until they were broken. Then\nthey strove until their mail was torn and their horses spent with\nexhaustion, and even then they could not desist, but wrestled with one\nanother with their hands till that the sweat and blood ran down from\ntheir bodies. And they contended until their throats were parched and\ntheir bodies weary, and to neither was given the victory. They stayed\nthem a while to rest, and Rustem thought within his mind how all his\ndays he had not coped with such a hero. And it seemed to him that his\ncontest with the White Deev had been as nought to this.\n\nNow when they had rested a while they fell to again, and they fought\nwith arrows, but still none could surpass the other. Then Rustem strove\nto hurl Sohrab from his steed, but it availed him naught, and he could\nshake him no more than the mountain can be moved from its seat. So they\nbetook themselves again unto clubs, and Sohrab aimed at Rustem with\nmight and smote him, and Rustem reeled beneath the stroke, and bit his\nlips in agony. Then Sohrab vaunted his advantage, and bade Rustem go and\nmeasure him with his equals; for though his strength be great, he could\nnot stand against a youth. So they went their ways, and Rustem fell upon\nthe men of Turan, and spread confusion far and wide among their ranks;\nand Sohrab raged along the lines of Iran, and men and horses fell under\nhis hands. And Rustem was sad in his soul, and he turned with sorrow\ninto his camp. But when he saw the destruction Sohrab had wrought his\nanger was kindled, and he reproached the youth, and challenged him to\ncome forth yet again to single combat. But because that the day was far\nspent they resolved to rest until the morrow.\n\nThen Rustem went before Kai Kaous and told him of this boy of valour,\nand he prayed unto Ormuzd that He would give him strength to vanquish\nhis foe. Yet he made ready also his house lest he should fall in the\nfight, and he commanded that a tender message be borne unto Rudabeh, and\nhe sent words of comfort unto Zal, his father. And Sohrab, too, in his\ncamp lauded the might of Rustem, and he said how the battle had been\nsore, and how his mind had misgiven him of the issue. And he spake unto\nHuman, saying:\n\n\"My mind is filled with thoughts of this aged man, mine adversary, for\nit would seem unto me that his stature is like unto mine, and that I\nbehold about him the tokens that my mother recounted unto me. And my\nheart goeth out toward him, and I muse if it be Rustem, my father. For\nit behoveth me not to combat him. Wherefore, I beseech thee, tell unto\nme how this may be.\"\n\nBut Human answered and said, \"Oft have I looked upon the face of Rustem\nin battle, and mine eyes have beheld his deeds of valour; but this man\nin no wise resembleth him, nor is his manner of wielding his club the\nsame.\"\n\nThese things spake Human in his vileness, because that Afrasiyab had\nenjoined him to lead Sohrab into destruction. And Sohrab held his peace,\nbut he was not wholly satisfied.\n\nNow when the day had begun to lighten the sky and clear away the\nshadows, Rustem and Sohrab strode forth unto the midway spot that\nstretched between the armies. And Sohrab bare in his hands a mighty\nclub, and the garb of battle was upon him; but his mouth was full of\nsmiles, and he asked of Rustem how he had rested, and he said:\n\n\"Wherefore hast thou prepared thy heart for battle? Cast from thee, I\nbeg, this mace and sword of vengeance, and let us doff our armour, and\nseat ourselves together in amity, and let wine soften our angry deeds.\nFor it seemeth unto me that this conflict is impure. And if thou wilt\nlisten to my desires, my heart shall speak to thee of love, and I will\nmake the tears of shame spring up into thine eyes. And for this cause I\nask thee yet again, tell me thy name, neither hide it any longer, for I\nbehold that thou art of noble race. And it would seem unto me that thou\nart Rustem, the chosen one, the Lord of Zaboulistan, the son of Zal, the\nson of Saum the hero.\"\n\nBut Rustem answered, \"O hero of tender age, we are not come forth to\nparley but to combat, and mine ears are sealed against thy words of\nlure. I am an old man, and thou art young, but we are girded for battle,\nand the Master of the world shall decide between us.\"\n\nThen Sohrab said, \"O man of many years, wherefore wilt thou not listen\nto the counsel of a stripling? I desired that thy soul should leave thee\nupon thy bed, but thou hast elected to perish in the combat. That which\nis ordained must be done, therefore let us make ready for the conflict.\"\n\nSo they made them ready, and when they had bound their steeds they fell\nupon each other, and the crash of their encounter was heard like thunder\nthroughout the camps. And they measured their strength from the morning\nuntil the setting of the sun. And when the day was about to vanish,\nSohrab seized upon Rustem by the girdle and threw him upon the ground,\nand kneeled upon him, and drew forth his sword from the scabbard, and\nwould have severed his head from his trunk. Then Rustem knew that only\nwile could save him. So he opened his mouth and said:\n\n\"O young man, thou knowest not the customs of the combat. It is written\nin the laws of honour that he who overthroweth a brave man for the first\ntime should not destroy him, but preserve him for fight a second time,\nthen only is it given unto him to kill his adversary.\"\n\nAnd Sohrab listened to Rustem's words of craft and stayed his hand, and\nhe let the warrior go, and because that the day was ended he sought to\nfight no more, but turned him aside and chased the deer until the night\nwas spent. Then came to him Human, and asked of the adventures of the\nday. And Sohrab told him how he had vanquished the tall man, and how he\nhad granted him freedom. And Human reproached him with his folly, and\nsaid:\n\n\"Alas! young man, thou didst fall into a snare, for this is not the\ncustom among the brave. And now perchance thou wilt yet fall under the\nhands of this warrior.\"\n\nSohrab was abashed when he heard the words of Human, but he said:\n\n\"Be not grieved, for in an hour we meet again in battle, and verily he\nwill not stand a third time against my youthful strength.\"\n\nNow while Sohrab was thus doing, Rustem was gone beside a running brook,\nand laved his limbs, and prayed to God in his distress. And he entreated\nof Ormuzd that He would grant him such strength that the victory must be\nhis. And Ormuzd heard him, and gave to him such strength that the rock\nwhereon Rustem stood gave way under his feet, because it had not power\nto bear him. Then Rustem saw it was too much, and he prayed yet again\nthat part thereof be taken from him. And once more Ormuzd listened to\nhis voice. Then when the time for combat was come, Rustem turned him to\nthe meeting-place, and his heart was full of cares and his face of\nfears. But Sohrab came forth like a giant refreshed, and he ran at\nRustem like to a mad elephant, and he cried with a voice of thunder:\n\n\"O thou who didst flee from battle, wherefore art thou come out once\nmore against me? But I say unto thee, this time shall thy words of guile\navail thee naught.\"\n\nAnd Rustem, when he heard him, and looked upon him, was seized with\nmisgiving, and he learned to know fear. So he prayed to Ormuzd that He\nwould restore to him the power He had taken back. But he suffered not\nSohrab to behold his fears, and they made them ready for the fight. And\nhe closed upon Sohrab with all his new-found might, and shook him\nterribly, and though Sohrab returned his attacks with vigour, the hour\nof his overthrow was come. For Rustem took him by the girdle and hurled\nhim unto the earth, and he broke his back like to a reed, and he drew\nforth his sword to sever his body. Then Sohrab knew it was the end, and\nhe gave a great sigh, and writhed in his agony, and he said:\n\n\"That which is come about, it is my fault, and henceforward will my\nyouth be a theme of derision among the people. But I sped not forth for\nempty glory, but I went out to seek my father; for my mother had told me\nby what tokens I should know him, and I perish for longing after him.\nAnd now have my pains been fruitless, for it hath not been given unto me\nto look upon his face. Yet I say unto thee, if thou shouldest become a\nfish that swimmeth in the depths of the ocean, if thou shouldest change\ninto a star that is concealed in the farthest heaven, my father would\ndraw thee forth from thy hiding-place, and avenge my death upon thee\nwhen he shall learn that the earth is become my bed. For my father is\nRustem the Pehliva, and it shall be told unto him how that Sohrab his\nson perished in the quest after his face.\"\n\nWhen Rustem heard these words his sword fell from out of his grasp, and\nhe was shaken with dismay. And there broke from his heart a groan as of\none whose heart was racked with anguish. And the earth became dark\nbefore his eyes, and he sank down lifeless beside his son. But when he\nhad opened his eyes once more, he cried unto Sohrab in the agony of his\nspirit. And he said:\n\n\"Bearest thou about thee a token of Rustem, that I may know that the\nwords which thou speakest are true? For I am Rustem the unhappy, and may\nmy name be struck from the lists of men!\"\n\nWhen Sohrab heard these words his misery was boundless, and he cried:\n\n\"If thou art indeed my father, then hast thou stained thy sword in the\nlife-blood of thy son. And thou didst it of thine obstinacy. For I\nsought to turn thee unto love, and I implored of thee thy name, for I\nthought to behold in thee the tokens recounted of my mother. But I\nappealed unto thy heart in vain, and now is the time gone by for\nmeeting. Yet open, I beseech thee, mine armour and regard the jewel upon\nmine arm. For it is an onyx given unto me by my father, as a token\nwhereby he should know me.\"\n\nThen Rustem did as Sohrab bade him, and he opened his mail and saw the\nonyx; and when he had seen it he tore his clothes in his distress, and\nhe covered his head with ashes. And the tears of penitence ran from his\neyes, and he roared aloud in his sorrow. But Sohrab said:\n\n\"It is in vain, there is no remedy. Weep not, therefore, for doubtless\nit was written that this should be.\"\n\nNow when the sun was set, and Rustem returned not to the camp, the\nnobles of Iran were afraid, and they went forth to seek him. And when\nthey were gone but a little way they came upon Rakush, and when they saw\nthat he was alone they raised a wailing, for they deemed that of a\nsurety Rustem was perished. And they went and told Kai Kaous thereof,\nand he said:\n\n\"Let Tus go forth and see if this indeed be so, and if Rustem be truly\nfallen, let the drums call men unto battle that we may avenge him upon\nthis Turk.\"\n\nNow Sohrab, when he beheld afar off the men that were come out to seek\nRustem, turned to his father and said:\n\n\"I entreat of thee that thou do unto me an act of love. Let not the Shah\nfall upon the men of Turan, for they came not forth in enmity to him but\nto do my desire, and on my head alone resteth this expedition. Wherefore\nI desire not that they should perish when I can defend them no longer.\nAs for me, I came like the thunder and I vanish like the wind, but\nperchance it is given unto us to meet again above.\"\n\nThen Rustem promised to do the desires of Sohrab. And he went before the\nmen of Iran, and when they beheld him yet alive they set up a great\nshout, but when they saw that his clothes were torn, and that he bare\nabout him the marks of sorrow, they asked of him what was come to pass.\nThen he told them how he had caused a noble son to perish. And they were\ngrieved for him, and joined in his wailing. Then he bade one among them\nto go forth into the camp of Turan, and deliver this message unto Human.\nAnd he sent word unto him, saying:\n\n\"The sword of vengeance must slumber in the scabbard. Thou art now\nleader of the host; return, therefore, whence thou camest, and depart\nacross the river ere many days be fallen. As for me, I will fight no\nmore, yet neither will I speak unto thee again, for thou didst hide from\nmy son the tokens of his father, of thine iniquity thou didst lead him\ninto this pit.\"\n\nThen when he had thus spoken, Rustem turned him yet again to his son.\nAnd the nobles went with him, and they beheld Sohrab, and heard his\ngroans of pain. And Rustem, when he saw the agony of the boy, was beside\nhimself, and would have made an end of his own life, but the nobles\nsuffered it not, and stayed his hand. Then Rustem remembered him that\nKai Kaous had a balm mighty to heal. And he prayed Gudarz go before the\nShah, and bear unto him a message of entreaty from Rustem his servant.\nAnd he said:\n\n\"O Shah, if ever I have done that which was good in thy sight, if ever\nmy hand have been of avail unto thee, recall now my benefits in the hour\nof my need, and have pity upon my dire distress. Send unto me, I pray\nthee, of the balm that is among thy treasures, that my son may be healed\nby thy grace.\"\n\nAnd Gudarz outstripped the whirlwind in his speed to bear unto the Shah\nthis message. But the heart of Kai Kaous was hardened, and he remembered\nnot the benefits he had received from Rustem, and he recalled only the\nproud words that he had spoken before him. And he was afraid lest the\nmight of Sohrab be joined to that of his father, and that together they\nprove mightier than he, and turn upon him. So he shut his ear unto the\ncry of his Pehliva. And Gudarz bore back the answer of the Shah, and he\nsaid:\n\n\"The heart of Kai Kaous is flinty, and his evil nature is like to a\nbitter gourd that ceaseth never to bear fruit. Yet I counsel thee, go\nbefore him thyself, and see if peradventure thou soften this rock.\"\n\nAnd Rustem in his grief did as Gudarz counselled, and turned to go\nbefore the Shah, but he was not come before him ere a messenger overtook\nhim, and told unto him that Sohrab was departed from the world. Then\nRustem set up a wailing such as the earth hath not heard the like of,\nand he heaped reproaches upon himself, and he could not cease from\nplaining the son that was fallen by his hands. And he cried continually:\n\n\"I that am old have killed my son. I that am strong have uprooted this\nmighty boy. I have torn the heart of my child, I have laid low the head\nof a Pehliva.\"\n\nThen he made a great fire, and flung into it his tent of many colours,\nand his trappings of Roum, his saddle, and his leopard-skin, his armour\nwell tried in battle, and all the appurtenances of his throne. And he\nstood by and looked on to see his pride laid in the dust. And he tore\nhis flesh, and cried aloud:\n\n\"My heart is sick unto death.\"\n\nThen he commanded that Sohrab be swathed in rich brocades of gold worthy\nhis body. And when they had enfolded him, and Rustem learned that the\nTuranians had quitted the borders, he made ready his army to return unto\nZaboulistan. And the nobles marched before the bier, and their heads\nwere covered with ashes, and their garments were torn. And the drums of\nthe war-elephants were shattered, and the cymbals broken, and the tails\nof the horses were shorn to the root, and all the signs of mourning were\nabroad.\n\nNow Zal, when he saw the host returning thus in sorrow, marvelled what\nwas come about; for he beheld Rustem at their head, wherefore he knew\nthat the wailing was not for his son. And he came before Rustem and\nquestioned him. And Rustem led him unto the bier and showed unto him the\nyouth that was like in feature and in might unto Saum the son of\nNeriman, and he told him all that was come to pass, and how this was his\nson, who in years was but an infant, but a hero in battle. And Rudabeh\ntoo came out to behold the child, and she joined her lamentations unto\ntheirs. Then they built for Sohrab a tomb like to a horse's hoof, and\nRustem laid him therein in a chamber of gold perfumed with ambergris.\nAnd he covered him with brocades of gold. And when it was done, the\nhouse of Rustem grew like to a grave, and its courts were filled with\nthe voice of sorrow. And no joy would enter into the heart of Rustem,\nand it was long before he held high his head.\n\nMeantime the news spread even unto Turan, and there too did all men\ngrieve and weep for the child of prowess that was fallen in his bloom.\nAnd the King of Samengan tore his vestments, but when his daughter\nlearned it she was beside herself with affliction. And Tahmineh cried\nafter her son, and bewailed the evil fate that had befallen him, and she\nheaped black earth upon her head, and tore her hair, and wrung her\nhands, and rolled on the ground in her agony. And her mouth was never\nweary of plaining. Then she caused the garments of Sohrab to be brought\nunto her, and his throne and his steed. And she regarded them, and\nstroked the courser and poured tears upon his hoofs, and she cherished\nthe robes as though they yet contained her boy, and she pressed the head\nof the palfrey unto her breast, and she kissed the helmet that Sohrab\nhad worn. Then with his sword she cut off the tail of his steed and set\nfire unto the house of Sohrab, and she gave his gold and jewels unto the\npoor. And when a year had thus rolled over her bitterness, the breath\ndeparted from out her body, and her spirit went forth after Sohrab her\nson.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE SEVEN SLEEPERS OF EPHESUS\n\n\nOne of the most picturesque myths of ancient days is that told by\nJacques de Voragine, in his \"Legenda Aurea\":\n\n\"The seven sleepers were natives of Ephesus. The Emperor Decius, who\npersecuted the Christians, having come to Ephesus, ordered the erection\nof temples in the city, that all might come and sacrifice before him;\nand he commanded that the Christians should be sought out and given\ntheir choice, either to worship the idols, or to die. So great was the\nconsternation in the city, that the friend denounced his friend, the\nfather his son, and the son his father.\n\n\"Now there were in Ephesus seven Christians, Maximian, Malchus, Marcian,\nDionysius, John, Serapion, and Constantine by name. These refused to\nsacrifice to the idols, and remained in their houses praying and\nfasting. They were accused before Decius, and they confessed themselves\nto be Christians. However, the Emperor gave them a little time to\nconsider what line they would adopt. They took advantage of this\nreprieve to dispense their goods among the poor, and they retired, all\nseven, to Mount Celion, where they determined to conceal themselves.\n\n\"One of their number, Malchus, in the disguise of a physician, went to\nthe town to obtain victuals. Decius, who had been absent from Ephesus\nfor a little while, returned, and gave orders for the seven to be\nsought. Malchus, having escaped from the town, fled, full of fear, to\nhis comrades, and told them of the Emperor's fury. They were much\nalarmed; and Malchus handed them the loaves he had bought, bidding them\neat, that, fortified by the food, they might have courage in the time of\ntrial. They ate, and then, as they sat weeping and speaking to one\nanother, by the will of God they fell asleep.\n\n\"The pagans sought everywhere, but could not find them, and Decius was\ngreatly irritated at their escape. He had their parents brought before\nhim, and threatened them with death if they did not reveal the place of\nconcealment; but they could only answer that the seven young men had\ndistributed their goods to the poor, and that they were quite ignorant\nas to their whereabouts.\n\n\"Decius, thinking it possible that they might be hiding in a cavern,\nblocked up the mouth with stones, that they might perish of hunger.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Three hundred and sixty years passed, and in the thirtieth year of the\nreign of Theodosius, there broke forth a heresy denying the resurrection\nof the dead.\n\n\"Now, it happened that an Ephesian was building a stable on the side of\nMount Celion, and finding a pile of stones handy, he took them for his\nedifice, and thus opened the mouth of the cave. Then the seven sleepers\nawoke, and it was to them as if they had slept but a single night. They\nbegan to ask Malchus what decision Decius had given concerning them.\n\n\"'He is going to hunt us down, so as to force us to sacrifice to the\nidols,' was his reply. 'God knows,' replied Maximian, 'we shall never do\nthat.' Then exhorting his companions, he urged Malchus to go back to the\ntown to buy some more bread, and at the same time to obtain fresh\ninformation. Malchus took five coins and left the cavern. On seeing the\nstones he was filled with astonishment; however, he went on toward the\ncity; but what was his bewilderment, on approaching the gate, to see\nover it a cross! He went to another gate, and there he beheld the same\nsacred sign; and so he observed it over each gate of the city. He\nbelieved that he was suffering from the effects of a dream. Then he\nentered Ephesus, rubbing his eyes, and he walked to a baker's shop. He\nheard people using our Lord's name, and he was the more perplexed.\n'Yesterday, no one dared pronounce the name of Jesus, and now it is on\nevery one's lips. Wonderful! I can hardly believe myself to be in\nEphesus.' He asked a passer-by the name of the city, and on being told\nthat it was Ephesus, he was thunderstruck. Now he entered a baker's\nshop, and laid down his money. The baker, examining the coin, inquired\nwhether he had found a treasure, and began to whisper to some others in\nthe shop. The youth, thinking that he was discovered, and that they were\nabout to conduct him to the emperor, implored them to let him alone,\noffering to leave loaves and money if he might only be suffered to\nescape. But the shop-men seizing him, said, 'Whoever you are, you have\nfound a treasure; show us where it is, that we may share it with you,\nand then we will hide you.' Malchus was too frightened to answer. So\nthey put a rope round his neck, and drew him through the streets into\nthe marketplace. The news soon spread that the young man had discovered\na great treasure, and there was presently a vast crowd about him. He\nstoutly protested his innocence. No one recognised him, and his eyes,\nranging over the faces which surrounded him, could not see one which he\nhad known, or which was in the slightest degree familiar to him.\n\n\"St. Martin, the bishop, and Antipater, the governor, having heard of\nthe excitement, ordered the young man to be brought before them, along\nwith the bakers.\n\n\"The bishop and the governor asked him where he had found the treasure,\nand he replied that he had found none, but that the few coins were from\nhis own purse. He was next asked whence he came. He replied that he was\na native of Ephesus, 'if this be Ephesus.'\n\n\"'Send for your relations--your parents, if they live here,' ordered the\ngovernor.\n\n\"'They live here certainly,' replied the youth; and he mentioned their\nnames. No such names were known in the town. Then the governor\nexclaimed, 'How dare you say that this money belonged to your parents\nwhen it dates back three hundred and seventy-seven years, and is as old\nas the beginning of the reign of Decius, and it is utterly unlike our\nmodern coinage? Do you think to impose on the old men and sages of\nEphesus? Believe me, I shall make you suffer the severities of the law\ntill you show where you made the discovery.'\n\n\"'I implore you,' cried Malchus, 'in the name of God, answer me a few\nquestions, and then I will answer yours. Where is the Emperor Decius\ngone to?'\n\n\"The bishop answered,'My son, there is no emperor of that name; he who\nwas thus called died long ago.'\n\n\"Malchus replied, 'All I hear perplexes me more and more. Follow me, and\nI will show you my comrades, fled with me into a cave of Mount Celion,\nonly yesterday, to escape the cruelty of Decius. I will lead you to\nthem.'\n\n\"The bishop turned to the governor. 'The hand of God is here,' he said.\nThen they followed, and a great crowd after them. And Malchus entered\nfirst into the cavern to his companions, and the bishop after him. And\nthere they saw the martyrs seated in the cave, with their faces fresh\nand blooming as roses; so all fell down and glorified God. The bishop\nand the governor sent notice to Theodosius, and he hurried to Ephesus.\nAll the inhabitants met him and conducted him to the cavern. As soon as\nthe saints beheld the Emperor, their faces shone like the sun, and the\nEmperor gave thanks unto God, and embraced them, and said, 'I see you,\nas though I saw the Saviour restoring Lazarus.' Maximian replied,\n'Believe us! for the faith's sake, God has resuscitated us before the\ngreat resurrection day, in order that you may believe firmly in the\nresurrection of the dead. For as the child is in its mother's womb\nliving and not suffering, so have we lived without suffering, fast\nasleep.' And having thus spoken, they bowed their heads, and their souls\nreturned to their Maker. The Emperor, rising, bent over them and\nembraced them weeping. He gave them orders for golden reliquaries to be\nmade, but that night they appeared to him in a dream, and said that\nhitherto they had slept in the earth, and that in the earth they desired\nto sleep on till God should raise them again.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nGUY OF WARWICK\n\n\nOf all the nobles of Britain none was so strong as Rohand, Earl of\nWarwick, Rockingham, and Oxford. He made just laws, and made them to be\nobeyed; nor king nor baron in the land could buy his favour with fine\nwords or gold, or shield the wrong-doer from his punishment. Passing\nfair was Felice, his daughter, like some stately marble shaft of perfect\nmould; haughty was she as the great gerfalcon which spurns the earth and\ntowers up into the noon to look the burning sun in the face. Wise\nmasters, hoar with learning, came out from Toulouse to teach her the\nseven arts and sciences, until there was not her like for wisdom\nanywhere.\n\nEarl Rohand had a favourite page, named Guy, son of his just and upright\nsteward, Segard of Wallingford; a brave and fearless youth, of strong\nand well-knit frame, whom Heraud of Ardenne, his tutor, taught betimes\nto just with lance and sword, and how to hunt with hawk and hound by\nwood and river side.\n\nIt was the feast of Pentecost, when by old custom every maiden chose her\nlove and every knight his leman. Guy, clad in a new silken dress, being\nmade cup-bearer at the banquet table, saw for the first time the\nbeautiful Felice, as, kneeling, he offered the golden ewer and basin and\ndemask napkin to wash her finger-tips before the banquet. Thenceforward\nhe became so love-stricken with her beauty that he heard not the music\nof the glee-men, saw neither games nor tourneys, but dured in a dream,\nlike one crazed, all through the fourteen days festival. Knights and\nfair dames praised his handsome figure and well grown sinewy limbs; he\nheeded not--but once Felice gave him a courteous word as he offered her\nthe wine-cup; he blushed and stammered and spilled the wine, and was\nrebuked for awkwardness.\n\nThe feast being over, Guy went away to his chamber, and there fell into\na great love-sickness. Hopeless it seemed for a vassal to love one so\nfar above him as his sovereign's daughter; so he gave himself up to\ndespair, and his disease grew so sore that the most skilful leeches of\nEarl Rohand's court were unable to cure his complaint. In vain they let\nhim of blood or gave him salve or potion. \"There is no medicine of any\navail,\" the leeches said. Guy murmured, \"Felice: if one might find and\nbring Felice to me, I yet might live.\" \"Felice?\" the leeches said among\nthemselves, and shook their heads, \"It is not in the herbal. Felice?\nFelix? No, there is no plant of that name.\"\n\n\"No herb is Felice,\" sighing answered Guy, \"but a flower--the fairest\nflower that grows.\"\n\n\"He is light-headed,\" they said. \"The flower Felice? He seeks perchance\nthe flower of happiness, growing in the garden of the blessed, away in\nParadise. He is surely near his end.\"\n\n\"It is truly Paradise where Felice is,\" Guy answered,\n\n\"You hear? You see,\" the leeches whispered one to another. \"Come, let us\ngo; for we can be of no more good.\"\n\nNight came, and being left alone Guy thought to rise up from his bed and\ndrag himself into the presence of his mistress, there to die at her\nfeet. So weak was he become, he scarce could stand, but fainted many\ntimes upon the way.\n\nNow Felice had heard many whisperings how Guy was dying for love of her,\nsince her handmaidens had compassion on the youth, and sought to turn\nher heart toward him; but Felice was in no mind to have a page for a\nlover. Howbeit on this very night she had a dream, wherein being\nstraitly enjoined to entreat the youth with kindness as the only way to\nsave a life which would hereafter be of great service to the world, she\narose and came to a bower in the garden where Guy lay swooning on the\nfloor. Felice would not stoop to help him, but her maids having restored\nhim to his senses, Guy fell at her feet and poured out all his love\nbefore her. Never a word answered Felice, but stood calmly regarding him\nwith haughty coldness. Then said one of her maids, \"O lady! were I the\nrichest king's daughter in the land, I could not turn away from love so\nstrong and true.\" Felice rebuked her, saying, \"Could not? Silly child,\nsee that your soft heart do not prove your shame.\" So with a tingling\ncheek the maid withdrew abashed. Then said Felice to Guy, \"Why kneel\nthere weeping like a girl? Get up, and show if there is the making of a\nman in you. Hear what I have to say. The swan mates not with the\nswallow, and I will never wed beneath me. Prove that your love is not\npresumption. Show yourself my peer. For I could love a brave and valiant\nknight before whose spear men bowed as to a king, nor would I ask his\nparentage, prouder far to know that my children took their nobleness\nfrom a self-made nobleman. But a weeping, love-sick page! No! Go, fight\nand battle--show me something that you do that I can love. Meantime I\nlook for such a lover, and I care not if his name be Guy the page.\"\n\nThen Guy took heart and said, \"Lady, I ask no better boon than to have\nyou for witness of what love for you can do.\"\n\nFelice answered, \"Deeds, not words. Be strong and valiant. I will watch\nand I will wait.\"\n\nThen Guy took leave of his mistress and in the course of a few days\nregained his health, to the surprise of all the court, but more\nespecially of the leeches who had given him over for dead, and coming to\nEarl Rohand, entreated him to make him a knight. To this Earl Rohand\nhaving agreed, Guy was knighted at the next feast of Holy Trinity with a\ndubbing worthy a king's son; and they brought him rich armour, and a\ngood sword and spear and shield, and a noble steed with costly\ntrappings, together with rich silken cloaks and mantles fur-trimmed, and\nof great price. Then bidding farewell to Segard his father, Sir Guy left\nWarwick with Heraud his tutor, and Sir Thorold and Sir Urry for company,\nand having reached the nearest seaport, set sail for Normandy in search\nof adventures wherein to prove his valour.\n\nThey came to Rouen, and whilst they tarried at an inn a tournament was\nproclaimed in honour of the fair Blancheflor, daughter to Regnier,\nEmperor of Germany, and the prize was the hand of the Princess, a white\nhorse, two white hounds, and a white falcon. So Sir Guy and his\ncompanions rode into the lists, where was a great company of proven\nknights and champions. Three days they tourneyed, but none could\nwithstand Sir Guy's strong arm. He overthrew Otho Duke of Pavia, Sir\nGarie the Emperor's son, Regnier Duke of Sessoyne, the Duke of Lowayne,\nand many more, till not a man was left who dared encounter him; and\nbeing master of the field, he was adjudged the prize. The horse and\nhounds and falcon he sent by two messengers to Felice in England as\ntrophies of his valour. Then he knelt before the beautiful Princess\nBlancheflor and said, \"Lady, I battle in honour of my mistress, the\npeerless Felice, and am her servant,\" whereat the Emperor and his\ndaughter, admiring his constancy, loaded him with rich presents and\nallowed him to depart.\n\nSir Guy then travelled through Spain, Lombardy, and Almayne, into far\nlands; and wheresoever a tournament was held, there he went and justed,\ncoming out victor from them all; till the fame of his exploits spread\nover Christendom. So a year passed, and he returned to England\nunconquered, and renowned as the most valiant knight of his time. A\nwhile he sojourned in London with King Athelstan, who rejoiced to do him\nhonour; then he came to Warwick, where he received from Earl Rohand a\nprincely welcome. Then Sir Guy hastened to Felice.\n\n\"Fair mistress,\" said he, \"have I now won your love? You have heard my\ndeeds, how I have travelled all through Christendom, and have yet found\nno man stand against my spear. I have been faithful in my love, Felice,\nas well as strong in fight. I might have wedded with the best. King's\ndaughters and princesses were prizes in the tournaments; but I had no\nmind for any prize but thee. Say, is it mine, sweet mistress?\"\n\nThen Felice kissed her knight and answered, \"Right nobly have you won my\nlove and worship, brave Sir Guy. You are more than my peer; you are\nbecome my sovereign; and my love pays willing homage to its lord. But\nfor this same cause I will not wed you yet. I will not have men point at\nme and say, 'There is a woman who for selfish love's sake, wedded the\nknight of most renown in Christendom ere yet he did his bravest\ndeeds-drew him from his level to her own-made him lay by his sword and\nspear for the slothful pleasures of a wedded life, and dwarfed a brave\nman down to a soft gentleman.' Nay, dear one, I can wait, and very\nproudly, knowing myself your chiefest prize. But seek not to possess the\nprize too soon, lest your strivings for renown, being aimless, should\nwax feeble. It is because I love you that I hold your fame far dearer\nthan my love. Go rather forth again, travel through heathen lands,\ndefend the weak against the strong; go, battle for the right, show\nyourself the matchless knight you are; and God and my love go with\nthee.\"\n\nThen Sir Guy got him ready for his new quest. Earl Rohand tried to\npersuade him to remain at home, as likewise did his father Segard; and\nhis mother, weeping, prayed him stay. She said, \"Another year it may not\nfare so well with thee, my son. Leave well alone. Felice is cold and\nproud and cares not for thee, else she would not risk thy life again.\nWhat is it to her? If thou wert slain she would get another lover; we\nhave no more sons.\"\n\nYet would not Sir Guy be turned from his purpose, but embarked with his\ncompanions, Sir Heraud, Sir Thorold, and Sir Urry, for Flanders. Thence\nhe rode through Spain, Germany, and Lombardy, and bore away the prize at\nevery tournament. But coming into Italy, he got a bad wound jousting at\nBeneventum, which greatly weakened him.\n\nDuke Otho of Pavia, whom Sir Guy overthrew in his first tournament at\nRouen, thought now to be avenged on him. So he set a chosen knight, Earl\nLombard, with fifteen other knights to lie in ambush in a wood and slay\nSir Guy; and as Sir Guy, with his three companions, came ambling slowly\nthrough the wood, he smarting and well-nigh faint with his wound, the\nmen in ambush broke out from their concealment and called on him to\nyield. The danger made him forget his pain, and straightway he dressed\nhis shield and spurred among them.\n\nSir Heraud, Sir Thorold, and Sir Urry killed the three first knights\nthey rode against. Then Earl Lombard slew Sir Urry; and at the same time\nHugo, nephew to Duke Otho, laid Sir Thorold dead at his horse's feet.\nThen only Sir Guy and Sir Heraud being left to fight, Sir Guy attacked\nEarl Lombard and smote him to the heart, whilst Sir Heraud chased Hugo,\nfleeing like a hound, and drove his spear throughout his body. Thus were\nSir Urry and Sir Thorold avenged. But one of the felon knights, called\nSir Gunter, smote Sir Heraud a mighty stroke when he was off his guard,\nand hewed his shield and coat of mail in pieces, and Sir Heraud fell to\nthe earth covered with blood and lay as dead.\n\nThereupon Sir Guy's anger waxed furious at his master's death; and he\nspurred his horse so that fire rose from under its feet, and with one\nblow of his sword cleft Sir Gunter from his helmet to the pummel of his\nsaddle. As for the other knights he slew them all except Sir Guichard,\nwho fled on his swift steed to Pavia, and got back to Duke Otho.\n\nHeavily Sir Guy grieved for the loss of his three friends, but most of\nall for his dear master Sir Heraud. He sought about the wood until he\nfound a hermit. To him he gave a good steed, charging him to bury the\nbodies of Sir Urry and Sir Thorold. From Sir Heraud's body he would not\npart. Lifting the old knight to his arms, he laid him across his horse,\nand led the steed by the bridle-rein till they came to an abbey, where\nhe left the body with the abbot, promising rich presents in return for\ngiving it sumptuous burial with masses and chants. But Sir Guy departed\nand hid himself in a hermit's cave away from the malice of Duke Otho,\nuntil his wound should be healed.\n\nNow there was in the abbey whither Heraud's body was taken, a monk well\nskilled in leech-craft, who knew the virtues of all manner of grasses\nand herbs. And this monk, finding by his craft that life still flickered\nin the body, nursed and tended it; and after a long while Sir Heraud was\nwell enough to travel. Disguised as a palmer he came into Burgundy, and\nthere, to his great joy, found Sir Guy, who had come thither meaning to\ntake his way back to England. But they lingered still, till Heraud\nshould grow stronger, and so it fell out that they came to St. Omers.\nThere they heard how the Emperor Regnier had come up against Segwin,\nDuke of Lavayne, laid waste his land, and besieged him in his strong\ncity Seysone, because he had slain Sadoc, the Emperor's cousin, in a\ntournament. But when Sir Guy learned that Sadoc had first provoked Duke\nSegwin, and brought his death upon himself, he determined to help Segwin\nagainst his sovereign the Emperor Regnier. He therefore gathered fifty\nknights together with Heraud, and coming secretly at night to the city\nof Seysone, was let in at a postern gate without the enemy being aware.\nIn the morning after mass they made a sally against their foes, which\nnumbered thirty thousand strong, and routed them, taking many noble\nprisoners. Three times the Emperor came against the Greeks, each time\nwith a new army larger than before. Twice did Sir Guy vanquish the host,\nand drive them from the walls. The third time he took Sir Gaire, the\nEmperor's son, prisoner, and carried him into the city. Then the Emperor\nRegnier determined, since he could not take the place by assault, to\nbeleaguer it, and starve the town into surrender. And it was so that,\nwhile his army was set down before the walls, the Emperor hunted alone\nin a wood hard by, and Sir Guy, meeting him there, gathered a branch of\nolive tree, and came bending to the Emperor, saying, \"God save you,\ngentle sire. Duke Segwin sendeth me to make his peace with you. He will\nyield you all his lands and castles in burg and city, and hold them of\nyou henceforth in vassalage, but he now would have your presence in the\ncity to a feast.\" So the Emperor was forced to go with him into the city\nas a prisoner, albeit he was served with the humility due to a sovereign\nboth by Sir Guy and Duke Segwin's knights. Sir Gaire and the other\ncaptive nobles came also and prayed for peace with Duke Segwin, for they\nhad been so well treated that they felt nothing but the truest\nfriendship for their captor. So it befell when the Emperor found himself\nfeasting in the enemy's castle, surrounded by the flower of his own\nknights and nobles, and Duke Segwin and his band serving them humbly at\ntable as though they had been servants in place of masters, he was\ntouched by their generosity, and willingly agreed to a free and friendly\npeace. And this was celebrated by the Emperor giving Duke Segwin his\nniece to wife, whilst the Duke of Saxony wedded Duke Segwin's sister\namid great rejoicings.\n\nNow after this, learning that Ernis, Emperor of Greece, was besieged in\nConstantinople his capital by the Saracens, Sir Guy levied an army of a\nthousand knights and went to his assistance. Well pleased was Ernis at\nso timely a succor, and he promised to reward Sir Guy by making him heir\nto the throne and giving him the hand of his only daughter the beautiful\nLoret. Then Sir Guy led the army forth from the city against the Soudan\nand his host, and defeated them so badly that for some days they were\nunable to rally their men for another encounter.\n\nIn the meantime, one of Sir Guy's knights named Sir Morgadour fell in\nlove with the Princess Loret, and being envious of Sir Guy's\nachievements as well as jealous of such a rival, he sought how to\nembroil him with the Emperor and compass his disgrace. Wherefore one day\nwhen the Emperor Ernis was gone a-rivering with his hawks, Sir Morgadour\nchallenged Sir Guy to play a game of chess in the Princess Loret's\nchamber. They played there, Sir Guy not thinking of treachery. But\nby-and-by the Princess entered, and Sir Morgadour after greeting her\ntook his leave quickly and came to the Emperor Ernis, telling him how\nSir Guy was alone in the chamber with his daughter. Ernis, however, paid\nlittle heed to the tale, for he said: \"Well, and what of it? Loret is\nhis promised bride, and Sir Guy is a good true knight. Away with your\ntales!\" But Sir Morgadour was not to be baffled, so he went to Sir Guy\nand said: \"Behold how little trust is to be placed in a king! Here is\nthe Emperor Ernis mad wroth to hear you were alone with the Princess\nLoret, and swears he will have your life.\" Then Sir Guy in great anger\nsummoned his knights, and was going over to the Saracens, when, on his\nway, he met the Emperor, who told him of the malice of Sir Morgadour and\nall was made plain.\n\nBut now the Saracens coming anew against the city, Sir Guy went forth to\nmeet them with many engines upon wheels which threw great stones\nquarried from a hill. Sir Guy and his army again defeated the Saracens,\ninsomuch that a space of fifteen acres was covered so thick with dead\nthat a man might not walk between, whilst the pile of slain around Sir\nGuy reached breast high. So the Soudan and his host withdrew to their\ncamps.\n\nThen Sir Morgadour bethought him of another wile. The Soudan had sworn\nto kill every Christian found in his camp, without regard to flag of\ntruce or ambassage. So Sir Morgadour persuaded Ernis to send Sir Guy to\nthe Soudan saying, that, since the war seemed likely to come to no\nspeedy issue, it should be settled by single combat between two\nchampions chosen from the Christian and the Saracen hosts. The counsel\nseemed good to Ernis, but yet he liked not to risk his son-in-law's\nlife; wherefore he called his Parliament together and asked for some\nbold knight to go and bear this message. When all the others held their\npeace, Sir Guy demanded to be sent upon the business, neither could the\nprayers and entreaties of Ernis cause him to forego the enterprise. He\nclad himself in iron hose and a trusty hauberk, set a helm of steel,\ngold-circled, on his head, and having girt his sword about him, leapt on\nhis steed without so much as touching stirrup, and rode up to the\nSoudan's pavilion. He well knew it from the rest, since on the top\nthereof flashed a great carbuncle stone.\n\nThere were feasting the Soudan, ten kings, and many barons, when Sir Guy\nwalked into the pavilion and delivered his message with great roughness\nof speech. \"Seize him and slay him!\" cried the Soudan. But Sir Guy cut\nhis way through his assailants and rushing on the Soudan cut off his\nhead; and while he stooped to pick up the trophy with his left hand,\nwith his right he slew six Saracens, then fought his passage past them\nall to the tent door, and leapt upon his horse. But the whole Saracen\nhost being roused he never would have got back for all his bravery, but\nthat Heraud within the city saw in a dream the danger he was in, and\nassembling the Greek army and Sir Guy's knights, came to his rescue and\nput the Saracens to flight. Then after the battle, Sir Guy came in\ntriumph to Constantinople and laid the Soudan's head at the feet of the\nEmperor Ernis.\n\nErnis now, being at peace from his enemies, would take Sir Guy through\nhis realms. On their way they saw a dragon fighting a lion, and the lion\nhaving much the worst of the combat, Sir Guy must needs go and fight the\ndragon. After a hard battle he laid the monster dead at his feet, and\nthe lion came and licked the hands of his deliverer, and would in no\nwise depart from his side.\n\nSoon afterward the Emperor Ernis gathered a great company of princes,\ndukes, earls, barons, bishops, abbots, and priors to the wedding feast,\nand in presence of them all he gave Sir Guy to be ruler over half the\nkingdom, and led forth the Princess Loret to be his bride.\n\nBut when Sir Guy saw the wedding-ring, his old love came to his mind,\nand he bethought him of Felice. \"Alas!\" he cried, \"Felice the bright and\nbeautiful, my heart misgives me of forgetting thee. None other maid\nshall ever have my love.\" Then he fell into a swoon and when he came to\nhimself he pleaded sudden sickness. So the marriage was put off, to the\ngreat distress of Ernis and his daughter Loret, and Sir Guy gat him to\nan Inn. Heraud tended him there, and learned how it was for the sake of\nFelice that Guy renounced so fair a bride, dowered with so rich a\nkingdom. But after a fortnight, when he could no longer feign illness\nbecause of the watchfullness of the Emperor and the Princess after his\nhealth, he was forced to return to court, and delay his marriage from\nday to day by one excuse and another, until at length fortune delivered\nhim from the strait. The lion which Sir Guy had tamed was used to roam\nabout the palace, and grew so gentle that none feared him and none\nsought him harm. But Sir Morgadour, being sore vexed to think that all\nhis plans against Sir Guy had failed, determined to wreak his spite upon\nthe lion. He therefore watched until he found the lion asleep within an\narbour, and then wounded him to death with his sword. The faithful beast\ndragged himself so far as Sir Guy's chamber, licked his master's hands,\nand fell dead at his feet. But a little maid which had espied Sir\nMorgadour told Sir Guy who had slain his lion. Then Sir Guy went forth\nin quest of Sir Morgadour, and fought with him and slew him. He had\nforgiven the wrongs against himself, since he outwitted them; but he was\nfain to avenge his faithful favourite. Now Sir Morgadour was steward to\nthe German Emperor Regnier. So Sir Guy showed Ernis that if he remained\nlonger at his court, Regnier would surely make war on Greece to avenge\nhis steward's death. Wherefore with this excuse he took his departure\nand set sail with Heraud in the first ship he could find. They landed in\nGermany, and visited the Emperor Regnier without telling anything about\nhis steward's death. Then they came to Lorraine.\n\nAs Sir Guy took his way alone through a forest, having sent his servants\non to prepare a place for him at an inn, he heard the groaning of a man\nin pain, and turning his horse that way, found a knight sore wounded,\nand like to die. This knight was named Sir Thierry, and served the Duke\nof Lorraine. He told how he was riding through the wood with his lady,\nOsile, when fifteen armed men beset him, and forcibly carried off the\nlady to take her to Duke Otho of Pavia, his rival Then said Sir Guy, \"I\nalso have a score to settle with Otho, the felon duke.\" Then he took Sir\nThierry's arms and armour, and went in pursuit of the ravishers whom he\nsoon overtook, and having slain every one, he set the lady on his steed\nand returned to the place where he had left the wounded knight. But now\nSir Thierry was gone; for four knights of Duke Otho's band had come and\ncarried him off. So Sir Guy set down the lady, and started to find the\nfour knights. Having fought and vanquished them, he set Sir Thierry on\nhis horse and returned. But now Osile was gone. He searched for many\nhours to find her, but in vain. So as nightfall drew on he took Sir\nThierry to the inn. There by good fortune they found the lady, Sir Guy's\nservants having met her in the wood and brought her with them to await\nhis coming. A leech soon came and dressed Sir Thierry's wounds, and by\nthe careful tending of Osile and Sir Guy, he got well Then Sir Guy and\nSir Thierry swore brotherhood in arms.\n\nSoon there came a messenger, saying that Duke Otho, hotly wroth at\nlosing the fair Osile, had gone to lay waste the lands of Aubry, Sir\nThierry's father; the Duke of Lorraine was likewise helping him.\nThereupon Sir Guy equipped five hundred knights and came with Sir\nThierry to the city of Gurmoise where Aubry dwelt. It was a well\nramparted city, and after being beaten in two battles with Sir Guy, Duke\nOtho found, despite the larger numbers of his host, that he could not\nstand against the courage of the little army and the valour of its\nleader. Thinking therefore to gain Osile by treachery, he sent an\narchbishop to Aubry, offering peace and pledging himself to confirm the\nmarriage of Sir Thierry and Osile, provided only that the lovers would\ngo and kneel in homage to their sovereign Duke of Lorraine. Thereon Sir\nThierry and his bride, together with Sir Guy and Sir Heraud, set out\nunarmed, and after wending a day's journey out of Gurmoise, they met the\nDuke of Lorraine, who embraced and kissed them in token of peace. But\nOtho coming forward as if to do the like, made a sign to a band of men\nwhom he had in waiting to seize them. These quickly surrounded Sir\nHeraud and Sir Thierry and carried them off; but Sir Guy with only his\nfists slew many of his assailants, and broke away to where a countryman\nstood with a staff in his hand. Snatching this for a weapon, Sir Guy\nbeat down the quickest of his pursuers, and made his escape. Duke Otho\ncast Sir Thierry into a deep dungeon in Pavia, and meanwhile gave Osile\na respite of forty days wherein to consent to be his bride. But the Duke\nof Lorraine carried off Sir Heraud.\n\nWeary and hungered, and vexed at the loss of his friends, Sir Guy came\nto a castle where he sought harbour for the night. Sir Amys of the\nMountain, who dwelt there, welcomed him with a good will, and hearing\nhis adventures, offered to raise an army of fifteen hundred men to help\nhim against Duke Otho. But to this Sir Guy said nay, because it would\ntake too long. So, after a day or two, having hit upon a plan, he\ndisguised, himself by staining his face and darkening his hair and beard\nand eyebrows; and setting out alone, came to Duke Otho with a present of\na war-horse of great price, and said, \"You have in your keeping a\ndastard knight by name Sir Thierry, who has done me much despite, and I\nwould fain be avenged upon him.\" Then Duke Otho, falling into the trap,\nappointed him jailor of Sir Thierry.\n\nThe dungeon wherein Sir Thierry was prisoned was a pit of forty fathoms\ndeep, and very soon Sir Guy spake from the pit's mouth bidding him be of\ngood cheer, for he would certainly deliver him. But a false Lombard\noverheard these words, and thereby knowing that it was Sir Guy, ran off\nstraightway to tell Duke Otho. Sir Guy followed quickly and sought to\nbribe the man with money to hold his peace, but without avail, for he\nwould go into the palace where the Duke was, and opened his mouth to\ntell the tale. Then with one blow Sir Guy slew him at Duke Otho's feet.\nBut Otho, very wroth, would have killed Sir Guy then and there, only\nthat he averred that this was a certain traitor whom he found carrying\nfood to the prisoner. Thus having appeased the Duke's anger, he gat away\nsecretly to Osile, and bade her change her manner to Duke Otho, and make\nas though she was willing to have his love. The night before the day\nfixed for the wedding, Sir Guy let down a rope to Thierry in his pit,\nand having drawn him up, the two made all speed to the castle of Sir\nAmys. There, getting equipped with arms and armour, they leaped to horse\non the morrow, and riding back to Pavia, met the wedding procession.\nRushing into the midst Sir Guy slew Otho and Sir Thierry carried off\nOsile, whereupon they returned to Sir Amys with light hearts. And when\nthe Duke of Lorraine had tidings of what had befallen Otho he had great\nfear of Sir Guy, and sent Sir Heraud back with costly gifts to make his\npeace. So Sir Thierry and Osile were wed, and a sumptuous banquet was\nheld in their honour, with game, and hunting, and hawking, and justing,\nand singing of glee-men, more than can be told.\n\nNow as Sir Guy went a-hunting one day, he rode away from his party to\npursue a boar of great size. And this boar, being very nimble and fleet\nof foot, led him a long chase till he came into Flanders. And when he\nkilled the boar he blew upon his horn the prize. Florentine, King of\nFlanders, hearing it in his palace, said, \"Who is this that slays the\ntall game on my lands?\" And he bade his son go forth and bring him in.\nThe young prince coming with a haughty message to Sir Guy, the knight\nstruck him with his hunting-horn, meaning no more than chastisement for\nhis discourtesy. But by misadventure the prince fell dead at his feet.\nThinking no more of the mishap, and knowing not who it was whom he had\nslain, Sir Guy rode on to the palace, and was received with good cheer\nat the King's table. But presently the prince's body being brought in,\nand Guy owning that he had done this deed, King Florentine took up an\naxe, and aimed a mighty blow at the slayer of his son. This Sir Guy\nquickly avoided, and when all arose to seize him, he smote them down on\neither hand, and fought his way through the hall till he reached his\nsteed, whereon lightly leaping he hasted back to Sir Thierry.\n\nThen after a short while he took leave of Sir Thierry, and came with Sir\nHeraud to England, to the court of King Athelstan at York. Scarce had he\narrived there when tidings came that a great black and winged dragon was\nravaging Northumberland, and had destroyed whole troops of men which\nwent against him. Sir Guy at once armed himself in his best proven\narmour, and rode off in quest of the monster. He battled with the dragon\nfrom prime till undern, and on from undern until evensong, but for all\nthe dragon was so strong and his hide so flinty Sir Guy overcame him,\nand thrust his sword down the dragon's throat, and having cut off his\nhead brought it to King Athelstan. Then while all England rang with this\ngreat exploit, he took his journey to Wallingford to see his parents.\nBut they were dead; so after grieving many days for them he gave his\ninheritance to Sir Heraud, and hasted to Felice at Warwick.\n\nProudly she welcomed her true knight, and listened to the story of his\ndeeds. Then laughingly Sir Guy asked, should he go another quest before\nthey two were wed?\n\n\"Nay, dear one,\" said Felice, \"my heart misgives me I was wrong to peril\nyour life so long for fame's sake and my pride in you. A great\nlove-longing I have borne to have you home beside me. But now you shall\ngo no more forth. My pride it was that made me wish you great and\nfamous, and for that I bade you go; but now, beside your greatness and\nyour fame, I am become so little and so unworthy that I grow jealous\nlest you seek a worthier mate. We will not part again, dear lord Sir\nGuy.\" Then he kissed her tenderly and said, \"Felice, whatever of fame\nand renown I may have gained, I owe it all to you. It was won for you,\nand but for you it had not been--and so I lay it at your feet in loving\nhomage, owning that I hold it all of you.\"\n\nSo they were wed amid the joy of all the town of Warwick; for the\nspousings were of right royal sort, and Earl Rohand held a great\ntournament, and kept open court to all Warwick, Rockingham, and Oxford\nfor fourteen days.\n\nForty days they had been wed, when it happened that as Sir Guy lay by a\nwindow of his tower, looking out upon the landscape, he fell to musing\non his life. He thought, \"How many men I have slain, how many battles I\nhave fought, how many lands I have taken and destroyed! All for a\nwoman's love; and not one single deed done for my God!\" Then he thought,\n\"I will go a pilgrimage for the sake of the Holy Cross.\" And when Felice\nknew what he meditated she wept, and with many bitter tears besought him\nnot to leave her. But he sighed and said, \"Not yet one single deed for\nGod above!\" and held fast to his intent. So he clad himself in palmer's\ndress, and having taken a gold ring from his wife's hand and placed upon\nhis own, he set out without any companion for the Holy Land.\n\nBut Felice fell into a great wan-hope at his departure, and grieved\ncontinually, neither would be comforted; for she said, \"I have brought\nthis on myself by sending him such perilous journeys heretofore, and now\nI cannot bear to part from him.\" But that she bore his child she would\nhave taken her own life for very trouble of heart; only for that child's\nsake she was fain to live and mature it when it should be born.\n\nNow after Sir Guy had made his toilsome pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and\nshrived him of his life, and done his prayers and penances about the\nholy places, he took his way to Antioch.\n\nBeside a well he met a certain Earl Jonas, whose fifteen sons were held\nin prison till he should find a champion to deliver the Saracen Sir\nTriamour from the hands of a fierce and terrible Ethiopian giant named\nAmiraunt. So Sir Guy took arms again, and rode into the lists, and\nfought with Amiraunt and slew him; thus both Sir Triamour was delivered\nfrom his enemy, and the sons of Earl Jonas were restored to him. After\nthis, Sir Guy travelled many years as a pilgrim of the Cross, till in\nhis wanderings, chancing to come into Almayne, he there fell in with Sir\nThierry, who, dressed in palmer's weeds, made sorry complaint. Sir\nThierry told how a knight named Barnard inherited Pavia in the room of\nhis cousin Duke Otho; and how Barnard, being at enmity with him because\nof the slaying of Duke Otho, had never rested from doing him mischief\nwith his sovereign, until the Duke of Lorraine dispossessed him from his\nlands and brought him into poverty. Howbeit Sir Guy would not reveal\nhimself, and Sir Thierry being faint and weary, laid his head upon Sir\nGuy's knees, and so great a heaviness came over him that he fell asleep.\nAs he slept, Sir Guy, watching him, saw a small white weasel creep out\nfrom the mouth of the sleeping man, and run to a little rivulet that was\nhard by, going to and fro beside the bank, not seeming wistful how to\nget across. Then Sir Guy rose gently and laid his sword athwart the\nstream from bank to bank; so the weasel passed over the sword, as it had\nbeen a bridge, and having made his way to a hole at the foot of the hill\non the other side, went in thereat. But presently the weasel came out,\nand crossing the stream in the same manner as before jumped into the\nsleeper's mouth again. Then Sir Thierry woke and told his dream. \"I\ndreamed,\" said he, \"that I came beside a mighty torrent which I knew not\nhow to pass, until I found a bridge of shining steel, over which I went,\nand came into a cavern underground, and therein I found a palace full of\ngold and jewels. I pray thee, brother palmer, read to me this dream.\"\n\nThen Sir Guy said that without doubt it betokened a fair treasure hid by\na waterside, and with that showed him the hole under the hill whereat he\nhad seen the weasel go in. There they digged and found the treasure,\nwhich was very great; yet Sir Guy would have no share therein, but took\nleave of Sir Thierry without ever making himself known, and came to\nLorraine the duke that was Sir Thierry's sovereign.\n\nSeeing a palmer the Duke of Lorraine asked tidings of his travels.\n\"Sir,\" said the palmer, \"men in all lands speak of Sir Thierry, and much\ndo blame you for taking away his heritage at the bidding of so false a\nknight as Sir Barnard. And palmer though I be, I yet will prove Sir\nBarnard recreant and traitor upon his body, and thereto I cast down my\nglove.\" Then Sir Barnard took up the glove, and Sir Guy being furnished\nwith armour and a sword and shield and spear, they did battle together.\nAnd in the end Sir Guy overcame and slew Sir Barnard, and demanded of\nthe duke to restore Sir Thierry to his possessions, which being granted,\nhe went in search of the banished man, and having found him in a church\nmaking his prayer, brought him straightway to the duke, and thus they\nwere made friends. And when Sir Thierry found who his deliverer was he\nwas exceeding glad and would willingly have divided all his inheritance\nwith him. But Sir Guy would receive neither fee nor reward, and after he\nhad abode some time with him at the court, he took his way to England.\n\nNow Athelstan was besieged in Winchester by Anlaf King of Denmark, and\ncould not come out of the city for the great host that was arrayed\nagainst him, whilst all the folk within the city walls were famishing\nfor want of food and thought of nothing but surrender. Moreover King\nAnlaf had proclaimed a challenge, giving them seven days' grace wherein\neither to deliver up the city keys, or to find a champion who should\nfight against the great and terrible Danish giant Colbrand; and every\nday for seven days' the giant came before the walls and cried for a man\nto fight with him. But there was found no man so hardy to do battle with\nColbrand. Then King Athelstan, as he walked to and fro in his city and\nsaw the distress of his people, was suddenly aware of a light that shone\nabout him very brightly, and he heard a voice which charged him to\nintrust his cause to the first poor palmer he should meet. Soon after he\nmet a palmer in the city, and weening not that it was Sir Guy, kneeled\nhumbly to him, in sure faith in the heavenly voice, and asked his help.\n\"I am an old man,\" said the palmer, \"with little strength except what\nHeaven might give me for a people's need beset by enemies. But yet for\nEngland's sake and with Heaven's help I will undertake this battle.\"\n\nThey then clothed him in the richest armour that the city could furnish,\nwith a good hauberk of steel, and a helmet whose gold circle sparkled\nwith precious stones, and on the top whereof stood a flower wrought of\ndivers colours in rare gems. Gloves of mail he wore, and greaves upon\nhis legs, and a shirt of ring-mail upon his body, with a quilted\ngambeson beneath: sharp was the sword, and richly carved the heavy spear\nhe bare; his threefold shield was overlaid with gold. They led forth to\nhim a swift steed; but before he mounted he went down upon his knees and\nmeekly told his beads, praying God to succor him that day. And the two\nkings held a parley for an hour, Anlaf promising on his part that if his\nchampion fell he would go back with all his host to Denmark and never\nmore make war on Britain, whilst Athelstan agreed, if his knight were\nvanquished, to make Anlaf King of England, and henceforth to be his\nvassal and pay tribute both of gold and silver money.\n\nThen Colbrand stode forth to the battle. So great was he of stature that\nno horse could bear him, nor indeed could any man make a cart wherein to\ncarry him. He was armed with black armour of so great weight that a\nscore of men could scarce bear up his hauberk only, and it took three to\ncarry his helmet. He bare a great dart within his hand, and slung around\nhis body were swords and battle-axes more than two hundred in number.\n\nSir Guy rode boldly at him, but his spear shivered into pieces against\nthe giant's armour. Then Colbrand threw three darts. The first two\npassed wide, but the third crashed through Sir Guy's shield, and glided\nbetwixt his arm and side, nor fell to ground till it had sped over a\ngood acre of the field. Then a blow from the giant's sword just missed\nthe knight, but lighting on his saddle at the back of him hewed horse\nand saddle clean in two; so Sir Guy was brought to ground. Yet lightly\nsprang he to his feet, and though seemingly but a child beside the\nmonster man, he laid on hotly with his sword upon the giant's armour,\nuntil the sword brake in his hands. Then Colbrand called on him to\nyield, since he had no longer a weapon wherewith to fight. \"Nay,\"\nanswered Sir Guy, \"but I will have one are of thine,\" and with that ran\ndeftly to the giant's side and wrenched away a battle-axe wherewith he\nmaintained the combat. Right well Sir Guy endured while Colbrand's\nmighty strokes shattered his armour all about him, until his shield\nbeing broke in pieces it seemed he could no longer make defence, and the\nDanes raised a great shout at their champion's triumph. Then Colbrand\naimed a last stroke at the knight to lay him low, but Sir Guy lightly\navoiding it, the giant's sword smote into the earth a foot or more, and\nbefore he could withdraw it or free his hand, Sir Guy hewed off the arm\nwith his battle-axe; and since Colbrand's weight leaned on that arm, he\nfell to the ground. So Sir Guy cut off his head, and triumphed over the\ngiant Colbrand, and the Danes withdrew to their own country.\n\nThen without so much as telling who he was, Sir Guy doffed his armour\nand put on his palmer's weeds again, and secretly withdrawing himself\nfrom all the feasts and games they held in honour of him in the city of\nWinchester, passed out alone and took his journey toward Warwick on\nfoot.\n\nMany a year had gone since he had left his wife and home. The boy whom\nFelice had borne him, named Raynburn, he had never seen; nor, as it\nbefell, did he ever see his son. For Raynburn in his childhood had been\nstolen away by Saracens and carried to a far heathen country, where King\nAragus brought him up and made him first his page, then chamberlain, and\nas he grew to manhood, knighted him. And now he fought the battles of\nKing Aragus with a strong arm like his father Guy's, neither could any\nendure against his spear. But all these years Felice had passed in\nprayer and charity, entertaining pilgrims and tired wayfarers, and\ncomforting the sick and the distressed. And it was so that Sir Guy, all\ntravel-worn and with his pilgrim's staff in hand, came to her house and\ncraved an alms. She took him in and washed his feet and ministered to\nhim, asking oftentimes if in his travels he had seen her lord Sir Guy.\nBut when he watched her gentleness to the poor and to the children at\nher gate, he feared to break in upon her holy life, and so refrained\nhimself before her and would not reveal himself, but with a heavy heart\ncame out from the lady's door and gat him to a hermit's cell. There he\nabode in fasting and in penitence many weeks, till feeling his end draw\nnear, he took the ring from his finger and sent it by a herdsman to\nFelice. \"Where got you this token?\" cried Felice, all trembling with her\nwonderment and fear. \"From a poor beggar-man that lives in yonder cell,\"\nthe herdsman answered. \"From a beggar? Nay, but from a kingly man,\" said\nFelice, \"for he is my husband, Guy of Warwick!\" and gave the herdsman a\nhundred marks. Then she hasted and came to Sir Guy in his hermit's cell,\nand for a long space they wept in each other's arms and neither spake a\nword.\n\nWeaker and fainter waxed Sir Guy. In a little while he died, and Felice\nclosed his tired eyes. Fifteen weary days she lingered sore in grief,\nand then God's angel came and closed her own.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nCHEVY CHASE\n\n\n  God prosper long our noble king,\n    Our lives and safeties all;\n  A woeful hunting once there did\n    In Chevy Chase befall.\n\n  To drive the deer with hound and horn\n    Earl Percy took the way;\n  The child may rue that is unborn\n    The hunting of that day.\n\n  The stout earl of Northumberland\n    A vow to God did make,\n  His pleasure in the Scottish woods\n    Three summer days to take--\n\n  The chiefest harts in Chevy Chase\n    To kill and bear away.\n  These tidings to Earl Douglas came\n    In Scotland where he lay;\n\n  Who sent Earl Percy present word\n    He would prevent his sport.\n  The English earl not fearing that,\n    Did to the woods resort.\n  With fifteen hundred bowmen bold,\n    All chosen men of might,\n  Who knew full well in time of need\n    To aim their shafts aright.\n\n  The gallant greyhound swiftly ran\n    To chase the fallow deer;\n  On Monday they began to hunt\n    Ere daylight did appear;\n\n  And long before high noon they had\n    A hundred fat bucks slain;\n  Then having dined, the drovers went\n    To rouse the deer again.\n\n  The bowmen mustered on the hills,\n    Well able to endure;\n  Their backsides all with special care\n    That day were guarded sure.\n\n  The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,\n    The nimble deer to take,\n  That with their cries the hills and dales\n    An echo shrill did make.\n\n  Lord Percy to the quarry went\n    To view the tender deer;\n  Quoth he, \"Earl Douglas promised once\n    This day to meet me here.\"\n\n  \"But if I thought he would not come,\n    No longer would I stay\";\n  With that a brave young gentleman\n    Thus to the earl did say:\n\n  \"Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come,\n    His men in armour bright;\n  Full twenty hundred Scottish spears\n    All marching in our sight;\n\n  \"All men of pleasant Teviotdale,\n    Fast by the River Tweed.\"\n  \"O cease your sports,\" Earl Percy said,\n    \"And take your bows with speed;\n\n  \"And now with me, my countrymen,\n    Your courage forth advance,\n  For there was never champion yet,\n    In Scotland or in France,\n\n  \"That ever did on horseback come,\n    And if my hap it were,\n  I durst encounter man for man\n    With him to break a spear.\"\n\n  Earl Douglas on his milk white steed,\n    Most like a baron bold,\n  Rode foremost of his company,\n    Whose armour shone like gold.\n\n  \"Show me,\" said he, \"whose men you be,\n    That hunt so boldly here,\n  That, without my consent, do chase\n    And kill my fallow deer.\"\n\n  The first man that did answer make,\n    Was noble Percy he,\n  Who said, \"We list not to declare\n    Nor show whose men we be:\n\n  \"Yet will we spend our dearest blood\n    Thy chiefest harts to slay.\"\n  Then Douglas swore a solemn oath,\n    And thus in rage did say:\n\n  \"Ere thus I will out-braved be,\n    One of us two shall die;\n  I know thee well, an earl thou art--\n    Lord Percy, so am I.\n\n  \"But trust me, Percy, pity it were,\n    And great offence, to kill\n  Any of these our guiltless men,\n    For they have done none ill.\n\n  \"Let thou and I the battle try,\n    And set our men aside.\"\n  \"Accurst be he,\" Earl Percy said,\n    \"By whom it is denied.\"\n\n  Then stept a gallant squire forth--\n    Witherington was his name--\n  Who said, \"I would not have it told\n    To Henry, our king, for shame,\n\n  \"That e'er my captain fought on foot,\n    And I stood looking on.\n  You be two earls,\" quoth Witherington,\n    \"And I a squire alone;\n\n  \"I'll do the best that do I may,\n    While I have power to stand;\n  While I have power to wield my sword,\n    I'll fight with heart and hand.\"\n\n  Our English archers bent their bows--\n    Their hearts were good and true;\n  At the first flight of arrows sent,\n    Full four score Scots they slew.\n\n  To drive the deer with hound and horn,\n    Douglas bade on the bent,\n  Two captains moved with mickle might,\n    Their spears to shivers went.\n\n  They closed full fast on every side,\n    No slackness there was found,\n  But many a gallant gentleman\n    Lay gasping on the ground.\n\n  O Christ! it was great grief to see\n    How each man chose his spear,\n  And how the blood out of their breasts\n    Did gush like water clear.\n\n  At last these two stout earls did meet\n    Like captains of great might;\n  Like lions wode, they laid on lode;\n    They made a cruel fight.\n\n  They fought until they both did sweat,\n    With swords of tempered steel,\n  Till blood down their cheeks like rain\n    They trickling down did feel.\n\n  \"O yield thee, Percy!\" Douglas said,\n    \"And in faith I will thee bring\n  Where thou shalt high advanced be\n    By James, our Scottish king.\n\n  \"Thy ransom I will freely give,\n    And this report of thee,\n  Thou art the most courageous knight\n    That ever I did see.\"\n\n  \"No, Douglas,\" quoth Earl Percy then,\n     \"Thy proffer I do scorn;\n  I will not yield to any Scot\n    That ever yet was born.\"\n\n  With that there came an arrow keen,\n    Out of an English bow,\n  Which struck Earl Douglas on the breast\n    A deep and deadly blow.\n\n  Who never said more words than these:\n    \"Fight on, my merry men all!\n  For why, my life is at an end,\n    Lord Percy sees my fall.\"\n\n  Then leaving life, Earl Percy took\n    The dead man by the hand;\n  Who said, \"Earl Douglas, for thy life\n   Would I had lost my land!\n\n  \"O Christ! my very heart doth bleed\n    For sorrow for thy sake,\n  For sure a more redoubted knight\n    Mischance could never take.\"\n\n  A knight amongst the Scots there was\n    Which saw Earl Douglas die,\n  Who straight in heart did vow revenge\n    Upon the Lord Percy.\n\n  Sir Hugh Montgomery was he called,\n    Who, with a spear full bright,\n  Well mounted on a gallant steed,\n    Ran fiercely through the fight,\n\n  And past the English archers all,\n    Without all dread or fear,\n  And through Earl Percy's body then\n    He thrust his hateful spear.\n\n  With such a vehement force and might\n    His body he did gore,\n  The staff ran through the other side\n    A large cloth-yard, and more.\n\n  Thus did both those nobles die,\n    Whose courage none could stain;\n  An English archer then perceived\n    The noble earl was slain.\n\n  He had a good bow in his hand\n    Made of a trusty tree;\n  An arrow of a cloth-yard long\n    To the hard head haled he.\n\n  Against Sir Hugh Montgomery\n    His shaft full right he set;\n  The gray-goose-wing that was thereon\n    In his heart's blood was wet.\n\n  This fight from break of day did last\n    Till setting of the sun,\n  For when they rang the evening-bell\n    The battle scarce was done.\n\n  With stout Earl Percy there was slain\n    Sir John of Egerton,\n  Sir Robert Harcliff and Sir William,\n    Sir James, that bold baron.\n\n  And with Sir George and Sir James,\n    Both knights of good account,\n  Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slain,\n    Whose prowess did surmount.\n\n  For Witherington needs must I wail\n    As one in doleful dumps.\n  For when his legs were smitten off,\n    He fought upon his stumps.\n\n  And with Earl Douglas there was slain\n    Sir Hugh Montgomery,\n  And Sir Charles Morrell, that from field\n    One foot would never flee;\n\n  Sir Roger Heuer of Harcliff, too,\n    His sister's son was he;\n  Sir David Lambwell, well esteemed,\n    But saved he could not be.\n\n  And the Lord Maxwell, in like case,\n    With Douglas he did die;\n  Of twenty hundred Scottish spears,\n    Scarce fifty-five did fly.\n\n  Of fifteen hundred Englishmen\n    Went home but fifty-three;\n  The rest in Chevy Chase were slain,\n    Under the greenwood tree.\n\n  Next day did many widows come\n    Their husbands to bewail;\n  They washed their wounds in brinish sears.\n    But all would not prevail.\n\n  Their bodies, bathed in purple blood,\n    They bore with them away;\n  They kissed them dead a thousand times\n    Ere they were clad in clay.\n\n  The news was brought to Edinburgh,\n    Where Scotland's king did reign,\n  That brave Earl Douglas suddenly\n    Was with an arrow slain.\n\n  \"O heavy news!\" King James can say,\n    \"Scotland may witness be\n  I have not any captain more\n    Of such account as he.\"\n\n  Like tidings to King Henry came\n    Within as short a space,\n  That Percy of Northumberland\n    Was slain at Chevy Chase.\n\n  \"Now God be with him!\" said our king,\n    \"Since it will no better be;\n  I trust I have within my realm\n    Five hundred as good as he.\"\n\n  \"Yet shall not Scots nor Scotland say\n    But I will vengeance take,\n  And be revenged on them all\n    For brave Earl Percy's sake.\"\n\n  This vow the king did well perform\n    After on Humble-down;\n  In one day fifty knights were slain\n    With lords of great renown.\n\n  And of the rest, of small account,\n    Did many hundreds die:\n  Thus endeth the hunting in Chevy Chase\n    Made by the Earl Percy.\n\n  God save our king, and bless this land\n    With plenty, joy, and peace,\n  And grant henceforth that foul debate\n    Twixt noble men may cease!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE FATE OF THE CHILDREN OF LIR\n\n\nNow at the time when the Tuatha de Danaan chose a king for themselves\nafter the battle of Tailltin, and Lir heard the kingship was given to\nBodb Dearg, it did not please him, and he left the gathering without\nleave and with no word to any one; for he thought it was he himself had\na right to be made king. But if he went away himself, Bodb was given the\nkingship none the less, for not one of the five begrudged it to him but\nonly Lir. And it is what they determined, to follow after Lir, and to\nburn down his house, and to attack himself with spear and sword, on\naccount of his not giving obedience to the king they had chosen. \"We\nwill not do that,\" said Bodb Dearg, \"for that man would defend any place\nhe is in; and besides that,\" he said, \"I am none the less king over the\nTuatha de Danaan, although he does not submit to me.\"\n\nAll went on like that for a good while, but at last a great misfortune\ncame on Lir, for his wife died from him after a sickness of three\nnights. And that came very hard on Lir, and there was heaviness on his\nmind after her. And there was great talk of the death of that woman in\nher own time.\n\nAnd the news of it was told all through Ireland, and it came to the\nhouse of Bodb, and the best of the Men of Dea were with him at that\ntime. And Bodb said: \"If Lir had a mind for it,\" he said, \"my help and\nmy friendship would be good for him now, since his wife is not living to\nhim. For I have here with me the three young girls of the best shape,\nand the best appearance, and the best name in all Ireland, Aobh, Aoife,\nand Aihbhe, the three daughters of Oilell of Aran, my own three\nnurselings.\" The Men of Dea said then it was a good thought he had, and\nthat what he said was true.\n\nMessages and messengers were sent then from Bodb Dearg to the place Lir\nwas, to say that if he had a mind to join with the Son of the Dagda and\nto acknowledge his lordship, he would give him a foster-child of his\nfoster-children. And Lir thought well of the offer, and he set out on\nthe morrow with fifty chariots from Sidhe Fionna-chaidh; and he went by\nevery short way till he came to Bodb's dwelling-place at Loch Dearg, and\nthere was a welcome before him there, and all the people were merry and\npleasant before him, and he and his people got good attendance that\nnight.\n\nAnd the three daughters of Oilell of Aran were sitting on the one seat\nwith Bodb Dearg's wife, the queen of the Tuatha de Danaan, that was\ntheir foster-mother. And Bodb said: \"You may have your choice of the\nthree young girls, Lir.\" \"I cannot say,\" said Lir, \"which one of them is\nmy choice, but whichever of them is the eldest, she is the noblest, and\nit is better for me to take her.\" \"If that is so,\" said Bodb, \"it is\nAobh is the eldest, and she will be given to you, if it is your wish.\"\n\"It is my wish,\" he said. And he took Aobh for his wife that night, and\nhe stopped there for a fortnight, and then he brought her away to his\nown house, till he would make a great wedding-feast.\n\nAnd in the course of time Aobh brought forth two children, a daughter\nand a son, Fionnuala and Aodh their names were. And after a while she\nwas brought to bed again, and this time she gave birth to two sons, and\nthey called them Fiachra and Conn. And she herself died at their birth.\nAnd that weighed very heavy on Lir, and only for the way his mind was\nset on his four children he would have gone near to die of grief.\n\nThe news came to Bodb Dearg's place, and all the people gave out three\nloud, high cries, keening their nursling. And after they had keened her\nit is what Bodb Dearg said: \"It is a fret to us our daughter to have\ndied, for her own sake and for the sake of the good man we gave her to,\nfor we are thankful for his friendship and his faithfulness. However,\"\nhe said, \"our friendship with one another will not be broken, for I will\ngive him for a wife her sister Aoife.\"\n\nWhen Lir heard that he came for the girl and married her, and brought\nher home to his house. And there was honour and affection with Aoife for\nher sister's children; and indeed no person at all could see those four\nchildren without giving them the heart's love.\n\nAnd Bodb Dearg used often to be going to Lir's house for the sake of\nthose children; and he used to bring them to his own place for a good\nlength of time, and then he would let them go back to their own place\nagain. And the Men of Dea were at that time using the Feast of Age in\nevery hill of the Sidhe in turn; and when they came to Lir's hill those\nfour children were their joy and delight for the beauty of their\nappearance; and it is where they used to sleep, in beds in sight of\ntheir father Lir. And he used to rise up at the break of every morning,\nand to lie down among his children.\n\nBut it is what came of all this, that a fire of jealousy was kindled in\nAoife, and she got to have a dislike and a hatred of her sister's\nchildren.\n\nThen she let on to have a sickness, that lasted through nearly the\nlength of a year. And the end of that time she did a deed of jealousy\nand cruel treachery against the children of Lir.\n\nAnd one day she got her chariot yoked, and she took the four children in\nit, and they went forward toward the house of Bodb Dearg; but Fionnuala\nhad no mind to go with her, for she knew by her she had some plan for\ntheir death or their destruction, and she had seen in a dream that there\nwas treachery against them in Aoife's mind. But all the same she was not\nable to escape from what was before her.\n\nAnd when they were on their way Aoife said to her people: \"Let you kill\nnow,\" she said, \"the four children of Lir, for whose sake their father\nhas given up my love, and I will give you your own choice of a reward\nout of all the good things of the world.\" \"We will not do that indeed,\"\nsaid they; \"and it is a bad deed you have thought of, and harm will come\nto you out of it.\"\n\nAnd when they would not do as she bade them, she took out a sword\nherself to put an end to the children with; but she being a woman and\nwith no good courage, and with no great strength in her mind, she was\nnot able to do it.\n\nThey went on then west to Loch Dairbhreach, the Lake of the Oaks, and\nthe horses were stopped there. And Aoife bade the children of Lir to go\nout and bathe in the lake, and they did as she bade them. And as soon as\nAoife saw them out in the lake she struck them with a Druid rod, and put\non them the shape of four swans, white and beautiful. And it is what she\nsaid: \"Out with you, children of the king, your luck is taken away from\nyou forever; it is sorrowful the story will be to your friends it is\nwith flocks of birds your cries will be heard for ever.\"\n\nAnd Fionnuala said: \"Witch, we know now what your name is, you have\nstruck us down with no hope of relief; but although you put us from wave\nto wave, there are times when we will touch the land. We shall get help\nwhen we are seen; help, and all that is best for us; even though we have\nto sleep upon the lake, it is our minds will be going abroad early.\"\n\nAnd then the four children of Lir turned toward Aoife, and this is what\nFionnuala said: \"It is a bad deed you have done, Aoife, and it is a bad\nfulfilling of friendship, you to destroy us without cause; and vengeance\nfor it will come upon you, and you will fall in satisfaction for it, for\nyour power for our destruction is not greater than the power of our\nfriends to avenge it on you; and put some bounds now,\" she said, \"to the\ntime this enchantment is to stop on us.\" \"I will do that,\" said Aoife,\n\"and it is worse for you, you to have asked it of me. And the bounds I I\nset to your time are this, till the Woman from the South and the Man\nfrom the North will come together. And since you ask to hear it of me,\"\nshe said, \"no friends and no power that you have will be able to bring\nyou out of these shapes you are in through the length of your lives,\nuntil you have been three hundred years on Loch Dairbhreach, and three\nhundred years on Sruth na Maoile between Ireland and Alban, and three\nhundred years at Irrus Domnann and Inis Gluaire; and these are to be\nyour journeys from this out,\" she said.\n\nBut then repentance came on Aoife, and she said: \"Since there is no\nother help for me to give you now, you may keep your own speech; and you\nwill be singing sweet music in the Sidhe, that would put the men of the\nearth to sleep, and there will be no music in the world equal to it; and\nyour own sense and your own nobility will stay with you, the way it will\nnot weigh so heavy on you to be in the shape of birds. And go away out\nof my sight now, children of Lir,\" she said, \"with your white faces,\nwith your stammering Irish. It is a great curse on tender lads, they to\nbe driven out on the rough wind. Nine hundred years to be on the water,\nit is a long time for any one to be in pain; it is I put this on you\nthrough treachery, it is best for you to do as I tell you now.\n\n\"Lir, that got victory with so many a good cast, his heart is a kernel\nof death in him now; the groaning of the great hero is a sickness to me,\nthough it is I that have well earned his anger.\"\n\nAnd then the horses were caught for Aoife, and the chariot yoked for\nher, and she went on to the palace of Bodb Dearg, and there was a\nwelcome before her from the chief people of the place. And the son of\nthe Dagda asked her why she did not bring the children of Lir with her.\n\"I will tell you that,\" she said. \"It is because Lir has no liking for\nyou, and he will not trust you with his children, from fear you might\nkeep them from him altogether.\"\n\n\"I wonder at that,\" said Bodb Dearg, \"for those children are dearer to\nme than my own children.\" And he thought in his own mind it was deceit\nthe woman was doing on him, and it is what he did, he sent messengers to\nthe North to Sidhe Fionnachaidh. And Lir asked them what did they come\nfor. \"On the head of your children,\" said they. \"Are they not gone to\nyou along with Aoife?\" he said. \"They are not,\" said they; \"and Aoife\nsaid it was yourself would not let them come.\"\n\nIt is downhearted and sorrowful Lir was at that news, for he understood\nwell it was Aoife had destroyed or made an end of his children. And\nearly in the morning of the morrow his horses were caught, and he set\nout on the road to the Southwest. And when he was as far as the shore of\nLoch Dairbhreach, the four children saw the horses coming toward them,\nand it is what Fionnuala said: \"A welcome to the troop of horses I see\ncoming near to the lake; the people they are bringing are strong, there\nis sadness on them; it is us they are following, it is for us they are\nlooking; let us move over to the shore, Aodh, Fiachra, and comely Conn.\nThose that are coming can be no others in the world but only Lir and his\nhousehold.\"\n\nThen Lir came to the edge of the lake, and he took notice of the swans\nhaving the voice of living people, and he asked them why was it they had\nthat voice.\n\n\"I will tell you that, Lir,\" said Fionnuala. \"We are your own four\nchildren, that are after being destroyed by your wife, and by the sister\nof our own mother, through the dint of her jealousy.\" \"Is there any way\nto put you into your own shapes again?\" said Lir. \"There is no way,\"\nsaid Fionnuala, \"for all the men of the world could not help us till we\nhave gone through our time, and that will not be,\" she said, \"till the\nend of nine hundred years.\"\n\nWhen Lir and his people heard that, they gave out three great heavy\nshouts of grief and sorrow and crying.\n\n\"Is there a mind with you,\" said Lir, \"to come to us on the land, since\nyou have not your own sense and your memory yet?\" \"We have not the\npower,\" said Fionnuala, \"to live with any person at all from this time;\nbut we have our own language, the Irish, and we have the power to sing\nsweet music, and it is enough to satisfy the whole race of men to be\nlistening to that music. And let you stop here to-night,\" she said, \"and\nwe will be making music for you.\"\n\nSo Lir and his people stopped there listening to the music of the swans,\nand they slept there quietly that night. And Lir rose up early on the\nmorning of the morrow and he made this complaint:\n\n\"It is time to go out from this place. I do not sleep though I am in my\nlying down. To be parted from my dear children, it is that is tormenting\nmy heart.\n\n\"It is a bad net I put over you, bringing Aoife, daughter of Oilell of\nAran, to the house. I would never have followed that advice if I had\nknown what it would bring upon me.\n\n\"O Fionnuala, and comely Conn, O Aodh, O Fiachra of the beautiful arms;\nit is not ready I am to go away from you, from the border of the harbour\nwhere you are.\"\n\nThen Lir went on to the palace of Bodb Dearg, and there was a welcome\nbefore him there; and he got a reproach from Bodb Dearg for not bringing\nhis children along with him. \"My grief!\" said Lir. \"It is not I that\nwould not bring my children along with me; it was Aoife there beyond,\nyour own foster-child and the sister of their mother, that put them in\nthe shape of four white swans on Loch Dairbhreach, in the sight of the\nwhole of the men of Ireland; but they have their sense with them yet,\nand their reason, and their voice, and their Irish.\"\n\nBodb Dearg gave a great start when he heard that, and he knew what Lir\nsaid was true, and he gave a very sharp reproach to Aoife, and he said:\n\"This treachery will be worse for yourself in the end, Aoife, than to\nthe children of Lir. And what shape would you yourself think worst of\nbeing in?\" he said.\n\n\"I would think worst of being a witch of the air,\" she said. \"It is into\nthat shape I will put you now.\" said Bodb. And with that he struck her\nwith a Druid wand, and she was turned into a witch of the air there and\nthen, and she went away on the wind in that shape, and she is in it yet,\nand will be in it to the end of life and time.\n\nAs to Bodb Dearg and the Tuatha de Danaan they came to the shore of Loch\nDairbhreach, and they made their camp there to be listening to the music\nof the swans.\n\nAnd the Sons of the Gael used to be coming no less than the Men of Dea\nto hear them from every part of Ireland, for there never was any music\nor any delight, heard in Ireland to compare with that music of the\nswans. And they used to be telling stories, and to be talking with the\nmen of Ireland every day, and with their teachers and their\nfellow-pupils and their friends. And every night they used to sing very\nsweet music of the Sidhe; and every one that heard that music would\nsleep sound and quiet whatever trouble or long sickness might be on him;\nfor every one that heard the music of the birds, it is happy and\ncontented he would be after it.\n\nThese two gatherings now of the Tuatha de Danaan and of the Sons of the\nGael stopped there around Loch Dairbhreach through the length of three\nhundred years. And it is then Fionnuala said to her brothers: \"Do you\nknow,\" she said, \"we have spent all we have to spend of our time here,\nbut this one night only.\"\n\nAnd there was great sorrow on the sons of Lir when they heard that, for\nthey thought it the same as to be living people again, to be talking\nwith their friends and their companions on Loch Dairbhreach, in\ncomparison with going on the cold, fretful sea of the Maoil in the\nNorth.\n\nAnd they came early on the morrow to speak with their father and with\ntheir foster-father, and they bade them farewell, and Fionnuala made\nthis complaint:\n\n\"Farewell to you, Bodb Dearg, the man with whom all knowledge is in\npledge. And farewell to our father along with you, Lir of the Hill of\nthe White Field.\n\n\"The time is come, as I think, for us to part from you, O pleasant\ncompany; my grief it is not on a visit we are going to you.\n\n\"From this day out, O friends of our heart, our comrades, it is on the\ntormented course of the Maoil we will be, without the voice of any\nperson near us.\n\n\"There hundred years there, and three hundred years in the bay of the\nmen of Domnann, it is a pity for the four comely children of Lir, the\nsalt waves of the sea to be their covering by night.\n\n\"O three brothers, with the ruddy faces gone from you, let them all\nleave the lake now, the great troop that loved us, it is sorrowful our\nparting is.\"\n\nAfter that complaint they took to flight, lightly, airily, till they\ncame to Sruth na Maoile between Ireland and Alban. And that was a grief\nto the men of Ireland, and they gave out an order no swan was to be\nkilled from that out, whatever chance there might be of killing one, all\nthrough Ireland.\n\nIt was a bad dwelling-place for the children of Lir they to be on Sruth\nna Maoile. When they saw the wide coast about them, they were filled\nwith cold and with sorrow, and they thought nothing of all they had gone\nthrough before, in comparison to what they were going through on that\nsea.\n\nNow one night while they were there a great storm came on them, and it\nis what Fionnuala said: \"My dear brothers,\" she said, \"it is a pity for\nus not to be making ready for this night, for it is certain the storm\nwill separate us from one another. And let us,\" she said, \"settle on\nsome place where we can meet afterward, if we are driven from one\nanother in the night.\"\n\n\"Let us settle,\" said the others, \"to meet one another at Carraig na\nRon, the Rock of the Seals, for we all have knowledge of it.\"\n\nAnd when midnight came, the wind came on them with it, and the noise of\nthe waves increased, and the lightning was flashing, and a rough storm\ncame sweeping down; the way the children of Lir were scattered over the\ngreat sea, and the wideness of it set them astray, so that no one of\nthem could know what way the others went. But after that storm a great\nquiet came on the sea, and Fionnuala was alone on Sruth na Maoile; and\nwhen she took notice that her brothers were wanting she was lamenting\nafter them greatly, and she made this complaint:\n\n\"It is a pity for me to be alive in the state I am; it is frozen to my\nsides my wings are; it is little that the wind has not broken my heart\nin my body, with the loss of Aodh.\n\n\"To be three hundred years on Loch Dairbhreach without going into my own\nshape, it is worse to me the time I am on Sruth na Maoile.\n\n\"The three I loved, Och! the three I loved, that slept under the shelter\nof my feathers; till the dead come back to the living I will see them no\nmore for ever.\n\n\"It is a pity I to stay after Fiachra, and after Aodh, and after comely\nConn, and with no account of them; my grief I to be here to face every\nhardship this night.\"\n\nShe stopped all night there upon the Rock of the Seals until the rising\nof the sun, looking out over the sea on every side till at last she saw\nConn coming to her, his feathers wet through and his head hanging, and\nher heart gave him a great welcome; and then Fiachra came wet and\nperished and worn out, and he could not say a word they could understand\nwith the dint of the cold and the hardship he had gone through. And\nFionnuala put him under her wings, and she said: \"We would be well off\nnow if Aodh would but come to us.\"\n\nIt was not long after that, they saw Aodh coming, his head dry and his\nfeathers beautiful, and Fionnuala gave him a great welcome, and she put\nhim in under the feathers of her breast, and Fiachra under her right\nwing and Conn under her left wing, the way she could put her feathers\nover them all. \"And Och! my brothers,\" she said, \"this was a bad night\nto us, and it is many of its like are before us from this out.\"\n\nThey stayed there a long time after that, suffering cold and misery on\nthe Maoil, till at last a night came on them they had never known the\nlike of before, for frost and snow and wind and cold. And they were\ncrying and lamenting the hardship of their life, and the cold of the\nnight and the greatness of the snow and the hardness of the wind. And\nafter they had suffered cold to the end of a year, a worse night again\ncame on them, in the middle of winter. And they were on Carraig na Ron,\nand the water froze about them, and as they rested on the rock, their\nfeet and their wings and their feathers froze to the rock, the way they\nwere not able to move from it. And they made such a hard struggle to get\naway, that they left the skin of their feet and their feathers and the\ntops of their wings on the rock after them.\n\n\"My grief, children of Lir,\" said Fionnuala, \"it is bad our state is\nnow, for we cannot bear the salt water to touch us, and there are bonds\non us not to leave it; and if the salt water goes into our sores,\" she\nsaid, \"we will get our death.\" And she made this complaint:\n\n\"It is keening we are to-night; without feathers to cover our bodies; it\nis cold the rough, uneven rocks are under our bare feet.\n\n\"It is bad our stepmother was to us the time she played enchantments on\nus, sending us out like swans upon the sea.\n\n\"Our washing place is on the ridge of the bay, in the foam of flying\nmanes of the sea; our share of the ale feast is the salt water of the\nblue tide.\n\n\"One daughter and three sons; it is in the clefts of the rocks we are;\nit is on the hard rocks we are, it is a pity the way we are.\"\n\nHowever, they came on to the course of the Maoil again, and the salt\nwater was sharp and rough and bitter to them, but if it was itself, they\nwere not able to avoid it or to get shelter from it. And they were there\nby the shore under that hardship till such time as their feathers grew\nagain, and their wings, and till their sores were entirely healed. And\nthen they used to go every day to the shore of Ireland or of Alhan, but\nthey had to come back to Sruth na Maoile every night.\n\nNow they came one day to the mouth of the Banna, to the north of\nIreland, and they saw a troop of riders, beautiful, of the one colour,\nwith well-trained pure white horses under them, and they travelling the\nroad straight from the Southwest.\n\n\"Do you know who those riders are, sons of Lir?\" said Fionnuala.\n\n\"We do not,\" they said; \"but it is likely they might be some troop of\nthe Sons of the Gael, or of the Tuatha de Danaan.\"\n\nThey moved over closer to the shore then, that they might know who they\nwere, and when the riders saw them they came to meet them until they\nwere able to hold talk together.\n\nAnd the chief men among them were two sons of Bodb Dearg, Aodh\nAithfhiosach, of the quick wits, and Fergus Fithchiollach, of the chess,\nand a third part of the Riders of the Sidhe along with them, and it was\nfor the swans they had been looking for a long while before that, and\nwhen they came together they wished one another a kind and loving\nwelcome.\n\nAnd the children of Lir asked for news of all the men of Dea, and above\nall of Lir, and Bodb Dearg and their people.\n\n\"They are well, and they are in the one place together,\" said they, \"in\nyour father's house at Sidhe Fionnachaidh, using the Feast of Age\npleasantly and happily, and with no uneasiness on them, only for being\nwithout yourselves, and without knowledge of what happened you from the\nday you left Loch Dairbhreach.\"\n\n\"That has not been the way with us,\" said Fionnuala, \"for we have gone\nthrough great hardship and uneasiness and misery on the tides of the sea\nuntil this day.\"\n\nAnd she made this complaint:\n\n\"There is delight to-night with the household of Lir! Plenty of ale with\nthem and of wine, although it is in a cold dwelling-place this night are\nthe four children of the King.\n\n\"It is without a spot our bedclothes are, our bodies covered over with\ncurved feathers; but it is often we were dressed in purple, and we\ndrinking pleasant mead.\n\n\"It is what our food is and our drink, the white sand and the bitter\nwater of the sea; it is often we drank mead of hazel nuts from round\nfour-lipped drinking cups.\n\n\"It is what our beds are, bare rocks out of the power of the waves; it\nis often there used to be spread out for us beds of the breast feathers\nof birds.\n\n\"Though it is our work now to be swimming through the frost and through\nthe noise of the waves, it is often a company of the sons of kings were\nriding after us to the Hill of Bodb.\n\n\"It is what wasted my strength, to be going and coming over the current\nof the Maoil the way I never was used to, and never to be in the\nsunshine on the soft grass.\n\n\"Fiachra's bed and Conn's bed is to come under the cover of my wings on\nthe sea. Aodh has his place under the feathers of my breast, the four of\nus side by side.\n\n\"The teaching of Manannan without deceit, the talk of Bodb Dearg on the\npleasant ridge; the voice of Angus, his sweet kisses; it is by their\nside I used to be without grief.\"\n\nAfter that the riders went on to Lir's house, and they told the chief\nmen of the Tuatha de Danaan all the birds had gone through, and the\nstate they were in. \"We have no power over them,\" the chief men said,\n\"but we are glad they are living yet, for they will get help in the end\nof time.\"\n\nAs to the children of Lir, they went back toward their old place in the\nMaoil, and they stopped there till the time they had to spend in it, was\nspent. And then Fionnuala said: \"The time is come for us to leave this\nplace. And it is to Irrus Domnann we must go now,\" she said, \"after our\nthree hundred years here. And indeed there will be no rest for us there,\nor any standing ground, or any shelter from the storms. But since it is\ntime for us to go, let us set out on the cold wind, the way we will not\ngo astray.\"\n\nSo they set out in that way, and left Sruth na Maoile behind them, and\nwent to the point of Irrus Domnann, and there they stopped, and it is a\nlife of misery and a cold life they led there. And one time the sea\nfroze about them that they could not move at all, and the brothers were\nlamenting, and Fionnuala was comforting them, for she knew there would\nhelp come to them in the end.\n\nAnd they stayed at Irrus Domnann till the time they had to spend there\nwas spent. And then Fionnuala said: \"The time is come for us to go back\nto Sidhe Fionnachaidh, where our father is with his household and with\nall our own people.\"\n\n\"It pleases us well to hear that,\" they said.\n\nSo they set out flying through the air lightly till they came to Sidhe\nFionnachaidh; and it is how they found the place, empty before them, and\nnothing in it but green hillocks and thickets of nettles, without a\nhouse, without a fire, without a hearthstone. And the four pressed close\nto one another then, and they gave out three sorrowful cries, and\nFionnuala made this complaint:\n\n\"It is a wonder to me this place is, and it without a house, without a\ndwelling-place. To see it the way it is now, Ochonel it is bitterness to\nmy heart.\n\n\"Without dogs, without hounds for hunting, without women, without great\nkings; we never knew it to be like this when our father was in it,\n\n\"Without horns, without cups, without drinking in the lighted house;\nwithout young men, without riders; the way it is to-night is a\nforetelling of sorrow.\n\n\"The people of the place to be as they are now, Ochone! it is grief to\nmy heart! It is plain to my mind to-night the lord of the house is not\nliving.\n\n\"Och, house where we used to see music and playing and the gathering of\npeople! I think it is a great change to see it lonely the way it is\nto-night.\n\n\"The greatness of the hardships we have gone through going from one wave\nto another of the sea, we never heard of the like of them coming on any\nother person.\n\n\"It is seldom this place had its part with grass and bushes; the man is\nnot living that would know us, it would be a wonder to him to see us\nhere.\"\n\nHowever, the children of Lir stopped that night in their father's place\nand their grandfather's, where they had been reared, and they were\nsinging very sweet music of the Sidhe. And they rose up early on the\nmorning of the morrow and went to Inis Gluarie, and all the birds of the\ncountry gathered near them on Loch na-n Ean, the Lake of the Birds. And\nthey used to go out to feed every day to the far parts of the country,\nto Inis Geadh and to Accuill, the place Donn, son of Miled, and his\npeople that were drowned were buried, and to all the western islands of\nConnacht, and they used to go back to Inis Gluaire every night.\n\nIt was about that time it happened them to meet with a young man of good\nrace, and his name was Aibric; and he often took notice of the birds,\nand their singing was sweet to him and he loved them greatly, and they\nloved him. And it is this young man that told the whole story of all\nthat had happened them, and put it in order.\n\nAnd the story he told of what happened them in the end is this.\n\nIt was after the faith of Christ and blessed Patrick came into Ireland,\nthat Saint Mochaomhog came to Inis Gluaire. And the first night he came\nto the island, the children of Lir heard the voice of his bell, ringing\nnear them. And the brothers started up with fright when they heard it.\n\"We do not know,\" they said, \"what is that weak, unpleasing voice we\nhear.\"\n\n\"That is the voice of the bell of Mochaomhog,\" said Fionnuala; \"and it\nis through that bell,\" she said, \"you will be set free from pain and\nfrom misery.\"\n\nThey listened to that music of the bell till the matins were done, and\nthen they began to sing the low, sweet music of the Sidhe.\n\nAnd Mochaomhog was listening to them, and he prayed to God to show him\nwho was singing that music, and it was showed to him that the children\nof Lir were singing it. And on the morning of the morrow he went forward\nto the Lake of the Birds, and he saw the swans before him on the lake,\nand he went down to them at the brink of the shore. \"Are you the\nchildren of Lir?\" he said.\n\n\"We are indeed,\" said they.\n\n\"I give thanks to God for that,\" said he, \"for it is for your sakes I am\ncome to this island beyond any other island, and let you come to land\nnow,\" he said, \"and give your trust to me, that you may do good deeds\nand part from your sins.\"\n\nThey came to the land after that, and they put trust in Mochaomhog, and\nhe brought them to his own dwelling-place, and they used to be hearing\nMass with him. And he got a good smith and bade him make chains of\nbright silver for them, and he put a chain between Aodh and Fionnuala,\nand a chain between Conn and Fachra, And the four of them were raising\nhis heart and gladdening his mind, and no danger and no distress that\nwas on the swans before put any trouble on them now.\n\nNow the king of Connacht at that time was Lairgnen, son of Colman, son\nof Colman, son of Cobthach, and Deoch, daughter of Finghin, was his\nwife. And that was the coming together of the Man from the North and the\nWoman from the South, that Aoife had spoken of.\n\nAnd the woman heard talk of the birds, and a great desire came on her to\nget them, and she bade Lairgnen to bring them to her, and he said he\nwould ask them of Mochaomhog.\n\nAnd she gave her word she would not stop another night with him unless\nhe would bring them to her. And she set out from the house there and\nthen. And Lairgnen sent messengers after her to bring her back, and they\ndid not overtake her till she was at Cill Dun. She went back home with\nthem then, and Lairgnen sent messengers to ask the birds of Mochaomhog,\nand he did not get them.\n\nThere was great anger on Lairgnen then, and he went himself to the place\nMochaomhog was, and he asked was it true he had refused him the birds.\n\"It is true indeed,\" said he. At that Lairgnen rose up, and he took hold\nof the swans, and pulled them off the altar, two birds in each hand, to\nbring them away to Deoch. But no sooner had he laid his hand on them\nthan their bird skins fell off, and what was in their place was three\nlean, withered old men and a thin withered old woman, without blood or\nflesh.\n\nAnd Lairgnen gave a great start at that, and he went out from the place.\nIt is then Fionnuala said to Mochaomhog: \"Come and baptise us now, for\nit is short till our death comes; and it is certain you do not think\nworse of parting with us than we do of parting with you. And make our\ngrave afterward,\" she said, \"and lay Conn on my right side and Fiachra\non my left side, and Aodh before my face, between my two arms. And pray\nto the God of Heaven,\" she said, \"that you may he able to baptise us.\"\n\nThe children of Lir were baptised then, and they died and were buried as\nFionnuala had desired; Fiachra and Conn one at each side of her, and\nAohd before her face. And a stone was put over them, and their names\nwere written in Ogham, and they were keened there, and heaven was gained\nfor their souls.\n\nAnd that is the fate of the children of Lir.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE BELEAGUERED CITY\n\n\n  I have read, in some old marvellous tale\n    Some legend strange and vague,\n  That a midnight host of spectres pale\n    Beleaguered the walls of Prague.\n\n  Beside the Moldau's rushing stream.\n    With the wan moon overhead,\n  There stood, as in an awful dream,\n    The army of the dead.\n\n  White as a sea-fog, landward bound,\n    The spectral camp was seen,\n  And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,\n   The river flowed between.\n\n  No other voice nor sound was there,\n    No drum, nor sentry's pace;\n  The mist-like banners clasped the air,\n    As clouds with clouds embrace.\n\n  But, when the old cathedral bell\n    Proclaimed the morning prayer,\n  The white pavilions rose and fell\n    On the alarmed air.\n\n  Down the broad valley fast and far\n    The troubled army fled;\n  Up rose the glorious morning star,\n    The ghastly host was dead.\n\n  I have read, in the marvellous heart of man,\n    That strange and mystic scroll,\n  That an army of phantoms vast and wan\n    Beleaguer the human soul.\n\n  Encamped beside Life's rushing stream,\n    In Fancy's misty light,\n  Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam\n    Portentous through the night.\n\n  Upon its midnight battle-ground\n    The spectral camp is seen,\n  And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,\n    Flows the River of Life between.\n\n  No other voice, nor sound is there,\n    In the army of the grave;\n  No other challenge breaks the air,\n    But the rushing of Life's wave.\n\n  And, when the solemn and deep church-bell\n    Entreats the soul to pray,\n  The midnight phantoms feel the spell\n    The shadows sweep away.\n\n  Down the broad Vale of Tears afar\n    The spectral camp is fled;\n  Faith shineth as a morning star,\n    Our ghastly fears are dead.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nPRESTER JOHN\n\n\nAbout the middle of the twelfth century, a rumour circulated through\nEurope that there reigned in Asia a powerful Christian Emperor,\nPresbyter Johannes. In a bloody fight he had broken the power of the\nMussulmans, and was ready to come to the assistance of the Crusaders.\nGreat was the exultation in Europe, for of late the news from the East\nhad been gloomy and depressing, the power of the infidel had increased,\noverwhelming masses of men had been brought into the field against the\nchivalry of Christendom, and it was felt that the cross must yield\nbefore the odious crescent.\n\nThe news of the success of the Priest-King opened a door of hope to the\ndesponding Christian world. Pope Alexander III. determined at once to\neffect a union with this mysterious personage, and on the 27th of\nSeptember, 1177, wrote him a letter, which he intrusted to his\nphysician, Philip, to deliver in person.\n\nPhilip started on his embassy, but never returned. The conquests of\nTschengis-Khan again attracted the eyes of Christian Europe to the East.\nThe Mongol hordes were rushing in upon the West with devastating\nferocity; Russia, Poland, Hungary, and the Eastern provinces of Germany\nhad succumbed, or suffered grievously; and the fears of other nations\nwere roused lest they too should taste the misery of a Mongolian\ninvasion. It was Gog and Magog come to slaughter, and the times of\nAntichrist were dawning. But the battle of Liegnitz stayed them in their\nonward career, and Europe was saved.\n\nPope Innocent IV. determined to convert these wild hordes of barbarians,\nand subject them to the cross of Christ; he therefore sent among them a\nnumber of Dominican and Franciscan missioners, and embassies of peace\npassed between the Pope, the King of France, and the Mogul Khan,\n\nThe result of these communications with the East was, that the\ntravellers learned how false were the prevalent notions of a mighty\nChristian empire existing in Central Asia. Vulgar superstition or\nconviction is not, however, to be upset by evidence, and the locality of\nthe monarchy was merely transferred by the people to Africa, and they\nfixed upon Abyssinia, with a show of truth, as the seat of the famous\nPriest-King. However, still some doubted. John de Piano Carpini and\nMarco Polo, though they acknowledged the existence of a Christian\nmonarch in Abyssinia, yet stoutly maintained as well that Prester John\nof popular belief reigned in splendour somewhere in the dim Orient.\n\nBut before proceeding with the history of this strange fable, it will be\nwell to extract the different accounts given of the Priest-King and his\nrealm by early writers; and we shall then be better able to judge of the\ninfluence the myth obtained in Europe.\n\nOtto of Freisingen is the first author to mention the monarchy of\nPrester John, with whom we are acquainted. Otto wrote a chronicle up to\nthe date 1156, and he relates that in 1145 the Catholic Bishop of Cabala\nvisited Europe to lay certain complaints before the Pope. He mentioned\nthe fall of Edessa, and also \"he stated that a few years ago a certain\nKing and Priest called John, who lives on the farther side of Persia and\nArmenia, in the remote East, and who, with all his people, were\nChristians, though belonging to the Nestorian Church, had overcome the\nroyal brothers Samiardi, kings of the Medes and Persians, and had\ncaptured Ecbatana, their capital and residence. The said kings had met\nwith their Persian, Median, and Assyrian troops, and had fought for\nthree consecutive days, each side having determined to die rather than\ntake to flight. Prester John, for so they are wont to call him, at\nlength routed the Persians, and after a bloody battle, remained\nvictorious. After which victory the said John was hastening to the\nassistance of the Church at Jerusalem, but his host, on reaching the\nTigris, was hindered from passing, through a deficiency in boats, and he\ndirected his march North, since he had heard that the river was there\ncovered with ice. In that place he had waited many years, expecting\nsevere cold; but the winters having proved unpropitious, and the\nseverity of the climate having carried off many soldiers, he had been\nforced to retreat to his own land. This king belongs to the family of\nthe Magi, mentioned in the Gospel, and he rules over the very people\nformerly governed by the Magi; moreover, his fame and his wealth are so\ngreat, that he uses an emerald sceptre only.\n\n\"Excited by the example of his ancestors, who came to worship Christ in\nhis cradle, he had proposed to go to Jerusalem, but had been impeded by\nthe above-mentioned causes.\"\n\nAt the same time the story crops up in other quarters; so that we cannot\nlook upon Otto as the inventor of the myth. The celebrated Maimonides\nalludes to it in a passage quoted by Joshua Lorki, a Jewish physician to\nBenedict XIII. Maimonides lived from 1135 to 1204. The passage is as\nfollows: \"It is evident both from the letters of Rambam (Maimonides),\nwhose memory be blessed, and from the narration of merchants who have\nvisited the ends of the earth, that at this time the root of our faith\nis to be found in the lands of Babel and Teman, where long ago Jerusalem\nwas an exile; not reckoning those who live in the land of Paras and\nMadai, of the exiles of Schomrom, the number of which people is as the\nsand: of these some are still under the yoke of Paras, who is called the\nGreat-Chief Sultan by the Arabs; others live in a place under the yoke\nof a strange people ... governed by a Christian chief, Preste-Cuan by\nname. With him they have made a compact, and he with them; and this is a\nmatter concerning which there can be no manner of doubt.\"\n\nBenjamin of Tudela, another Jew, travelled in the East between the years\n1159 and 1173, the last being the date of his death. He wrote an account\nof his travels, and gives in it some information with regard to a\nmythical Jew king, who reigned in the utmost splendour over a realm\ninhabited by Jews alone, situate somewhere in the midst of a desert of\nvast extent. About this period there appeared a document which produced\nintense excitement throughout Europe--a letter, yes! a letter from the\nmysterious personage himself to Manuel Comnenus, Errmeror of\nConstantinople (1143-1180). The exact date of this extraordinary epistle\ncannot be fixed with any certainty, but it certainly appeared before\n1241, the date of the conclusion of the chronicle of Albericus Trium\nFontium. This Albericus relates that in the year 1165 \"Presbyter\nJohannes, the Indian king, sent his wonderful letter to various\nChristian princes, and especially to Manuel of Constantinople, and\nFrederic the Roman Emperor.\" Similar letters were sent to Alexander\nIII, to Louis VII of France, and to the King of Portugal, which are\nalluded to in chronicles and romances, and which were indeed turned into\nrhyme, and sung all over Europe by minstrels and trouveres. The letter\nis as follows:\n\n\"John, Priest by the Almighty power of God and the Might of our Lord\nJesus Christ, King of Kings, and Lord of Lords, to his friend Emanuel,\nPrince of Constantinople, greeting, wishing him health, prosperity, and\nthe continuance of Divine favour.\n\n\"Our Majesty has been informed that you hold our Excellency in love, and\nthat the report of our greatness has reached you. Moreover, we have\nheard through our treasurer that you have been pleased to send to us\nsome objects of art and interest, that our Exaltedness might be\ngratified thereby.\n\n\"Being human, I receive it in good part, and we have ordered our\ntreasurer to send you some of our articles in return.\n\n\"Now we desire to be made certain that you hold the right faith, and in\nall things cleave to Jesus Christ, our Lord, for we have heard that your\ncourt regard you as a god, though we know that you are mortal, and\nsubject to human infirmities....Should you desire to learn the greatness\nand excellency of our Exaltedness and of the land subject to our\nsceptre, then hear and believe: I, Presbyter Johannes, the Lord of\nLords, surpass all under heaven in virtue, in riches, and in power;\nseventy-two kings pay us tribute....In the three Indies our Magnificence\nrules, and our land extends beyond India, where rests the body of the\nholy Apostle Thomas; it reaches toward the sunrise over the wastes, and\nit trends toward deserted Babylon near the tower of Babel. Seventy-two\nprovinces, of which only a few are Christian, serve us. Each has its own\nking, but all are tributary to us.\n\n\"Our land is the home of elephants, dromedaries, camels, crocodiles,\nmeta-collinarum, cametennus, ten-sevetes, wild asses, white and red\nlions, white bears, white merules, crickets, griffins, tigers, lamias,\nhyenas, wild horses, wild oxen and wild men, men with horns, one-eyed,\nmen with eyes before and behind, centaurs, fauns, satyrs, pygmies,\nforty-ell-high giants, Cyclopses, and similar women; it is the home,\ntoo, of the phoenix, and of nearly all living animals. We have some\npeople subject to us who feed on the flesh of men and of prematurely\nborn animals, and who never fear death. When any of these people die,\ntheir friends and relations eat them ravenously, for they regard it as a\nmain duty to munch human flesh. Their names are Gog and Magog, Anie,\nAgit, Azenach, Fommeperi, Befari, Conei-Samante, Agrimandri, Vintefolei,\nCasbei, Alanei. These and similar nations were shut in behind lofty\nmountains by Alexander the Great, toward the North. We lead them at our\npleasure against our foes, and neither man nor beast is left undevoured,\nif our Majesty gives the requisite permission. And when all our foes are\neaten, then we return with our hosts home again. These accursed fifteen\nnations will burst forth from the four quarters of the earth at the end\nof the world, in the times of Antichrist, and overrun all the abodes of\nthe Saints as well as the great city Rome, which, by the way, we are\nprepared to give to our son who will be born, along with all Italy,\nGermany, the two Gauls, Britain and Scotland. We shall also give him\nSpain and all the land as far as the icy sea. The nations to which I\nhave alluded, according to the words of the prophet, shall not stand in\nthe judgment, on account of their offensive practices, but will be\nconsumed to ashes by a fire which will fall on them from heaven.\n\n\"Our land streams with honey, and is overflowing with milk. In one\nregion grows no poisonous herb, nor does a querulous frog ever quack in\nit; no scorpion exists, nor does the serpent glide amongst the grass,\nnor can any poisonous animals exist in it, or injure any one.\n\n\"Among the heathen, flows through a certain province the River Indus;\nencircling Paradise, it spreads its arms in manifold windings through\nthe entire province. Here are found the emeralds, sapphires, carbuncles,\ntopazes, chrysolites, onyxes, beryls, sardius, and other costly stones.\nHere grows the plant Assidos, which, when worn by any one, protects him\nfrom the evil spirit, forcing it to state its business and name;\nconsequently the foul spirits keep out of the way there. In a certain\nland subject to us, all kinds of pepper is gathered, and is exchanged\nfor corn and bread, leather and cloth....At the foot of Mount Olympus\nbubbles up a spring which changes its flavour hour by hour, night and\nday, and the spring is scarcely three days' journey from Paradise, out\nof which Adam was driven. If any one has tasted thrice of the fountain,\nfrom that day he will feel no fatigue, but will, as long as he lives, be\nas a man of thirty years. Here are found the small stones called\nNudiosi, which, if borne about the body, prevent the sight from waxing\nfeeble, and restore it where it is lost. The more the stone is looked\nat, the keener becomes the sight. In our territory is a certain\nwaterless sea, consisting of tumbling billows of sand never at rest.\nNone have crossed this sea; it lacks water altogether, yet fish are cast\nup upon the beach of various kinds, very tasty, and the like are nowhere\nelse to be seen. Three days' journey from this sea are mountains from\nwhich rolls down a stony, waterless river, which opens into the sandy\nsea. As soon as the stream reaches the sea, its stones vanish in it, and\nare never seen again. As long as the river is in motion, it cannot be\ncrossed; only four days a week is it possible to traverse it. Between\nthe sandy sea and the said mountains, in a certain plain is a fountain\nof singular virtue, which purges Christians and would-be Christians from\nall transgressions. The water stands four inches high in a hollow stone\nshaped like a musselsheil. Two saintly old men watch by it, and ask the\ncomers whether they are Christians, or are about to become Christians,\nthen whether they desire healing with all their hearts. If they have\nanswered well, they are bidden to lay aside their clothes, and to step\ninto the mussel. If what they said be true, then the water begins to\nrise and gush over their heads; thrice does the water thus lift itself,\nand every one who has entered the mussel leaves it cured of every\ncomplaint.\n\n\"Near the wilderness trickles between barren mountains a subterranean\nrill, which can only by chance be reached, for only occasionally the\nearth gapes, and he who would descend must do it with precipitation, ere\nthe earth closes again. All that is gathered under the ground there is\ngem and precious stone. The brook pours into another river, and the\ninhabitants of the neighbourhood obtain thence abundance of precious\nstones. Yet they never venture to sell them without having first offered\nthem to us for our private use: should we decline them, they are at\nliberty to dispose of them to strangers. Boys there are trained to\nremain three or four days under water, diving after the stones.\n\n\"Beyond the stone river are the ten tribes of the Jews, which, though\nsubject to their own kings, are, for all that, our slaves and tributary\nto our Majesty. In one of our lands, hight Zone, are worms called in our\ntongue Salamanders. These worms can only live in fire, and they build\ncocoons like silk-worms, which are unwound by the ladies of our palace,\nand spun into cloth and dresses, which are worn by our Exaltedness.\nThese dresses, in order to be cleaned and washed, are cast into\nflames.... When we go to war, we have fourteen golden and bejewelled\ncrosses borne before us instead of banners; each of these crosses is\nfollowed by 10,000 horsemen, and 100,000 foot soldiers fully armed,\nwithout reckoning those in charge of the luggage and provision.\n\n\"When we ride abroad plainly, we have a wooden, unadorned cross, without\ngold or gem about it, borne before us, in order that we may meditate on\nthe sufferings of Our Lord Jesus Christ; also a golden bowl filled with\nearth, to remind us of that whence we sprung, and that to which we must\nreturn; but besides these there is borne a silver bowl full of gold, as\na token to all that we are the Lord of Lords.\n\n\"All riches, such as are upon the world, our Magnificence possesses in\nsuperabundance. With us no one lies, for he who speaks a lie is\nthenceforth regarded as dead; he is no more thought of, or honoured by\nus. No vice is tolerated by us. Every year we undertake a pilgrimage,\nwith retinue of war, to the body of the holy prophet Daniel, which is\nnear the desolated site of Babylon. In our realm fishes are caught, the\nblood of which dyes purple. The Amazons and the Brahmins are subject to\nus. The palace in which our Super-eminency resides, is built after the\npattern of the castle built by the Apostle Thomas for the Indian king\nGundoforus. Ceilings, joists, and architrave are of Sethym wood, the\nroof of ebony, which can never catch fire. Over the gable of the palace\nare, at the extremities, two golden apples, in each of which are two\ncarbuncles, so that the gold may shine by day, and the carbuncles by\nnight. The greater gates of the palace are of sardius, with the horn of\nthe horned snake inwrought, so that no one can bring poison within.\n\n\"The other portals are of ebony. The windows are of crystal; the tables\nare partly of gold, partly of amethyst, and the columns supporting the\ntables are partly of ivory, partly of amethyst. The court in which we\nwatch the jousting is floored with onyx in order to increase the courage\nof the combatants. In the palace, at night, nothing is burned for light\nbut wicks supplied with balsam....Before our palace stands a mirror, the\nascent to which consists of five and twenty steps of porphyry and\nserpentine.\" After a description of the gems adorning this mirror, which\nis guarded night and day by three thousand armed men, he explains its\nuse: \"We look therein and behold all that is taking place in every\nprovince and region subject to our sceptre.\n\n\"Seven kings wait upon us monthly, in turn, with sixty-two dukes, two\nhundred and fifty-six counts and marquises: and twelve archbishops sit\nat table with us on our right, and twenty bishops on the left, besides\nthe patriarch of St. Thomas, the Sarmatian Protopope, and the Archpope\nof Susa....Our lord high steward is a primate and king, our cup-bearer\nis an archbishop and king, our chamberlain a bishop and king, our\nmarshal king and abbot.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE WANDERING JEW\n\n\nThe year 1228, \"a certain Archbishop of Armenia the Greater came on a\npilgrimage to England to see the relics of the saints, and visit the\nsacred places in the kingdom, as he had done in others; he also produced\nletters of recommendation from his Holiness the Pope, to the religious\nand the prelates of the churches, in which they were enjoined to receive\nand entertain him with due reverence and honour. On his arrival, he came\nto St. Albans, where he was received with all respect by the abbot and\nthe monks; and at this place, being fatigued with his journey, he\nremained some days to rest himself and his followers, and a conversation\ntook place between him and the inhabitants of the convent, by means of\ntheir interpreters, during which he made many inquiries relating to the\nreligion and religious observances of this country, and told many\nstrange things concerning the countries of the East. In the course of\nconversation he was asked whether he had ever seen or heard any thing of\nJoseph, a man of whom there was much talk in the world, who, when our\nLord suffered, was present and spoke to Him, and who is still alive, in\nevidence of the Christian faith; in reply to which, a knight in his\nretinue, who was his interpreter, replied, speaking in French, 'My lord\nwell knows that man, and a little before he took his way to the western\ncountries, the said Joseph ate at the table of my lord the Archbishop of\nArmenia, and he has often seen and conversed with him.'\n\n\"He was then asked about what had passed between Christ and the said\nJoseph; to which he replied, 'At the time of the passion of Jesus\nChrist, He was seized by the Jews, and led into the hall of judgment\nbefore Pilate, the governor, that He might be judged by him on the\naccusation of the Jews; and Pilate, finding no fault for which he might\nsentence Him to death, said unto them, \"Take Him and judge Him according\nto your law\"; the shouts of the Jews, however, increasing, he, at their\nrequest, released unto them Barabbas, and delivered Jesus to them to be\ncrucified. When, therefore, the Jews were dragging Jesus forth, and had\nreached the door, Cartaphilus, a porter of the hall in Pilate's service,\nas Jesus was going out of the door, impiously struck Him on the back\nwith his hand, and said in mockery, \"Go quicker, Jesus, go quicker; why\ndo you loiter?\" and Jesus, looking back on him with a severe\ncountenance, said to him, \"I am going, and you shall wait till I\nreturn.\" And according as our Lord said, this Cartaphilus is still\nawaiting His return. At the time of our Lord's suffering he was thirty\nyears old, and when he attains the age of a hundred years, he always\nreturns to the same age as he was when our Lord suffered. After Christ's\ndeath, when the Catholic faith gained ground, this Cartaphilus was\nbaptised by Ananias (who also baptised the Apostle Paul), and was called\nJoseph. He dwells in one or other divisions of Armenia, and in divers\nEastern countries, passing his time amongst the bishops and other\nprelates of the Church; he is a man of holy conversation, and religious;\na man of few words, and very circumspect in his behaviour; for he does\nnot speak at all unless when questioned by the bishops and religious;\nand then he relates the events of olden times, and speaks of things\nwhich occurred at the suffering and resurrection of our Lord, and of the\nwitnesses of the resurrection, namely, of those who rose with Christ,\nand went into the holy city, and appeared unto men. He also tells of the\ncreed of the Apostles, and of their separation and preaching. And all\nthis he relates without smiling, or levity of conversation, as one who\nis well practised in sorrow and the fear of God, always looking forward\nwith dread to the coming of Jesus Christ, lest at the Last Judgment he\nshould find Him in anger whom, when on His way to death, he had provoked\nto just vengeance. Numbers came to him from different parts of the\nworld, enjoying his society and conversation; and to them, if they are\nmen of authority, he explains all doubts on the matters on which he is\nquestioned. He refuses all gifts that are offered him, being content\nwith slight food and clothing.'\"\n\nMuch about the same date, Philip Mouskes, afterward Bishop of Tournay,\nwrote his rhymed chronicle (1242), which contains a similar account of\nthe Jew, derived from the same Armenian prelate:\n\n  \"Adonques vint un arceveskes\n  De ca mer, plains de bonnes teques\n  Par samblant, et fut d'Armenie,\"\n\nand this man, having visited the shrine of \"St. Tumas de Kantobire,\" and\nthen having paid his devotions at \"Monsigour St. Jake,\" he went on to\nCologne to see the heads of the three kings. The version told in the\nNetherlands much resembled that related at St. Albans, only that the\nJew, seeing the people dragging Christ to his death, exclaims:\n\n  \"Atendes moi! g'i vois,\n  S'iert mis le faus profete en crois.\"\n\nThen\n\n  \"Le vrais Dieux se regarda,\n  Et li a dit qu'e n'i tarda,\n  Icist ne t'atenderont pas,\n  Mais saces, tu m'atenderas.\"\n\nWe hear no more of the wandering Jew till the sixteenth century, when we\nhear first of him in a casual manner, as assisting a weaver, Kokot, at\nthe royal palace in Bohemia (1505), to find a treasure which had been\nsecreted by the great-grandfather of Kokot, sixty years before, at which\ntime the Jew was present. He then had the appearance of being a man of\nseventy years.\n\nCuriously enough, we next hear of him in the East, where he is\nconfounded with the prophet Elijah. Early in the century he appeared to\nFadhilah, under peculiar circumstances.\n\nAfter the Arabs had captured the city of Elvan, Fadhilah, at the head of\nthree hundred horsemen, pitched his tents, late in the evening, between\ntwo mountains. Fadhilah, having begun his evening prayer with a loud\nvoice, heard the words \"Allah akbar\" (God is great) repeated distinctly,\nand each word of his prayer was followed in a similar manner. Fadhilah,\nnot believing this to be the result of an echo, was much astonished, and\ncried out, \"O thou! whether thou art of the angel ranks, or whether thou\nart of some other order of spirits, it is well; the power of God be with\nthee; but if thou art a man, then let mine eyes light upon thee, that I\nmay rejoice in thy presence and society.\" Scarcely had he spoken these\nwords, before an aged man, with bald head, stood before him, holding a\nstaff In his hand, and much resembling a dervish in appearance. After\nhaving courteously saluted him, Fadhilah asked the old man who he was.\nThereupon the stranger answered, \"Bassi Hadhret Issa, I am here by\ncommand of the Lord Jesus, who has left me in this world, that I may\nlive therein until he come a second time to earth. I wait for this Lord,\nwho is the Fountain of Happiness, and in obedience to his command I\ndwell behind yon mountain.\" When Fadhilah heard these words, he asked\nwhen the Lord Jesus would appear; and the old man replied that his\nappearing would be at the end of the world, at the Last Judgment. But\nthis only increased Fadhilah's curiosity, so that he inquired the signs\nof the approach of the end of all things, whereupon Zerib Bar Elia gave\nhim an account of general, social, and moral dissolution, which would be\nthe climax of this world's history.\n\nIn 1547 he was seen in Europe, if we are to believe the following\nnarration:\n\n\"Paul von Eitzen, Doctor of the Holy Scriptures, and Bishop of\nSchleswig, [Footnote: Paul v. Eitzen was born January 25, 1522, at\nHamburg; in 1562 he was appointed chief preacher for Schleswig, and died\nFebruary 25, 1598.] related as true for some years past, that when he\nwas young, having studied at Wittemberg, he returned home to his parents\nin Hamburg in the winter of the year 1547, and that on the following\nSunday, in church, he observed a tall man, with his hair hanging over\nhis shoulders, standing barefoot, during the sermon, over against the\npulpit, listening with deepest attention to the discourse, and, whenever\nthe name of Jesus was mentioned, bowing himself profoundly and humbly,\nwith sighs and beating of the breast. He had no other clothing, in the\nbitter cold of the winter, except a pair of hose which were in tatters\nabout his feet, and a coat with a girdle which reached to his feet; and\nhis general appearance was that of a man of fifty years. And many\npeople, some of high degree and title, have seen this same man in\nEngland, France, Italy, Hungary, Persia, Spain, Poland, Moscow, Lapland,\nSweden, Denmark, Scotland, and other places.\n\n\"Every one wondered over the man. Now, after the sermon, the said Doctor\ninquired diligently where the stranger was to be found; and when he had\nsought him out, he inquired of him privately whence he came, and how\nlong that winter he had been in the place. Thereupon he replied,\nmodestly, that he was a Jew by birth, a native of Jerusalem, by name\nAliasverus, by trade a shoemaker; he had been present at the crucifixion\nof Christ, and had lived ever since, travelling through various lands\nand cities, the which he substantiated by accounts he gave; he related\nalso the circumstances of Christ's transference from Pilate to Herod,\nand the final crucifixion, together with other details not recorded in\nthe Evangelists and historians; he gave accounts of the changes of\ngovernment in many countries, especially of the East, through several\ncenturies; and moreover he detailed the labours and deaths of the holy\nApostles of Christ most circumstantially.\n\n\"Now when Doctor Paul v. Eitzen heard this with profound astonishment,\non account of its incredible novelty, he inquired further, in order that\nhe might obtain more accurate information. Then the man answered, that\nhe had lived in Jerusalem at the time of the crucifixion of Christ, whom\nhe had regarded as a deceiver of the people, and a heretic; he had seen\nHim with his own eyes, and had done his best, along with others, to\nbring this deceiver, as he regarded Him, to justice, and to have Him put\nout of the way. When the sentence had been pronounced by Pilate, Christ\nwas about to be dragged past his house; then he ran home, and called\ntogether his household to have a look at Christ, and see what sort of a\nperson He was.\n\n\"This having been done, he had his little child on his arm, and was\nstanding in his doorway, to have a sight of the Lord Jesus Christ.\n\n\"As, then, Christ was led by, bowed under the weight of the heavy cross,\nHe tried to rest a little, and stood still a moment; but the shoemaker,\nin zeal and rage, and for the sake of obtaining credit among the other\nJews, drove the Lord Christ forward, and told Him to hasten on His way.\nJesus, obeying, looked at him, and said, 'I shall stand and rest, but\nthou shalt go till the last day.' At these words the man set down the\nchild; and, unable to remain where he was, he followed Christ, and saw\nhow cruelly He was crucified, how He suffered, how He died. As soon as\nthis had taken place, it came upon him suddenly that he could no more\nreturn to Jerusalem, nor see again his wife and child, but must go forth\ninto foreign lands, one after another, like a mournful pilgrim. Now,\nwhen, years after, he returned to Jerusalem, he found it ruined and\nutterly razed, so that not one stone was left standing on another; and\nhe could not recognise former localities.\n\n\"He believes that it is God's purpose, in thus driving him about in\nmiserable life, and preserving him undying, to present him before the\nJews at the end, as a living token, so that the godless and unbelieving\nmay remember the death of Christ, and be turned to repentance. For his\npart he would well rejoice were God in heaven to release him from this\nvale of tears. After this conversation, Doctor Paul v. Eitzen, along\nwith the rector of the school of Hamburg, who was well read in history,\nand a traveller, questioned him about events which had taken place in\nthe East since the death of Christ, and he was able to give them much\ninformation on many ancient matters; so that it was impossible not to be\nconvinced of the truth of his story, and to see that what seems\nimpossible with men is, after all, possible with God.\n\n\"Since the Jew has had his life extended, he has become silent and\nreserved, and only answers direct questions. When invited to become any\none's guest, he eats little, and drinks in great moderation; then\nhurries on, never remaining long in one place. When at Hamburg, Dantzig,\nand elsewhere, money has been offered him, he never took more than two\nshillings (fourpence, one farthing), and at once distributed it to the\npoor, as token that he needed no money, for God would provide for him,\nas he rued the sins he had committed in ignorance.\n\n\"During the period of his stay in Hamburg and Dantzig he was never seen\nto laugh. In whatever land he travelled he spoke its language, and when\nhe spoke Saxon, it was like a native Saxon. Many people came from\ndifferent places to Hamburg and Dantzig in order to see and hear this\nman, and were convinced that the providence of God was exercised in this\nindividual in a very remarkable manner. He gladly listened to God's\nword, or heard it spoken of always with great gravity and compunction,\nand he ever reverenced with sighs the pronunciation of the name of God,\nor of Jesus Christ, and could not endure to hear curses; but whenever he\nheard any one swear by God's death or pains, he waxed indignant, and\nexclaimed, with vehemence and with sighs, 'Wretched man and miserable\ncreature, thus to misuse the name of thy Lord and God, and His bitter\nsufferings and passion. Hadst thou seen, as I have, how heavy and bitter\nwere the pangs and wounds of thy Lord, endured for thee and for me, thou\nwouldst rather undergo great pain thyself than thus take His sacred name\nin vain!'\n\n\"Such is the account given to me by Doctor Paul von Eitzen, with many\ncircumstantial proofs, and corroborated by certain of my own old\nacquaintances who saw this same individual with their own eyes in\nHamburg.\n\n\"In the year 1575 the Secretary Christopher Krause, and Master Jacob von\nHolstein, legates to the Court of Spain, and afterward sent into the\nNetherlands to pay the soldiers serving his Majesty in that country,\nrelated on their return home to Schleswig, and confirmed with solemn\noaths, that they had come across the same mysterious individual at\nMadrid in Spain, in appearance, manner of life, habits, clothing, just\nthe same as he had appeared in Hamburg. They said that they had spoken\nwith him, and that many people of all classes had conversed with him,\nand found him to speak good Spanish. In the year 1599, in December, a\nreliable person wrote from Brunswick to Strasburg that the same\nmentioned strange person had been seen alive at Vienna in Austria, and\nthat he had started for Poland and Dantzig; and that he purposed going\non to Moscow. This Ahasverus was at Lubeck in 1601, also about the same\ndate in Revel in Livonia, and in Cracow in Poland. In Moscow he was seen\nof many and spoken to by many.\n\n\"What thoughtful, God-fearing persons are to think of the said person,\nis at their option. God's works are wondrous and past finding out, and\nare manifested day by day, only to be revealed in full at the last great\nday of account.\n\n  \"Dated, Revel, August 1st, 1613.\n  \"D. W.\n  \"D.\n  \"Chrysostomus Duduloeus,\n                     \"Westphalus.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn 1604 he seems to have appeared in Paris. Rudolph Botoreus says, under\nthis date, \"I fear lest I be accused of giving ear to old wives' fables,\nif I insert in these pages what is reported all over Europe of the Jew,\ncoeval with the Saviour Christ; however, nothing is more common, and our\npopular histories have not scrupled to assert it. Following the lead of\nthose who wrote our annals, I may say that he who appeared not in one\ncentury only, in Spain, Italy, and Germany, was also in this year seen\nand recognised as the same individual who had appeared in Hamburg, anno\nMDLXVI. The common people, bold in spreading reports, relate many things\nof him; and this I allude to, lest anything should be left unsaid.\"\n\nJ. C. Bulenger puts the date of the Hamburg visit earlier. \"It was\nreported at this time that a Jew of the time of Christ was wandering\nwithout food and drink, having for a thousand and odd years been a\nvagabond and outcast, condemned by God to rove, because he, of that\ngeneration of vipers, was the first to cry out for the crucifixion of\nChrist and the release of Barabbas; and also because soon after, when\nChrist, panting under the burden of the rood, sought to rest before his\nworkshop (he was a cobbler), the fellow ordered Him off with acerbity.\nThereupon Christ replied, 'Because thou grudgest Me such a moment of\nrest, I shall enter into My rest, but thou shalt wander restless.' At\nonce, frantic and agitated, he fled through the whole earth, and on the\nsame account to this day he journeys through the world. It was this\nperson who was seen in Hamburg in MDLXIV. Credat Judaeus Apella! I did\nnot see him, or hear anything authentic concerning him, at that time\nwhen I was in Paris.\"\n\nA curious little book, written against the quackery of Paracelsus, by\nLeonard Doldius, a Nurnberg physician, and translated into Latin and\naugmented, by Andreas Libavius, doctor and physician of Rotenburg,\nalludes to the same story, and gives the Jew a new name nowhere else met\nwith. After having referred to a report that Paracelsus was not dead,\nbut was seated alive, asleep or napping, in his sepulchre at Strasburg,\npreserved from death by some of his specifics, Labavius declares that he\nwould sooner believe in the old man, the Jew, Ahasverus, wandering over\nthe world, called by some Buttadaeus, and otherwise, again, by others.\n\nHe is said to have appeared in Naumburg, but the date is not given; he\nwas noticed in church, listening to the sermon. After the service he was\nquestioned, and he related his story. On this occasion he received\npresents from the burgers. In 1633 he was again in Hamburg. In the year\n1640, two citizens, living in the Gerberstrasse, in Brussels, were\nwalking in the Sonian wood, when they encountered an aged man, whose\nclothes were in tatters and of an antiquated appearance. They invited\nhim to go with them to a house of refreshment, and he went with them,\nbut would not seat himself, remaining on foot to drink. When he came\nbefore the doors with the two burgers, he told them a great deal; but\nthey were mostly stories of events which had happened many hundred years\nbefore. Hence the burgers gathered that their companion was Isaac\nLaquedem, the Jew who had refused to permit our Blessed Lord to rest for\na moment at his door-step, and they left him full of terror. In 1642 he\nis reported to have visited Leipzig. On the 22d July, 1721, he appeared\nat the gates of the city of Munich. About the end of the seventeenth\ncentury or the beginning of the eighteenth, an impostor, calling himself\nthe Wandering Jew, attracted attention in England, and was listened to\nby the ignorant, and despised by the educated. He, however, managed to\nthrust himself into the notice of the nobility, who, half in jest, half\nin curiosity, questioned him, and paid him as they might a juggler. He\ndeclared that he had been an officer of the Sanhedrim, and that he had\nstruck Christ as he left the judgment hall of Pilate. He remembered all\nthe Apostles, and described their personal appearance, their clothes,\nand their peculiarities. He spoke many languages, claimed the power of\nhealing the sick and asserted that he had travelled nearly all over the\nworld. Those who heard him were perplexed by his familiarity with\nforeign tongues and places. Oxford and Cambridge sent professors to\nquestion him, and to discover the imposition, if any. An English\nnobleman conversed with him in Arabic. The mysterious stranger told his\nquestioner in that language that historical works were not to be relied\nupon. And on being asked his opinion of Mahomet, he replied that he had\nbeen acquainted with the father of the prophet, and that he dwelt at\nOrmuz. As for Mahomet, he believed him to have been a man of\nintelligence; once when he heard the prophet deny that Christ was\ncrucified, he answered abruptly by telling him he was a witness to the\ntruth of that event. He related also that he was in Rome when Nero set\nit on fire; he had known Saladin, Tamerlane, Bajazeth, Eterlane, and\ncould give minute details of the history of the Crusades.\n\nWhether this wandering Jew was found out in London or not, we cannot\ntell, but he shortly after appeared in Denmark, thence travelled into\nSweden, and vanished.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nKING ROBERT OF SICILY\n\n\n  Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane\n  And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,\n  Apparelled in magnificent attire,\n  With retinue of many a knight and squire,\n  On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat\n  And heard the priests chant the Magnificat.\n  And as he listened, o'er and o'er again\n  Repeated, like a burden or refrain,\n  He caught the words, \"_Deposuit potentes\n  De sede, et exaltavit humiles_\";\n  And slowly lifting up his kingly head\n  He to a learned clerk beside him said,\n  \"What mean these words?\" The clerk made answer meet,\n  \"He has put down the mighty from their seat,\n  And has exalted them of low degree.\"\n  Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully,\n  \"'T is well that such seditious words are sung\n  Only by priests and in the Latin tongue;\n  For unto priests and people be it known,\n  There is no power can push me from my throne!\"\n  And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep,\n  Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep.\n  When he awoke, it was already night;\n  The church was empty, and there was no light,\n\n  Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint,\n  Lighted a little space before some saint.\n  He started from his seat and gazed around,\n  But saw no living thing and heard no sound.\n  He groped toward the door, but it was locked;\n  He cried aloud, and listened, and knocked,\n  And uttered awful threatenings and complaints,\n  And imprecations upon men and saints.\n  The sounds reechoed from the roof and walls\n  As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls.\n\n  At length the sexton, hearing from without\n  The tumult of the knocking and the shout,\n  And thinking thieves were in the house or prayer,\n  Came with his lantern, asking, \"Who is there?\"\n  Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said,\n  \"Open:'tis I, the King! Art thou afraid?\"\n  The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse,\n  \"This is some drunken vagabond, or worse!\"\n  Turned the great key and flung the portal wide;\n  A man rushed by him at a single stride,\n  Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak,\n  Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke,\n  But leaped into the blackness of the night,\n  And vanished like a spectre from his sight.\n\n  Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane\n  And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,\n  Despoiled of his magnificent attire,\n  Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent with mire,\n  With sense of wrong and outrage desperate,\n  Strode on and thundered at the palace gate;\n\n  Rushed through the courtyard, thrusting in his rage\n  To right and left each seneschal and page,\n  And hurried up the broad and sounding stair,\n  His white face ghastly in the torches' glare.\n  From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed;\n  Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed,\n  Until at last he reached the banquet-room,\n  Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume.\n\n  There on the dais sat another king,\n  Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-ring,\n  King Robert's self in features, form, and height,\n  But all transfigured with angelic light!\n  It was an Angel; and his presence there\n  With a divine effulgence rilled the air,\n  An exaltation, piercing the disguise,\n  Though none the hidden Angel recognised.\n\n  A moment speechless, motionless, amazed,\n  The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed,\n  Who met his look of anger and surprise\n  With the divine compassion of his eyes;\n  Then said, \"Who art thou? and why com'st thou here?\"\n  To which King Robert answered with a sneer,\n  \"I am the King, and come to claim my own\n  From an impostor, who usurps my throne!\"\n  And suddenly, at these audacious words,\n  Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords;\n  The Angel answered, with unruffled brow,\n  \"Nay, not the King, but the King's Jester, thou\n\n  Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape,\n  And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape;\n  Thou shalt obey my servants when they call,\n  And wait upon my henchmen in the hall!\"\n\n  Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers,\n  They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs;\n  A group of tittering pages ran before,\n  And as they opened wide the folding-door,\n  His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms,\n  The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms,\n  And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring\n  With the mock plaudits of \"Long live the King!\"\n\n  Next morning, waking with the day's first beam,\n  He said within himself, \"It was a dream!\"\n  But the straw rustled as he turned his head,\n  There were the cap and bells beside his bed,\n  Around him rose the bare, discolored walls,\n  Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls,\n  And in the corner, a revolting shape,\n  Shivering and chattering sat the wretched ape.\n  It was no dream; the world he loved so much\n  Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch!\n\n  Days came and went; and now returned again\n  To Sicily the old Saturnian reign;\n  Under the Angel's governance benign\n  The happy island danced with corn and wine,\n  And deep within the mountain's burning breast\n  Enceladus, the giant, was at rest.\n\n  Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate,\n  Sullen and silent and disconsolate.\n  Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear,\n  With look bewildered and a vacant stare,\n\n  Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn,\n  By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn,\n  His only friend the ape, his only food\n  What others left--he still was unsubdued.\n  And when the Angel met him on his way,\n  And half in earnest, half in jest, would say,\n  Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel\n  The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel,\n  \"Art thou the King?\" the passion of his woe\n  Burst from him in resistless overflow\n  And, lifting high his forehead he, would fling\n  The haughty answer back, \"I am, I am the King!\"\n\n  Almost three years were ended; when there came\n  Ambassadors of great repute and name\n  From Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,\n  Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane\n  By letter summoned them forthwith to come\n  On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome.\n  The Angel with great joy received his guests,\n  And gave them presents of embroidered vests,\n  And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined,\n  And rings and jewels of the rarest kind.\n  Then he departed with them o'er the sea\n  Into the lovely land of Italy,\n  Whose loveliness was more resplendent made\n  By the mere passing of that cavalcade,\n\n  With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir\n  Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur.\n  And lo! among the menials, in mock state,\n  Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait,\n  His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind,\n  The solemn ape demurely perched behind,\n  King Robert rode, making huge merriment\n  In all the country towns through which they went.\n\n  The Pope received them with great pomp and blare\n  Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter's square,\n  Giving his benediction and embrace,\n  Fervent, and full of apostolic grace.\n  While with congratulations and with prayers\n  He entertained the Angel unawares,\n  Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd,\n  Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud,\n  \"I am the King! Look, and behold in me\n  Robert, your brother, King of Sicily!\n  This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes,\n  Is an impostor in a king's disguise.\n  Do you not know me? does no voice within\n  Answer my cry, and say we are akin?\"\n  The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien,\n  Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene;\n  The Emperor, laughing, said, \"It is strange sport\n  To keep a madman for thy Fool at court!\"\n  And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace\n  Was hustled back among the populace.\n  In solemn state the Holy Week went by,\n  And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky;\n  The presence of the Angel, with its light,\n  Before the sun rose, made the city bright,\n\n  And with new fervour filled the hearts of men,\n  Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again.\n  Even the Jester, on his bed of straw,\n  With haggard eyes the unwonted splendour saw,\n  He felt within a power unfelt before,\n  And, kneeling humbly on his chamber-floor,\n  He heard the rushing garments of the Lord\n  Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward.\n\n  And now the visit ending, and once more\n  Valmond returning to the Danube's shore,\n  Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again\n  The land was made resplendent with his train,\n  Flashing along the towns of Italy\n  Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea.\n  And when once more within Palermo's wall,\n  And, seated on the throne in his great hall,\n  He heard the Angelus from convent towers,\n  As if the better world conversed with ours,\n  He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher,\n  And with a gesture bade the rest retire;\n  And when they were alone, the Angel said,\n  \"Art thou the King?\" Then, bowing down his head,\n  King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast,\n  And meekly answered him: \"Thou knowest best!\n  My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence,\n  And in some cloister's school of penitence,\n  Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven,\n  Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven!\"\n\n  The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face\n  A holy light illumined all the place,\n  And through the open window, loud and clear,\n  They heard the monks chant in the chapel near,\n  Above the stir and tumult of the street:\n  \"He has put down the mighty from their seat,\n  And has exalted them of low degree!\"\n  And through the chant a second melody\n  Rose like the throbbing of a single string:\n  \"I am an Angel, and thou art the King!\"\n\n  King Robert, who was standing near the throne,\n  Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone!\n  But all apparelled as in days of old,\n  With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold;\n  And when his courtiers came, they found him there\n  Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer.\n\n\nINTERLUDE\n\n  And then the blue-eyed Norseman told\n  A Saga of the days of old.\n  \"There is,\" said he, \"a wondrous book\n  Of Legends in the old Norse tongue,\n  Of the dead kings of Norroway--\n  Legends that once were told or sung\n  In many a smoky fireside nook\n  Of Iceland, in the ancient day,\n  By wandering Saga-man or Scald;\n  'Heimskringla' is the volume called;\n  And he who looks may find therein\n  The story that I now begin.\"\n\n  And in each pause the story made\n  Upon his violin he played,\n  As an appropriate interlude,\n  Fragments of old Norwegian tunes\n  That bound in one the separate runes,\n  And held the mind in perfect mood,\n  Entwining and encircling all\n  The strange and antiquated rhymes\n  With melodies of olden times;\n  As over some half-ruined wall,\n  Disjointed and about to fall,\n  Fresh woodbines climb and interlace,\n  And keep the loosened stones in place.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nTHE BEATO TORELLO DA POPPI\n\n\nIn that time in which the portion of Tuscany called Casentino was not\nyet subject to the Florentines, but was ruled by its own counts, in the\nlands of Poppi, an important place in that valley through which runs the\nriver Arno, and not far from its source, a son was born to a certain\ngood man named Paolo, to whom he gave the name of Torello, and whom,\nwhen a suitable age, he not only taught to fear God, and to lead a\nChristian life, but sent to school, that he might learn the first\nprinciples of letters--which he soon did--and to avoid evil companions\nand imitate the good. The young Torello, being accustomed to this life,\nand his father dying, for some time proceeded from good to better.\n\nBut that not pleasing our common enemy, who always goes about seeking\nwhom he may devour, he so tempted Torello--God permitting it, for future\nand greater good--that he abandoned a virtuous life, and gave himself to\nthe pursuit of the pleasures of the world; so that instead of being\npraised for his blameless and religious life, he was censured by all,\nand had become the very opposite of what he had at first been.\n\nBut the blessed Lord--who had never abandoned him, though He had left\nhim to wander, in order to permit him to become a true mirror of\npenitence--called him to himself in this manner; as he was one day\nwandering and seeking amusement with his idle companions, a cock that\nwas on a perch outside a window suddenly fell, and alighted on his\nshoulder, and crowed three times, and then flew back to the perch.\nTorello, calling to mind how the Apostle Peter had in a similar manner\nbeen made to gee his guilt, awaked from his sleep of vice and sin in a\nstate of wonder and fear; and thinking that this could have happened\nonly by divine Providence, and to show him that he was in the power of\nthe devil, left his companions instantly, and in penitence and tears\nsought the Abbot of Poppi, of the order of Vallombrosa; and commending\nhimself to his prayers, threw himself at his feet, humbly begging for\nthe robe of a mendicant friar, since he desired to serve God in the\nhumblest manner. The abbot wondered much, knowing by common report\nTorello to be a youth of most incorrect life, to see him thus kneeling\nin contrition before him, and endeavoured, together with the monks, to\npersuade him to take their habit of St. John Gualberto. But at last,\nseeing he had no heart for it, and remained constant to his first\nrequest, he at last granted it; and he became a poor brother, and almost\na desert hermit, for having received the benediction of the abbot,\nwithout communicating with either his family or friends, he left that\ncountry and took his way toward the most desert and savage places of the\nmountains, wandering among them for eight days, and passing the night\nwherever it chanced to overtake him. But having at last come to a great\nrock, near a place called Avellanato, he remained there, adopting it for\na cell eight days more, weeping for his sins, praying, and imploring God\nto pardon him; living all this time on three small loaves, which he had\nbrought with him, and on wild herbs like the animals; and being much\npleased with the place, he determined to make a cell under that great\nrock, and there spend all the days of this life, serving God with fasts,\nvigils, discipline, and prayers, and bitterly lamenting his past sins\nand evil life.\n\nHaving taken this resolution, he went to his own country to put his\naffairs in order; and all his relatives and friends came about him,\npraying him with much earnestness, if he sought to serve God, to leave\nthis life of a wild beast and join some order, living like other monks.\nBut all was of no avail; and selling all his goods, he gave the price to\nthe poor, reserving to himself only a small sum of money to build a\ncell. And he returned to his solitude with a mason, who made for him a\nmiserable cell under that same rock; and he bought near it enough land\nfor a small garden, and there established himself, practising the most\nsevere austerities.\n\nHaving now spoken of the penitence and life of the Beato Torello, we\nmust make mention of the great gifts and grace which he received from\nGod during his life, and which were often granted to him in behalf of\nthose who commended themselves to him in faith and devotion.\n\nA poor woman of Poppi, who had only one son, three years old, going to\nthe spring to wash her clothes, took him with her; and he having strayed\nfrom her a little way while she was washing, a savage wolf seized him\nand carried him away, and the poor woman's shrieks could be heard almost\nat Poppi, while she could do nothing but commend the child to God. While\nthe wolf was escaping with his prey between his teeth, he came, as it\npleased God--who thus began to make known the reward of his service--to\nthe cell of the Beato Torello; who, when he saw this, instantly ordered\nthe wolf, in God's name, to lay the child on the ground, safe and sound;\nwhich command the wolf no sooner heard than he came to him immediately,\nand laid the child at his feet. And after he had, with evident humility,\nreceived the directions of the holy father, that neither he, nor any of\nthe wolves his companions, should do any harm to any person of that\ncountry, he departed, and returned to the forest; and the servant of God\ntook the half-dead child into his cell, where he made a prayer to the\nLord, and he was immediately healed of the wounds the wolf's teeth had\nmade in his throat. And when his mother came seeking him with great\nlamentation and sorrow, he graciously restored him to her alive and\nwell, but with the command that while he lived she should never reveal\nthis miracle.\n\nCarlo, Count of Poppi, being very fond of the Beato Torello, sent him by\nhis steward, one evening in Carnival, a basket full of provisions,\npraying the good father to accept it for love of him. The steward also\ncarried him many other gifts, which some good ladies, knowing where he\nwas going, took the opportunity to send by his hand.\n\nHaving arrived at the cell, he presented them all to the padre, who\nthanked him much, and returned him the empty baskets; when he took\noccasion to enquire, how he, being alone, could possibly eat so much in\none evening. And Torello, seeing that the steward thought him a great\neater, answered: \"I am not alone, as you suppose; my companion will come\nfrom the woods before long, who has a great appetite, and he will help\nme.\" And the steward, hearing this, hid himself in the wood not far from\nthe hermitage, to see who this could be who the padre said had such a\nfine appetite. He had not waited long when he saw a great wolf go\nstraight to the door of the saint's cell, who opened it for him, and fed\nhim until he had devoured everything that the steward had brought; and\nhe then began to caress the saint, as a faithful and affectionate dog\nwould his master; and this he continued to do until Torello gave him\npermission to go, and reminded him that neither he, nor any of his\ncompanions, should do any harm to the people of that place until they\nwere at such a distance as to be out of hearing of the bell of the\nmonastery, which the wolf promised to do and obey, by bowing his head.\nThe servant, having seen and heard this, returned home, and related it\nto the count and the others, to their great amazement.\n\nThere was a lady of Bologna, named Vittoriana, who made a pilgrimage to\nthe holy place in Vernia, where the glorious St. Francis received the\nstigmata; and there her two children fell ill with a violent and\ndangerous fever; and being, in consequence, much distressed and\nafflicted, she consulted with some ladies from Poppi, whose devotion had\nalso brought them to the same place, who advised her to take her\nchildren, as soon as possible, to the blessed Torello, and commend them\nto him, that by means of his prayers God would restore their health. And\ngoing to him, she commended them to him with faith and tears and hope\nbeyond the power of words to describe. And truly it was not in vain; for\nthe holy man, who was most pitiful, kneeled down and prayed to the Lord\nfor her and her children as only the true servants of God pray; and\nhaving so done, he took some water from the spring of which he usually\ndrank and gave it to the children, and they were entirely cured and\ndelivered from that fever. And what is more, the water of that fountain\nis to this day called the fountain of St. Torello, and is a sovereign\nremedy against every kind of fever to those who drink of it, as\nexperience has testified and still testifies.\n\nBut at last, in the year of our salvation twelve hundred and eighty-two,\nthe saint having reached the eightieth year of his life, and spent them\nall in the service of God--many of his good works being unknown--an\nangel brought him this message: \"Rejoice, Torello, for the time is come\nwhen thou shalt receive the crown of glory thou hast so long desired,\nand the reward in paradise of ail thy labour in the service of God; for\nthirty days from this time, on the sixteenth of March, thou shalt be\ndelivered from the prison of this world.\"\n\nThe blessed Torello, having heard this, continued all his devout\nexercises until the end, which approaching, he went to the abbot and\nconfessed his sins for the last time, and received the holy communion\nfrom his hands; and they embraced each other, and he returned to his\nhermitage. And he took leave of one of his disciples, named Pietro, and\nexhorted him to persevere in God's service; and having with many\naffectionate prayers recommended his country and the people of it to the\nblessing of God, praying especially that it should not be ravaged by\nwolves, he departed in peace.\n\nAnd all the people of the parishes around, hearing of his death,\nhastened to the hermitage; and all desiring that his holy body should\nrepose in their church, a great controversy arose, and much scandal\nwould have ensued, had not the Abbot of Poppi passed into the midst of\nthem and convinced them it was the will of God it should be laid in his\nmonastery; to which they all finally agreed. And a wonderful and\nmiraculous event occurred; for while they were all standing around the\nholy body, a wolf came in with a little pig in his mouth, and passing\nthrough them without fear, placed it at the foot of the bier, and went\naway.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nTHE LORELEI\n\n\n  I know not whence it rises,\n    This thought so full of woe:\n  But a tale of the times departed\n    Haunts me--and will not go.\n\n  The air is cool, and it darkens,\n    And calmly flows the Rhine;\n  The mountain peaks are sparkling\n    In the sunny evening-shine.\n\n  And yonder sits a maiden,\n    The fairest of the fair;\n  With gold is her garment glittering,\n    And she combs her golden hair.\n\n  With a golden comb she combs it,\n    And a wild song singeth she,\n  That melts the heart with a wondrous\n    And powerful melody.\n\n  The boatman feels his bosom\n    With a nameless longing move;\n  He sees not the gulfs before him,\n    His gaze is fixed above.\n\n  Till over boat and boatman\n    The Rhine's deep waters run;\n  And this with her magic singing\n    The Lorelei hath done!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nTHE PASSING OF ARTHUR\n\n\n  So all day long the noise of battle roll'd\n  Among the mountains by the winter sea.\n  Until King Arthur's Table, man by man,\n  Had fall'n in Lyonnesse about their Lord,\n  King Arthur. Then, because his wound was deep,\n  The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him,\n  And bore him to a chapel nigh the field,\n  A broken chancel with a broken cross.\n  That stood on a dark strait of barren land:\n  On one side lay the Ocean, and on one\n  Lay a great water, and the moon was full.\n\n  Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:\n  \"The sequel of to-day unsolders all\n  The goodliest fellowship of famous knights\n  Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep\n  They sleep--the men I loved. I think that we\n  Shall never more, at any future time,\n  Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds,\n  Walking about the gardens and the halls\n  Of Camelot, as in the days that were.\n  I perish by this people which I made--\n  Tho' Merlin sware that I should come again\n  To rule once more; but, let what will be, be,\n  I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm\n  That without help I cannot last till morn.\n\n  Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur,\n  Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how\n  In those old days, one summer noon, an arm\n  Rose up from out the bosom of the lake,\n  Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,\n  Holding the sword--and how I row'd across\n  And took it, and have worn it, like a king;\n  And, wheresoever I am sung or told\n  In aftertime, this also shall be known:\n  But now delay not: take Excalibur,\n  And fling him far into the middle mere:\n  Watch what thou seest and lightly bring me word.\"\n  To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere:\n  \"It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus,\n  Aidless, alone, and smitten thro' the helm--\n  A little thing may harm a wounded man;\n  Yet I thy hest will all perform at full,\n  Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word.\"\n  So saying, from the ruin'd shrine he stept,\n  And in the moon athwart the place of tombs,\n  Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men,\n  Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang\n  Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping down\n  By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock,\n  Came on the shining levels of the lake.\n  There drew he forth the brand Excalibur,\n  And o'er him, drawing it, the winter moon,\n  Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth\n  And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt:\n  For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks,\n  Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth-work\n  Of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so long\n  That both his eyes were dazzled, as he stood,\n\n  This way and that dividing the swift mind,\n  In act to throw: but at the last it seem'd\n  Better to leave Excalibur conceal'd\n  There in the many-knotted water flags,\n  That whistled stiff and dry about the marge.\n  So strode he back slow to the wounded King.\n  Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:\n  \"Hast thou perform'd my mission which I gave?\n  What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?\"\n  And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:\n  \"I heard the ripple washing in the reeds,\n  And the wild water lapping on the crag.\"\n  To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale:\n  \"Thou hast betray'd thy nature and thy name,\n  Not rendering true answer, as beseem'd\n  Thy fealty, nor like a noble knight:\n  For surer sign had followed either hand,\n  Or voice, or else a motion of the mere.\n  This is a shameful thing for men to lie.\n  Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again,\n  As thou art lief and dear, and do the thing\n  I bade thee, watch, and lightly bring me word.\"\n  Then went Sir Bedivere the second time\n  Across the ridge, and paced beside the mere,\n  Counting the dewy pebbles, fix'd in thought;\n  But when he saw the wonder of the hilt,\n  How curiously and strangely chased, he smote\n  His palms together, and he cried aloud:\n  \"And if indeed I cast the brand away,\n  Surely a precious thing, one worthy note,\n  Should thus be lost forever from the earth,\n  Which might have pleased the eyes of many men.\n  What good should follow this, if this were done?\n\n  What harm, undone? Deep harm to disobey,\n  Seeing obedience is the bond of rule.\n  Were it well to obey then, if a king demand\n  An act unprofitable, against himself?\n  The King is sick, and knows not what he does.\n  What record, or what relic of my lord\n  Should be to aftertime, but empty breath\n  And rumours of a doubt? but were this kept,\n  Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings,\n  Some one might show it at a joust of arms,\n  Saying, 'King Arthur's sword, Excalibur,\n  Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake.\n  Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps\n  Upon the hidden bases of the hills.'\n  So might some old man speak in the aftertime\n  To all the people, winning reverence.\n  But now much honour and much fame were lost.\"\n  So spake he, clouded with his own conceit,\n  And hid Excalibur the second time,\n  And so strode back slow to the wounded King.\n  Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily:\n  \"What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?\"\n  And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:\n  \"I heard the water lapping on the crag,\n  And the long ripple washing in the reeds.\"\n  To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath:\n  \"Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue,\n  Unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me!\n  Authority forgets a dying king,\n  Laid widow'd of the power in his eye\n  That bow'd the will. I see thee what thou art,\n  For thou, the latest-left of all my knights,\n  In whom should meet the offices of all,\n\n  Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt;\n  Either from lust of gold, or like a girl\n  Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes.\n  Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice,\n  And the third time may prosper, get thee hence:\n  But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur,\n  I will arise and slay thee with my hands.\"\n  Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran,\n  And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged\n  Among the bulrush beds, and clutch'd the sword,\n  And strongly wheel'd and threw it. The great brand\n  Made lightings in the splendour of the moon,\n  And flashing round and round, and whirl'd in an arch,\n  Shot like a streamer of the northern morn,\n  Seen where the moving isles of winter shock\n  By night with noises of the Northern Sea.\n  So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur:\n  But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm\n  Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,\n  And caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him\n  Three times, and drew him under in the mere.\n  And lightly went the other to the King.\n  Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker breath:\n  \"Now see I by thine eyes that this is done.\n  Speak out: what is it thou hast heard, or seen?\"\n  And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:\n  \"Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems\n  Should blind my purpose, for I never saw,\n  Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die,\n  Not tho' I live three lives of mortal men,\n  So great a miracle as yonder hilt.\n  Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him;\n  But when I look'd again, beheld an arm,\n\n  Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful.\n  That caught him by the hilt, and brandished him\n  Three times, and drew him under In the mere.\"\n  And answer made King Arthur, breathing hard:\n  \"My end draws nigh;'tis time that I were gone.\n  Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight,\n  And bear me to the margin; yet I fear\n  My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die.\"\n  So saying, from the pavement he half rose,\n  Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm,\n  And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes\n  As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere\n  Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears,\n  And would have spoken, but he found not word;\n  Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee,\n  O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands,\n  And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs.\n  But, as he walk'd, King Arthur panted hard,\n  Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed\n  When all the house is mute. So sigh'd the King,\n  Muttering and murmuring at his ear, \"Quick, quick!\n  I fear it is too late, and I shall die.\"\n  But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge,\n  Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walk'd,\n  Larger than human on the frozen hills.\n  He heard the deep behind him, and a cry\n  Before. His own thought drove him like a goad.\n  Dry clashed his harness in the icy caves\n  And barren chasms, and all to left and right\n  The bare black cliff clang'd round him, as he based\n  His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang\n  Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels--\n  And on a sudden, lo! the level lake,\n\n  And the long glories of the winter moon.\n  Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge,\n  Dark as a funeral scarf from stern to stern,\n  Beneath them; and descending they were ware\n  That all the decks were dense with stately forms,\n  Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream--by these\n  Three Queens with crowns of gold: and from them rose\n  A cry that shiver'd to the tingling stars,\n  And, as it were one voice, an agony\n  Of lamentation, like a wind that shrills\n  All night in a waste land, where no one comes\n  Or hath come, since the making of the world.\n  Then murmur'd Arthur, \"Place me in the barge.\"\n  So to the barge they came. There those three Queens\n  Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept.\n  But she, that rose the tallest of them all\n  And fairest, laid his head upon her lap,\n  And loosed the shatter'd casque, and chafed his hands,\n  And call'd him by his name, complaining loud,\n  And dropping bitter tears against a brow\n  Striped with dark blood: for all his face was white\n  And colourless, and like the withered moon\n  Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east;\n  And all his greaves and cuisses dash'd with drops\n  Of onset; and the light and lustrous curls--\n  That made his forehead like a rising sun\n  High from the dias-throne--were parch'd with dust;\n  Or, clotted into points and hanging loose,\n  Mix'd with the knightly growth that fringed his lips.\n  So like a shatter'd column lay the King;\n  Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest,\n  From spur to plume a star of tournament,\n  Shot thro' the lists of Camelot, and charged\n\n  Before the eyes of ladles and of kings,\n  Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere:\n  \"Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go?\n  Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes?\n  For now I see the true old times are dead,\n  When every morning brought a noble chance,\n  And every chance brought out a noble knight.\n  Such times have been not since the light that led\n  The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh.\n  But now the whole Round Table is dissolved\n  Which was an image of the mighty world,\n  And, I the last, go forth companionless,\n  And the days darken round me, and the years,\n  Among new men, strange faces, other minds.\"\n  And slowly answered Arthur from the barge:\n  \"The old order changeth, yielding place to new,\n  And God fulfils himself in many ways,\n  Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.\n  Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?\n  I have lived my life, and that which I have done\n  May He within himself make pure! but thou,\n  If thou shouldst never see my face again,\n  Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer\n  Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice\n  Rise like a fountain for me night and day.\n  For what are men better than sheep or goats\n  That nourish a blind life within the brain,\n  If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer\n  Both for themselves and those who call them friend?\n  For so the whole round earth is every way\n  Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.\n  But now farewell. I am going a long way\n  With these thou seest-if indeed I go\n\n  (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)\n  To the island-valley of Avilion;\n  Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,\n  Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies\n  Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns\n  And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea.\n  Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.\"\n  So said he, and the barge with oar and sail\n  Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan\n  That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,\n  Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood\n  With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere\n  Revolving many memories, till the hull\n  Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn,\n  And on the mere the wailing died away.\n  But when that moan had past for evermore,\n  The stillness of the dead world's winter dawn\n  Amazed him, and he groan'd, \"The King is gone.\"\n  And therewithal came on him the weird rhyme,\n  \"From the great deep to the great deep he goes\"\n\n  Whereat he slowly turn'd and slowly clomb\n  The last hard footstep of that iron crag;\n  Thence mark'd the black hull moving yet, and cried,\n  \"He passes to be King among the dead,\n  And after healing of his grievous wound\n  He comes again; but--if he come no more--\n  O me, be yon dark Queens in yon black boat,\n  Who shriek'd and wail'd, the three whereat we gazed\n  On that high day, when, clothed with living light,\n  They stood before his throne in silence, friends\n  Of Arthur, who should help him at his need?\"\n\n  Then from the dawn it seem'd there came, but faint\n  As from beyond the limit of the world,\n  Like the last echo born of a great cry,\n  Sounds, as if some fair city were one voice\n  Around a king returning from his wars.\n\n  Thereat once more he moved about, and clomb\n  Ev'n to the highest he could climb, and saw,\n  Straining his eyes beneath an arch of hand,\n  Or thought he saw, the speck that bare the King,\n  Down that long water opening on the deep\n  Somewhere far off, pass on and on, and go\n  From less to less and vanish into light.\n  And the new sun rose bringing the new year.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nRIP VAN WINKLE\n\n\nThe following tale was found among the papers of the late Diedrich\nKnickerbocker, an old gentleman of New York, who was very curious in the\nDutch history of the province, and the manners of the descendants from\nits primitive settlers. His historical researches, however, did not lie\nso much among books as among men; for the former are lamentably scanty\non his favourite topics; whereas he found the old burghers, and still\nmore their wives, rich in that legendary lore so invaluable to true\nhistory. Whenever, therefore, he happened upon a genuine Dutch family,\nsnugly shut up in its low-roofed farmhouse under a spreading sycamore,\nhe looked upon it as a little clasped volume of black-letter, and\nstudied it with the zeal of a book worm.\n\nThe result of all these researches was a history of the province during\nthe reign of the Dutch governors, which he published some years since.\nThere have been various opinions as to the literary character of his\nwork, and, to tell the truth, it is not a whit better than it should be.\nIts chief merit is its scrupulous accuracy, which indeed was a little\nquestioned on its first appearance, but has since been completely\nestablished; and it is now admitted into all historical collections, as\na book of unquestionable authority.\n\nThe old gentleman died shortly after the publication of his work, and\nnow that he is dead and gone, it cannot do much harm to his memory to\nsay that his time might have been much better employed in weightier\nlabours. He, however, was apt to ride his hobby his own way; and though\nit did now and then kick up the dust a little in the eyes of his\nneighbours, and grieve the spirit of some friends, for whom he felt the\ntruest deference and affection; yet his errors and follies are\nremembered \"more in sorrow than in anger,\" and it begins to be suspected\nthat he never intended to injure or offend. But however his memory may\nbe appreciated by critics, it is still held dear by many folk, whose\ngood opinion is worth having; particularly by certain biscuit-bakers,\nwho have gone so far as to imprint his likeness on their new-year cakes;\nand have thus given him a chance for immortality, almost equal to the\nbeing stamped on a Waterloo Medal, or a Queen Anne's farthing.\n\nWhoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember the Kaatskill\nMountains. They are a dismembered branch of the great Appalachian\nfamily, and are seen away to the west of the river, swelling up to a\nnoble height, and lording it over the surrounding country. Every change\nof season, every change of weather, indeed, every hour of the day,\nproduces some change in the magical hues and shapes of these mountains,\nand they are regarded by all the good wives, far and near, as perfect\nbarometers. When the weather is fair and settled, they are clothed in\nblue and purple, and print their bold outlines on the clear evening sky;\nbut sometimes when the rest of the landscape is cloudless they will\ngather a hood of gray vapours about their summits, which, in the last\nrays of the setting sun, will glow and light up like a crown of glory.\n\nAt the foot of these fairy mountains, the voyager may have descried the\nlight smoke curling up from a village, whose shingle-roofs gleam among\nthe trees, just where the blue tints of the upland melt away into the\nfresh green of the nearer landscape. It is a little village of great\nantiquity, having been founded by some of the Dutch colonists in the\nearly time of the province, just about the beginning of the government\nof the good Peter Stuyvesant (may he rest in peace!) and there were some\nof the houses of the original settlers standing within a few years,\nbuilt of small yellow bricks brought from Holland, having latticed\nwindows and gable fronts, surmounted with weathercocks.\n\nIn that same village, and in one of these very houses (which, to tell\nthe precise truth, was sadly time-worn and weather-beaten), there lived\nmany years since, while the country was yet a province of Great Britain,\na simple, good-natured fellow, of the name of Rip Van Winkle. He was a\ndescendant of the Van Winkles who figured so gallantly in the chivalrous\ndays of Peter Stuyvesant, and accompanied him to the siege of Fort\nChristina. He inherited, however, but little of the martial character of\nhis ancestors. I have observed that he was a simple, good-natured man;\nhe was, moreover, a kind neighbour, and an obedient hen-pecked husband.\nIndeed, to the latter circumstance might be owing that meekness of\nspirit which gained him such universal popularity; for those men are\nmost apt to be obsequious and conciliating abroad, who are under the\ndiscipline of shrews at home. Their tempers, doubtless, are rendered\npliant and malleable in the fiery furnace of domestic tribulation; and a\ncurtain lecture is worth all the sermons in the world for teaching the\nvirtues of patience and long-suffering. A termagant wife may, therefore,\nin some respects be considered a tolerable blessing, and if so, Rip Van\nWinkle was thrice blessed.\n\nCertain it is, that he was a great favourite among all the good wives of\nthe village, who, as usual with the amiable sex, took his part in all\nfamily squabbles; and never failed, whenever they talked those matters\nover in their evening gossipings, to lay all the blame on Dame Van\nWinkle. The children of the village, too, would shout with joy whenever\nhe approached. He assisted at their sports, made their playthings,\ntaught them to fly kites and shoot marbles, and told them long stories\nof ghosts, witches, and Indians. Whenever he went dodging about the\nvillage, he was surrounded by a troop of them, hanging on his skirts,\nclambering on his back, and playing a thousand tricks on him, with\nimpunity; and not a dog would bark at him throughout the neighbourhood.\n\nThe great error in Rip's composition was an insuperable aversion to all\nkinds of profitable labour. It could not be from the want of assiduity\nor perseverance; for he would sit on a wet rock, with a rod as long and\nheavy as a Tartar's lance, and fish all day without a murmur, even\nthough he should not be encouraged by a single nibble. He would carry a\nfowling-piece on his shoulder for hours together, trudging through woods\nand swamps, and up hill and down dale, to shoot a few squirrels or wild\npigeons. He would never refuse to assist a neighbour, even in the\nroughest toil, and was a foremost man at all country frolics for husking\nIndian corn, or building stone-fences; the women of the village, too,\nused to employ him to run their errands, and to do such little odd jobs\nas their less obliging husband^ would not do for them. In a word, Rip\nwas ready to attend to anybody's business but his own; but as to doing\nfamily duty, and keeping his farm in order, he found it impossible.\n\nIn fact, he declared it was of no use to work on his farm; it was the\nmost pestilent little piece of ground in the whole country; everything\nabout it went wrong, and would go wrong, in spite of him. His fences\nwere continually falling to pieces; his cow would either go astray or\nget among the cabbages; weeds were sure to grow quicker in his fields\nthan any where else; the rain always made a point of setting in just as\nhe had some out-door work to do; so that though his patrimonial estate\nhad dwindled away under his management, acre by acre, until there was\nlittle more left than a mere patch of Indian corn and potatoes, yet it\nwas the worst-conditioned farm in the neighbourhood.\n\nHis children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they belonged to\nnobody. His son Rip, an urchin begotten in his own likeness, promised to\ninherit the habits, with the old clothes of his father. He was generally\nseen trooping like a colt at his mother's heels, equipped in a pair of\nhis father's cast-off galligaskins, which he had much ado to hold up\nwith one hand, as a fine lady does her train in bad weather.\n\nRip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy mortals, of foolish,\nwell-oiled dispositions, who take the world easy, eat white bread or\nbrown, whichever can be got with least thought or trouble, and would\nrather starve on a penny than work for a pound. If left to himself; he\nwould have whistled life away in perfect contentment; but his wife kept\ncontinually dinning in his ears about his idleness, his carelessness,\nand the ruin he was bringing on his family. Morning, noon, and night her\ntongue was incessantly going, and everything he said or did was sure to\nproduce a torrent of household eloquence. Rip had but one way of\nreplying to all lectures of the kind, and that, by frequent use, had\ngrown into a habit. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, cast up\nhis eyes, but said nothing. This, however, always provoked a fresh\nvolley from his wife; so that he was fain to draw off his forces, and\ntake to the outside of the house--the only side which, in truth,\nbelongs to a henpecked husband.\n\nRip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was as much henpecked\nas his master; for Dame Van Winkle regarded them as companions in\nidleness, and even looked upon Wolf with an evil eye, as the cause of\nhis master's going so often astray. True it is, in all points of spirit\nbefitting an honourable dog, he was as courageous an animal as ever\nscoured the woods--but what courage can withstand the ever-during and\nall-besetting terrors of a woman's tongue? The moment Wolf entered the\nhouse his crest fell, his tail drooped to the ground, or curled between\nhis legs, he sneaked about with a gallows air, casting many a sidelong\nglance at Dame Van Winkle, and at the least flourish of a broomstick or\nladle he would fly to the door with yelping precipitation.\n\nTimes grew worse and worse with Rip Van Winkle as years of matrimony\nrolled on; a tart temper never mellows with age, and a sharp tongue is\nthe only edged tool that grows keener with constant use. For a long\nwhile he used to console himself, when driven from home, by frequenting\na kind of perpetual club of the sages, philosophers, and other idle\npersonages of the village; which held its sessions on a bench before a\nsmall inn, designated by a rubicund portrait of His Majesty George the\nThird. Here they used to sit in the shade through a long lazy summer's\nday, talking listlessly over village gossip, or telling endless, sleepy\nstories about nothing. But it would have been worth any statesman's\nmoney to have heard the profound discussions that sometimes took place,\nwhen by chance an old newspaper fell into their hands from some passing\ntraveller. How solemnly they would listen to the contents, as drawled\nout by Derrick Van Bummel, the school-master, a dapper learned little\nman, who was not to be daunted by the most gigantic word in the\ndictionary; and how sagely they would deliberate upon public events some\nmonths after they had taken place.\n\nThe opinions of this junto were completely controlled by Nicholas\nVedder, a patriarch of the village, and landlord of the inn, at the door\nof which he took his seat from morning till night, just moving\nsufficiently to avoid the sun and keep in the shade of a large tree; so\nthat the neighbours could tell the hour by his movements as accurately\nas by a sun-dial. It is true he was rarely heard to speak, but smoked\nhis pipe incessantly. His adherents however (for every great man has his\nadherents), perfectly understood him, and knew how to gather his\nopinions. When anything that was read or related displeased him, he was\nobserved to smoke his pipe vehemently, and to send forth short, frequent\nand angry puffs; but when pleased, he would inhale the smoke slowly and\ntranquilly, and emit it in light and placid clouds; and sometimes,\ntaking the pipe from his mouth, and letting the fragrant vapour curl\nabout his nose, would gravely nod his head in token of perfect\napprobation.\n\nFrom even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at length routed by his\ntermagant wife, who would suddenly break in upon the tranquillity of the\nassemblage and call the members all to naught; nor was that august\npersonage, Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred from the daring tongue of\nthis terrible virago, who charged him outright with encouraging her\nhusband in habits of idleness.\n\nPoor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; and his only\nalternative, to escape from the labour of the farm and clamour of his\nwife, was to take gun in hand and stroll away into the woods. Here he\nwould sometimes seat himself at the foot of a tree, and share the\ncontents of his wallet with Wolf, with whom he sympathised as a\nfellow-sufferer in persecution. \"Poor Wolf,\" he would say, \"thy mistress\nleads thee a dog's life of it; but never mind, my lad, whilst I live\nthou shalt never want a friend to stand by thee!\" Wolf would wag his\ntail, look wistfully in his master's face, and if dogs can feel pity I\nverily believe he reciprocated the sentiment with all his heart.\n\nIn a long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day, Rip had\nunconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of the Kaatskill\nMountains. He was after his favourite sport squirrel shooting, and the\nstill solitudes had echoed and reechoed with the reports of his gun.\nPanting and fatigued, he threw himself, late in the afternoon, on a\ngreen knoll, covered with mountain herbage, that crowned the brow of a\nprecipice. From an opening between the trees he could overlook all the\nlower country for many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at a distance the\nlordly Hudson, far, far below him, moving on its silent but majestic\ncourse, with the reflection of a purple cloud, or the sail of a lagging\nbark, here and there sleeping on its glassy bosom, and at last losing\nitself in the blue highlands.\n\nOn the other side he looked down into a deep mountain glen, wild,\nlonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with fragments from the impending\ncliffs, and scarcely lighted by the reflected rays of the setting sun.\nFor some time Rip lay musing on this scene; evening was gradually\nadvancing; the mountains began to throw their long blue shadows over the\nvalleys; he saw that it would be dark long before he could reach the\nvillage, and he heaved a heavy sigh when he thought of encountering the\nterrors of Dame Van Winkle.\n\nAs he was about to descend, he heard a voice from a distance, hallooing,\n\"Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!\" He looked round, but could see nothing\nbut a crow winging its solitary flight across the mountain. He thought\nhis fancy must have deceived him, and turned again to descend, when he\nheard the same cry ring through the still evening air: \"Rip Van Winkle!\nRip Van Winkle!\"--at the same time Wolf bristled up his back, and giving\na low growl, skulked to his master's side, looking fearfully down into\nthe glen. Rip now felt a vague apprehension stealing over him; he looked\nanxiously in the same direction, and perceived a strange figure slowly\ntoiling up the rocks, and bending under the weight of something he\ncarried on his back. He was surprised to see any human being in this\nlonely and unfrequented place; but supposing it to be some one of the\nneighbourhood in need of his assistance, he hastened down to yield it.\n\nOn nearer approach he was still more surprised at the singularity of the\nstranger's appearance. He was a short, square-built old fellow, with\nthick bushy hair, and a grizzled beard. His dress was of the antique\nDutch fashion: a cloth jerkin strapped round the waist, several pair of\nbreeches, the outer one of ample volume, decorated with rows of buttons\ndown the sides, and bunches at the knees. He bore on his shoulder a\nstout keg, that seemed full of liquor, and made signs for Rip to\napproach and assist him with the load. Though rather shy and distrustful\nof this new acquaintance, Rip complied with his usual alacrity; and\nmutually relieving one another, they clambered up a narrow gully,\napparently the dry bed of a mountain torrent. As they ascended, Rip\nevery now and then heard long rolling peals like distant thunder, that\nseemed to issue out of a deep ravine, or rather cleft, between lofty\nrocks, toward which their rugged path conducted. He paused for a moment,\nbut supposing it to be the muttering of one of those transient\nthunder-showers which often take place in mountain heights, he\nproceeded. Passing through the ravine, they came to a hollow, like a\nsmall amphitheatre, surrounded by perpendicular precipices, over the\nbrinks of which impending trees shot their branches, so that you only\ncaught glimpses of the azure sky and the bright evening cloud. During\nthe whole time Rip and his companion had laboured on in silence; for\nthough the former marvelled greatly what could be the object of carrying\na keg of liquor up this wild mountain, yet there was something strange\nand incomprehensible about the unknown, that inspired awe and checked\nfamiliarity.\n\nOn entering the amphitheatre, new objects of wonder presented\nthemselves. On a level spot in the centre was a company of odd-looking\npersonages playing at nine-pins. They were dressed in a quaint\noutlandish fashion; some wore short doublets, others jerkins, with long\nknives in their belts, and most of them had enormous breeches of similar\nstyle with that of the guide's. Their visages, too, were peculiar; one\nhad a large beard, broad face, and small piggish eyes; the face of\nanother seemed to consist entirely of nose, and was surmounted by a\nwhite sugar-loaf hat, set off with a little red cock's tail. They all\nhad beards, of various shapes and colours. There was one who seemed to\nbe the commander. He was a stout old gentleman, with a weather-beaten\ncountenance; he wore a laced doublet, broad belt and hanger,\nhigh-crowned hat and feather, red stockings, and high-heeled shoes, with\nroses in them. The whole group reminded Rip of the figures in an old\nFlemish painting in the parlour of Dominie Van Shaick, the village\nparson, which had been brought over from Holland at the time of the\nsettlement.\n\nWhat seemed particularly odd to Rip was, that though these folks were\nevidently amusing themselves, yet they maintained the gravest faces, the\nmost mysterious silence, and were, withal, the most melancholy party of\npleasure he had ever witnessed. Nothing interrupted the stillness of the\nscene but the noise of the balls, which, whenever they were rolled,\nechoed along the mountains like rumbling peals of thunder.\n\nAs Rip and his companion approached them, they suddenly desisted from\ntheir play, and stared at him with such fixed, statue-like gaze, and\nsuch strange, uncouth, lack-lustre countenances that his heart turned\nwithin him, and his knees smote together. His companion now emptied the\ncontents of the keg into large flagons, and made signs to him to wait\nupon the company. He obeyed with fear and trembling; they quaffed the\nliquor in profound silence, and then returned to their game.\n\nBy degrees Rip's awe and apprehension subsided. He even ventured, when\nno eye was fixed upon him, to taste the beverage, which he found had\nmuch of the flavour of excellent Hollands. He was naturally a thirsty\nsoul, and was soon tempted to repeat the draught. One taste provoked\nanother; and he reiterated his visits to the flagon so often that at\nlength his senses were overpowered, his eyes swam in his head, his head\ngradually declined, and he fell into a deep sleep.\n\nOn waking, he found himself on the green knoll whence he had first seen\nthe old man of the glen. He rubbed his eyes--it was a bright, sunny\nmorning. The birds were hopping and twittering among the bushes, and the\neagle was wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze.\n\"Surely,\" thought Rip, \"I have not slept here all night.\" He recalled\nthe occurrences before he fell asleep. The strange man with a keg of\nliquor--the mountain ravine--the wild retreat among the rocks--the\nwoe-begone party at nine-pins--the flagon--\"Oh! that flagon! that\nwicked flagon!\" thought Rip--\"what excuse shall I make to Dame Van\nWinkle?\"\n\nHe looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean, well-oiled\nfowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrel\nincrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock worm-eaten. He\nnow suspected that the grave roisters of the mountain had put a trick\nupon him, and, having dosed him with liquor, had robbed him of his gun.\nWolf, too, had disappeared, but he might have strayed away after a\nsquirrel or partridge. He whistled after him, and shouted his name, but\nall in vain; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but no dog was\nto be seen.\n\nHe determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's gambol, and if\nhe met with any of the party, to demand his dog and gun. As he rose to\nwalk, he found himself stiff in the joints, and wanting in his usual\nactivity. \"These mountain beds do not agree with me,\" thought Rip, \"and\nif this frolic should lay me up with a fit of the rheumatism, I shall\nhave a blessed time with Dame Van Winkle.\" With some difficulty he got\ndown into the glen; he found the gully up which he and his companion had\nascended the preceding evening; but to his astonishment a mountain\nstream was now foaming down it, leaping from rock to rock and filling\nthe glen with babbling murmurs. He, however, made shift to scramble up\nits sides, working his toilsome way through thickets of birch,\nsassafras, and witch-hazel, and sometimes tripped up or entangled by the\nwild grapevines that twisted their coils or tendrils from tree to tree,\nand spread a kind of network in his path.\n\nAt length he reached to where the ravine had opened through the cliffs\nto the amphitheatre; but no traces of such opening remained. The rocks\npresented a high, impenetrable wall, over which the torrent come\ntumbling in a sheet of feathery foam, and fell into a broad, deep basin,\nblack from the shadows of the surrounding forest. Here, then, poor Rip\nwas brought to a stand. He again called and whistled after his dog; he\nwas only answered by the cawing of a flock of idle crows, sporting high\nin air about a dry tree that overhung a sunny precipice; and who, secure\nin their elevation, seemed to look down and scoff at the poor man's\nperplexities. What was to be done? the morning was passing away, and Rip\nfelt famished for want of his breakfast. He grieved to give up his dog\nand gun; he dreaded to meet his wife; but it would not do to starve\namong the mountains. He shook his head, shouldered the rusty firelock,\nand, with a heart full of trouble and anxiety, turned his steps\nhomeward.\n\nAs he approached the village he met a number of people, but none whom he\nknew, which somewhat surprised him, for he had thought himself\nacquainted with every one in the country round. Their dress, too, was of\na different fashion from that to which he was accustomed. They all\nstared at him with equal marks of surprise, and whenever they cast their\neyes upon him, invariably stroked their chins. The constant recurrence\nof this gesture induced Rip, involuntarily, to do the same, when, to his\nastonishment, he found his beard had grown a foot long!\n\nHe had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop of strange\nchildren ran at his heels, hooting after him, and pointing at his gray\nbeard. The dogs, too, not one of which he recognised for an old\nacquaintance, barked at him as he passed. The very village was altered;\nit was larger and more populous. There were rows of houses which he had\nnever seen before, and those which had been his familiar haunts had\ndisappeared. Strange names were over the doors--strange faces at the\nwindows--everything was strange. His mind now misgave him; he began to\ndoubt whether both he and the world around him were not bewitched.\nSurely this was his native village, which he had left but the day\nbefore. There stood the Kaatskill Mountains--there ran the silver Hudson\nat a distance--there was every hill and dale precisely as it had always\nbeen--Rip was sorely perplexed--\"That flagon last night,\" thought he,\n\"has addled my poor head sadly!\"\n\nIt was with some difficulty that he found the way to his own house,\nwhich he approached with silent awe, expecting every moment to hear the\nshrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. He found the house gone to decay--the\nroof fallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors off the hinges. A\nhalf-starved dog that looked like Wolf was skulking about it. Rip called\nhim by name, but the cur snarled, showed his teeth, and passed on. This\nwas an unkind cut indeed--\"My very dog,\" sighed poor Rip, \"has forgotten\nme!\"\n\nHe entered the house, which, to tell the truth, Dame Van Winkle had\nalways kept in neat order. It was empty, forlorn, and apparently\nabandoned. This desolateness overcame all his connubial fears--he called\nloudly for his wife and children--the lonely chambers rang for a moment\nwith his voice, and then again all was silence.\n\nHe now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, the village\ninn--but it, too, was gone. A large, rickety wooden building stood in\nits place, with great gaping windows, some of them broken and mended\nwith old hats and petticoats, and over the door was painted, \"The Union\nHotel, by Jonathan Doolittle.\" Instead of the great tree that used to\nshelter the quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now was reared a tall\nnaked pole, with something on the top that looked like a red night-cap,\nand from it was fluttering a flag, on which was a singular assemblage of\nstars and stripes--all this was strange and incomprehensible. He\nrecognised on the sign, however, the ruby face of King George, under\nwhich he had smoked so many a peaceful pipe; but even this was\nsingularly metamorphosed. The red coat was changed for one of blue and\nbuff, a sword was held in the hand instead of a sceptre, the head was\ndecorated with a cocked hat, and underneath was painted in large\ncharacters, GENERAL WASHINGTON.\n\nThere was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but none that Rip\nrecollected. The very character of the people seemed changed. There was\na busy, bustling, disputatious tone about it, instead of the accustomed\nphlegm and drowsy tranquillity. He looked in vain for the sage Nicholas\nVedder, with his broad face, double chin, and fair long pipe, uttering\nclouds of tobacco-smoke instead of idle speeches; or Van Bummel, the\nschool-master, doling forth the contents of an ancient newspaper. In\nplace of these, a lean, bilious-looking fellow, with his pockets full\nof handbills, was haranguing vehemently about rights of\ncitizens--elections--members of Congress--liberty--Bunker's Hill--heroes\nof seventy-six--and other words, which were a perfect Babylonish jargon\nto the bewildered Van Winkle.\n\nThe appearance of Rip, with his long grizzled beard, his rusty\nfowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and an army of women and children at\nhis heels, soon attracted the attention of the tavern-politicians. They\ncrowded round him, eying him from head to foot with great curiosity. The\norator bustled up to him, and, drawing him partly aside, inquired \"on\nwhich side he voted?\" Rip started in vacant stupidity. Another short but\nbusy little fellow pulled him by the arm, and, rising on tiptoe,\ninquired in his ear, \"Whether he was Federal or Democrat?\" Rip was\nequally at a loss to comprehend the question; when a knowing,\nself-important old gentleman, in a sharp cocked hat, made his way\nthrough the crowd, putting them to the right and left with his elbows as\nhe passed, and planting himself before Van Winkle, with one arm akimbo,\nthe other resting on his cane, his keen eyes and sharp hat penetrating,\nas it were, into his very soul, demanded in an austere tone, \"what\nbrought him to the election with a gun on his shoulder, and a mob at his\nheels, and whether he meant to breed a riot in the village?\"--\"Alas!\ngentlemen,\" cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, \"I am a poor quiet man, a\nnative of the place, and a loyal subject of the king, God bless him!\"\n\nHere a general shout burst from the bystanders--\"A tory! a tory! a spy!\na refugee! hustle him! away with him!\" It was with great difficulty that\nthe self-important man in the cocked hat restored order; and having\nassumed a tenfold austerity of brow, demanded again of the unknown\nculprit what he came there for, and whom he was seeking? The poor man\nhumbly assured him that he meant no harm, but merely came there in\nsearch of some of his neighbours, who used to keep about the tavern.\n\n\"Well--who are they?--name them.\"\n\nRip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, \"Where's Nicholas Vedder?\"\n\nThere was a silence for a little while, when an old man replied, in a\nthin, piping voice: \"Nicholas Vedder! why, he is dead and gone these\neighteen years! There was a wooden tombstone in the church yard that\nused to tell all about him, but that's rotten and gone too.\"\n\n\"Where's Brom Butcher?\"\n\n\"Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the war; some say he\nwas killed at the storming of Stony Point--others say he was drowned in\na squall at the foot of Antony's Nose. I don't know--he never came back\nagain.\"\n\n\"Where's Van Bummel, the school-master?\"\n\n\"He went off to the wars too, was a great militia general, and is now in\nCongress.\"\n\nRip's heart died away at hearing of these sad changes in his home and\nfriends, and finding himself thus alone in the world. Every answer\npuzzled him too, by treating of such enormous lapses of time, and of\nmatters which he could not understand: war--Congress--Stony Point; he\nhad no courage to ask after any more friends, but cried out in dispair,\n\"Does nobody here know Rip Van Winkle?\"\n\n\"Oh, Rip Van Winkle!\" exclaimed two or three, \"Oh, to be sure! that's\nRip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against the tree.\"\n\nRip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself, as he went up\nthe mountain: apparently as lazy, and certainly as ragged. The poor\nfellow was now completely confounded. He doubted his own identity, and\nwhether he was himself or another man. In the midst of his bewilderment,\nthe man in the cocked hat demanded who he was, and what was his name?\n\n\"God knows,\" exclaimed he, at his wit's end; \"I'm not myself--I'm\nsomebody else--that's me yonder--no--that's somebody else got into my\nshoes--I was myself last night, but fell asleep on the mountain, and\nthey've changed my gun, and everything's changed, and I'm changed, and I\ncan't tell what's my name, or who I am!\"\n\nThe bystanders began now to look at each other, nod, wink significantly,\nand tap their fingers against their foreheads. There was a whisper,\nalso, about securing the gun, and keeping the old fellow from doing\nmischief, at the very suggestion of which the self-important man in the\ncocked hat retired with some precipitation. At this critical moment a\nfresh, comely women pressed through the throng to get a peep at the\ngray-bearded man. She had a chubby child in her arms, which, frightened\nat his looks, began to cry. \"Hush, Rip,\" cried she, \"hush, you little\nfool; the old man won't hurt you.\" The name of the child, the air of the\nmother, the tone of her voice, all awakened a train of recollections in\nhis mind. \"What is your name, my good woman?\" asked he.\n\n\"Judith Gardenier.\"\n\n\"And your father's name?\"\n\n\"Ah, poor man, Rip Van Winkle was his name, but it's twenty years since\nhe went away from home with his gun, and never has been heard of\nsince,--his dog came home without him; but whether he shot himself, or\nwas carried away by the Indians, nobody can tell. I was then but a\nlittle girl.\"\n\nRip had but one question more to ask; and he put it with a faltering\nvoice:\n\n\"Where's your mother?\"\n\n\"Oh, she too had died but a short time since; she broke a blood-vessel\nin a fit of passion at a New England peddler.\"\n\nThere was a drop of comfort at least, in this intelligence. The honest\nman could contain himself no longer. He caught his daughter and her\nchild in his arms. \"I am your father!\" cried he--\"Young Rip Van Winkle\nonce--old Rip Van Winkle now! Does nobody know poor Rip Van Winkle?\"\n\nAll stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out from among the\ncrowd, put her hand to her brow, and peering under it in his face for a\nmoment, exclaimed, \"Sure enough it is Rip Van Winkle--it is himself!\nWelcome home again, old neighbour--Why, where have you been these twenty\nlong years?\"\n\nRip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years had been to him\nbut as one night. The neighbours stared when they heard it; some were\nseen to wink at each other, and put their tongues in their cheeks; and\nthe self-important man in the cocked hat, who, when the alarm was over,\nhad returned to the field, screwed down the corners of his mouth, and\nshook his head--upon which there was a general shaking of the head\nthroughout the assemblage.\n\nIt was determined, however, to take the opinion of old Peter Vanderdonk,\nwho was seen slowly advancing up the road. He was a descendant of the\nhistorian of the that name, who wrote one of the earliest accounts of\nthe province. Peter was the most ancient inhabitant of the village, and\nwell versed in all the wonderful events and traditions of the\nneighbourhood. He recollected Rip at once, and corroborated his story in\nthe most satisfactory manner. He assured the company that it was a fact,\nhanded down from his ancestor the historian, that the Kaatskill\nMountains had always been haunted by strange beings. That it was\naffirmed that the great Hendrick Hudson, the first discoverer of the\nriver and country, kept a kind of vigil there every twenty years, with\nhis crew of the Half-moon; being permitted in this way to revisit the\nscenes of his enterprise, and keep a guardian eye upon the river and the\ngreat city called by his name. That his father had once seen them in\ntheir old Dutch dresses playing at nine-pins in a hollow of the\nmountain; and that he himself had heard, one summer afternoon, the sound\nof their balls like distant peals of thunder.\n\nTo make a long story short, the company broke up, and returned to the\nmore important concerns of the election. Rip's daughter took him home to\nlive with her; she had a snug well-furnished house, and a stout cheery\nfarmer for a husband, whom Rip recollected for one of the urchins that\nused to climb upon his back. As to Rip's son and heir, who was the ditto\nof himself, seen leaning against the tree, he was employed to work on\nthe farm; but evinced an hereditary disposition to attend to anything\nelse but his business.\n\nRip now resumed his old walks and habits; he soon found many of his\nformer cronies, though all rather the worse for the wear and tear of\ntime; and preferred making friends among the rising generation, with\nwhom he soon grew into great favour.\n\nHaving nothing to do at home, and being arrived at that happy age when a\nman can be idle with impunity, he took his place once more on the bench\nat the inn door, and was reverenced as one of the patriarchs of the\nvillage, and a chronicle of the old times \"before the war.\" It was some\ntime before he could get into the regular track of gossip, or could be\nmade to comprehend the strange events that had taken place during his\ntorpor. How that there had been a revolutionary war--that the country\nhad thrown off the yoke of old England--and that, instead of being a\nsubject of his Majesty George the Third, he was now a free citizen of\nthe United States. Rip, in fact, was no politician; the changes of states\nand empires made but little impression on him; but there was one species\nof despotism under which he had long groaned, and that was--petticoat\ngovernment. Happily that was at an end; he had got his neck out of the\nyoke of matrimony, and could go in and out whenever he pleased, without\ndreading the tyranny of Dame Van Winkle. Whenever her name was\nmentioned, however, he shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, and cast\nup his eyes, which might pass either for an expression of resignation to\nhis fate, or joy at his deliverance.\n\nHe used to tell his story to every stranger that arrived at Mr.\nDoolittle's hotel. He was observed, at first, to vary on some points\nevery time he told it, which was, doubtless, owing to his having so\nrecently awaked. It at last settled down precisely to the tale I have\nrelated, and not a man, woman, or child in the neighbourhood but knew it\nby heart. Some always pretended to doubt the reality of it, and insisted\nthat Rip had been out of his head, and that this was one point on which\nhe always remained flighty. The old Dutch inhabitants, however, almost\nuniversally gave it full credit. Even to this day they never hear a\nthunder-storm of a summer afternoon about the Kaatskill, but they say\nHendrick Hudson and his crew are at their game of nine-pins; and it is a\ncommon wish of all henpecked husbands in the neighbourhood, when life\nhangs heavy on their hands, that they might have a quieting draught out\nof Rip Van Wrinkle's flagon.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nTHE GRAY CHAMPION\n\n\nThere was once a time when New England groaned under the actual pressure\nof heavier wrongs than those threatened ones which brought on the\nRevolution. James II, the bigoted successor of Charles the Voluptuous,\nhad annulled the charters of all the colonies, and sent a harsh and\nunprincipled soldier to take away our liberites and endanger our\nreligion. The administration of Sir Edmund Andros lacked scarcely a\nsingle characteristic of tyranny: a Governor and Council, holding office\nfrom the King, and wholly independent of the country; laws made and\ntaxes levied without concurrence of the people immediate or by their\nrepresentatives; the rights of private citizens violated, and the titles\nof all landed property declared void; the voice of complaint stifled by\nrestrictions on the press; and, finally, disaffection overawed by the\nfirst band of mercenary troops that ever marched on our free soil. For\ntwo years our ancestors were kept in sullen submission by that filial\nlove which had invariably secured their allegiance to the mother\ncountry, whether its head chanced to be a Parliament, Protector, or\nPopish Monarch. Till these evil times, however, such allegiance had been\nmerely nominal, and the colonists had ruled themselves, enjoying far\nmore freedom than is even yet the privilege of the native subjects of\nGreat Britain.\n\nAt length a rumour reached our shores that the Prince of Orange had\nventured on an enterprise, the success of which would be the triumph of\ncivil and religious rights and the salvation of New England. It was but\na doubtful whisper; it might be false, or the attempt might fail; and,\nin either case, the man that stirred against King Tames would lose his\nhead. Still the intelligence produced a marked effect. The people smiled\nmysteriously in the streets, and threw bold glances at their oppressors;\nwhile far and wide there was a subdued and silent agitation, as if the\nslightest signal would rouse the whole land from its sluggish\ndespondency. Aware of their danger, the rulers resolved to avert it by\nan imposing display of strength, and perhaps to confirm their despotism\nby yet harsher measures. One afternoon in April, 1689, Sir Edmund Andros\nand his favourite councillors, being warm with wine, assembled the\nred-coats of the Governor's Guard, and made their appearance in the\nstreets of Boston. The sun was near setting when the march commenced.\n\nThe roll of the drum at that unquiet crisis seemed to go through the\nstreets, less as the martial music of the soldiers, than as a\nmuster-call to the inhabitants themselves. A multitude, by various\navenues, assembled in King Street, which was destined to be the scene,\nnearly a century afterward, of another encounter between the troops of\nBritain, and a people struggling against her tyranny. Though more than\nsixty years had elapsed since the pilgrims came, this crowd of their\ndescendants still showed the strong and sombre features of their\ncharacter perhaps more strikingly in such a stern emergency than on\nhappier occasions. There were the sober garb, the general severity of\nmien, the gloomy but undismayed expression, the scriptural forms of\nspeech, and the confidence in Heaven's blessing on a righteous cause,\nwhich would have marked a band of the original Puritans, when threatened\nby some peril of the wilderness. Indeed, it was not yet time for the old\nspirit to be extinct; since there were men in the street that day who\nhad worshipped there beneath the trees, before a house was reared to the\nGod for whom they had become exiles. Old soldiers of the Parliament were\nhere, too, smiling grimly at the thought that their aged arms might\nstrike another blow against the house of Stuart. Here, also, were the\nveterans of King Philip's war, who had burned villages and slaughtered\nyoung and old, with pious fierceness, while the godly souls throughout\nthe land were helping them with prayer. Several ministers were scattered\namong the crowd, which, unlike all other mobs, regarded them with such\nreverence, as if there were sanctity in their very garments. These holy\nmen exerted their influence to quiet the people, but not to disperse\nthem. Meantime, the purpose of the Governor, in disturbing the peace of\nthe town at a period when the slightest commotion might throw the\ncountry into a ferment, was almost the universal subject of inquiry, and\nvariously explained.\n\n\"Satan will strike his master-stroke presently,\" cried some, \"because he\nknoweth that his time is short. All our godly pastors are to be dragged\nto prison! We shall see them at a Smithfield fire in King Street!\"\n\nHereupon the people of each parish gathered closer round their minister,\nwho looked calmly upward and assumed a more apostolic dignity, as well\nbefitted a candidate for the highest honour of his profession, the crown\nof martyrdom. It was actually fancied, at that period, that New England\nmight have a John Rogers of her own to take the place of that worthy in\nthe Primer.\n\n\"The Pope of Rome has given orders for a new St. Bartholomew!\" cried\nothers. \"We are to be massacred, man and male child!\"\n\nNeither was this rumour wholly discredited, although the wiser class\nbelieved the Governor's object somewhat less atrocious. His predecessor\nunder the old charter, Bradstreet, a venerable companion of the first\nsettlers, was known to be in town. There were grounds for conjecturing,\nthat Sir Edmund Andros intended at once to strike terror by a parade of\nmilitary force, and to confound the opposite faction by possessing\nhimself of their chief.\n\n\"Stand firm for the old charter Governor!\" shouted the crowd, seizing\nupon the idea. \"The good old Governor Bradstreet!\"\n\nWhile this cry was at the loudest, the people were surprised by the\nwell-known figure of Governor Bradstreet himself, a patriarch of nearly\nninety, who appeared on the elevated steps of a door, and, with\ncharacteristic mildness, besought them to submit to the constituted\nauthorities.\n\n\"My children,\" concluded this venerable person, \"do nothing rashly. Cry\nnot aloud, but pray for the welfare of New England, and expect patiently\nwhat the Lord will do in this matter!\"\n\nThe event was soon to be decided. All this time, the roll of the drum\nhad been approaching through Cornhill, louder and deeper, till with\nreverberations from house to house, and the regular tramp of martial\nfootsteps, it burst into the street. A double rank of soldiers made\ntheir appearance, occupying the whole breadth of the passage, with\nshouldered matchlocks, and matches burning, so as to present a row of\nfires in the dusk. Their steady march was like the progress of a\nmachine, that would roll irresistibly over everything in its way. Next,\nmoving slowly, with a confused clatter of hoofs on the pavement, rode a\nparty of mounted gentlemen, the central figure being Sir Edmund Andros,\nelderly, but erect and soldier-like. Those around him were his favourite\ncouncillors, and the bitterest foes of New England. At his right hand\nrode Edward Randolph, our arch-enemy, that \"blasted wretch,\" as Cotton\nMather calls him, who achieved the downfall of our ancient government,\nand was followed with a sensible curse through life and to his grave. On\nthe other side was Bullivant, scattering jests and mockery as he rode\nalong. Dudley came behind, with a downcast look, dreading, as well he\nmight, to meet the indignant gaze of the people, who beheld him, their\nonly countryman by birth, among the oppressors of his native land. The\ncaptain of a frigate in the harbour, and two or three civil officers\nunder the Crown, were also there. But the figure which most attracted\nthe public eye, and stirred up the deepest feeling, was the Episcopal\nclergyman of King's Chapel, riding haughtily among the magistrates in\nhis priestly vestments, the fitting representative of prelacy and\npersecution, the union of church and state, and all those abominations\nwhich had driven the Puritans to the wilderness. Another guard of\nsoldiers, in double rank, brought up the rear.\n\nThe whole scene was a picture of the condition of New England, and its\nmoral, the deformity of any government that does not grow out of the\nnature of things and the character of the people. On one side the\nreligious multitude, with their sad visages and dark attire, and on the\nother, the group of despotic rulers, with the high churchman in the\nmidst, and here and there a crucifix at their bosoms, all magnificently\nclad, flushed with wine, proud of unjust authority, and scoffing at the\nuniversal groan. And the mercenary soldiers, waiting but the word to\ndeluge the street with blood, showed the only means by which obedience\ncould be secured.\n\n\"O Lord of Hosts,\" cried a voice among the crowd, \"provide a Champion\nfor thy people!\"\n\nThis ejaculation was loudly uttered, and served as a herald's cry, to\nintroduce a remarkable personage. The crowd had rolled back, and were\nnow huddled together nearly at the extremity of the street, while the\nsoldiers had advanced no more than a third of its length. The\nintervening space was empty--a paved solitude, between lofty edifices,\nwhich threw almost a twilight shadow over it. Suddenly, there was seen\nthe figure of an ancient man, who seemed to have emerged from among the\npeople, and was walking by himself along the centre of the street, to\nconfront the armed band. He wore the old Puritan dress, a dark cloak and\na steeple-crowned hat, in the fashion of at least fifty years before,\nwith a heavy sword upon his thigh, but a staff in his hand to assist the\ntremulous gait of age.\n\nWhen at some distance from the multitude, the old man turned slowly\nround, displaying a face of antique majesty, rendered doubly venerable\nby the hoary beard that descended on his breast. He made a gesture at\nonce of encouragement and warning, then turned again, and resumed his\nway.\n\n\"Who is this gray patriarch?\" asked the young men of their sires.\n\n\"Who is this venerable brother?\" asked the old men among themselves.\n\nBut none could make reply. The fathers of the people, those of\nfour-score years and upwards, were disturbed, deeming it strange that\nthey should forget one of such evident authority, whom they must have\nknown in their early days, the associate of Winthrop, and all the old\ncouncillors, giving laws, and making prayers, and leading them against\nthe savage. The elderly men ought to have remembered him, too, with\nlocks as gray in their youth, as their own were now. And the young! How\ncould he have passed so utterly from their memories--that hoary sire,\nthe relic of long-departed times, whose awful benediction had surely\nbeen bestowed on their uncovered heads, in childhood?\n\n\"Whence did he come? What is his purpose? Who can this old man be?\"\nwhispered the wondering crowd.\n\nMeanwhile, the venerable stranger, staff in hand, was pursuing his\nsolitary walk along the centre of the street. As he drew near the\nadvancing soldiers, and as the roll of their drum came full upon his\near, the old man raised himself to a loftier mien, while the decrepitude\nof age seemed to fall from his shoulders, leaving him in gray but\nunbroken dignity. Now, he marched onward with a warrior's step, keeping\ntime to the military music. Thus the aged form advanced on one side, and\nthe whole parade of soldiers and magistrates on the other, till, when\nscarcely twenty yards remained between, the old man grasped his staff by\nthe middle, and held it before him like a leader's truncheon.\n\n\"Stand!\" cried he.\n\nThe eye, the face, and attitude of command; the solemn, yet warlike peal\nof that voice, fit either to rule a host in the battle-field or be\nraised to God in prayer, were irresistible. At the old man's word and\noutstretched arm, the roll of the drum was hushed at once, and the\nadvancing line stood still. A tremulous enthusiasm seized upon the\nmultitude. That stately form, combining the leader and the saint, so\ngray, so dimly seen, in such an ancient garb, could only belong to some\nold champion of the righteous cause, whom the oppressor's drum had\nsummoned from his grave. They raised a shout of awe and exultation, and\nlooked for the deliverance of New England.\n\nThe Governor, and the gentlemen of his party, perceiving themselves\nbrought to an unexpected stand, rode hastily forward, as if they would\nhave pressed their snorting and affrighted horses right against the\nhoary apparition. He, however, blenched not a step, but glancing his\nsevere eye round the group, which half encompassed him, at last bent it\nsternly on Sir Edmund Andros. One would have thought that the dark old\nman was chief ruler there, and that the Governor and Council, with\nsoldiers at their back, representing the whole power and authority of\nthe Crown, had no alternative but obedience.\n\n\"What does this old fellow here?\" cried Edward Randolph, fiercely. \"On,\nSir Edmund! Bid the soldiers forward, and give the dotard the same\nchoice that you give all his countrymen--to stand aside or be trampled\non!\"\n\n\"Nay, nay, let us show respect to the good grandsire,\" said Bullivant,\nlaughing. \"See you not, he is some old round-headed dignitary, who hath\nlain asleep these thirty years, and knows nothing of the change of\ntimes? Doubtless, he thinks to put us down with a proclamation in Old\nNoll's name!\"\n\n\"Are you mad, old man?\" demanded Sir Edmund Andros, in loud and harsh\ntones. \"How dare you stay the march of King James's Governor?\"\n\n\"I have stayed the march of a King himself, ere now,\" replied the gray\nfigure, with stern composure, \"I am here, Sir Governor, because the cry\nof an oppressed people hath disturbed me in my secret place; and\nbeseeching this favour earnestly of the Lord, it was vouchsafed me to\nappear once again on earth, in the good old cause of his saints. And\nwhat speak ye of James? There is no longer a Popish tyrant on the throne\nof England, and by to-morrow noon, his name shall be a byword in this\nvery street, where ye would make it a word of terror. Back, thou that\nwast a Governor, back! With this night thy power is ended--to-morrow,\nthe prison!--back, lest I foretell the scaffold!\"\n\nThe people had been drawing nearer and nearer, and drinking in the words\nof their champion, who spoke in accents long disused, like one\nunaccustomed to converse, except with the dead of many years ago. But\nhis voice stirred their souls. They confronted the soldiers, not wholly\nwithout arms, and ready to convert the very stones of the street into\ndeadly weapons. Sir Edmund Andros looked at the old man; then he cast\nhis hard and cruel eye over the multitude, and beheld them burning with\nthat lurid wrath, so difficult to kindle or to quench; and again he\nfixed his gaze on the aged form, which stood obscurely in an open space,\nwhere neither friend nor foe had thrust himself. What were his thoughts,\nhe uttered no word which might discover. But whether the oppressor were\naverawed by the Gray Champion's look, or perceived his peril in the\nthreatening attitude of the people, it is certain that he gave back, and\nordered his soldiers to commence a slow and guarded retreat. Before\nanother sunset, the Governor, and all that rode so proudly with him,\nwere prisoners, and long ere it was known that James had abdicated, King\nWilliam was proclaimed throughout New England.\n\nBut where was the Gray Champion? Some reported that, when the troops had\ngone from King Street, and the people were thronging tumultuously in\ntheir rear, Bradstreet, the aged Governor, was seen to embrace a form\nmore aged than his own. Others soberly affirmed, that while they\nmarvelled at the venerable grandeur of his aspect, the old man had faded\nfrom their eyes, melting slowly into the hues of twilight, till, where\nhe stood, there was an empty space. But all agreed that the hoary shape\nwas gone. The men of that generation watched for his reappearance, in\nsunshine and in twilight, but never saw him more, nor knew when his\nfuneral passed, nor where his gravestone was.\n\nAnd who was the Gray Champion? Perhaps his name might be found in the\nrecords of that stern Court of Justice, which passed a sentence, too\nmighty for the age, but glorious in all after-times, for its humbling\nlesson to the monarch and its high example to the subject. I have heard,\nthat whenever the descendants of the Puritans are to show the spirit of\ntheir sires, the old man appears again. When eighty years had passed, he\nwalked once more in King Street. Five years later, in the twilight of an\nApril morning, he stood on the green, beside the meeting-house, at\nLexington, where now the obelisk of granite, with a slab of slate\ninlaid, commemorates the first fallen of the Revolution. And when our\nfathers were toiling at the breastwork on Bunker's Hill, all through\nthat night the old warrior walked his rounds. Long, long may it be, ere\nhe comes again! His hour is one of darkness, and adversity, and peril.\nBut should domestic tyranny oppress us, or the invader's step pollute\nour soil, still may the Gray Champion come, for he is the type of New\nEngland's hereditary spirit; and his shadowy march, on the eve of\ndanger, must ever be the pledge, that New England's sons will vindicate\ntheir ancestry.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nTHE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW\nFOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER\n\n\nIN THE bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the eastern\nshore of the Hudson, at that broad expansion of the river denominated by\nthe ancient Dutch navigators the Tappan Zee, and where they always\nprudently shortened sail and implored the protection of St. Nicholas\nwhen they crossed, there lies a small market town or rural port, which\nby some is called Greensburgh, but which is more generally and properly\nknown by the name of Tarry Town. This name was given, we are told, in\nformer days, by the good housewives of the adjacent country, from the\ninveterate propensity of their husbands to linger about the village\ntavern on market days. Be that as it may, I do not vouch for the fact,\nbut merely advert to it, for the sake of being precise and authentic.\nNot far from this village, perhaps about two miles, there is a little\nvalley or rather lap of land among high hills, which is one of the\nquietest places in the whole world. A small brook glides through it,\nwith just murmur enough to lull one to repose; and the occasional\nwhistle of a quail or tapping of a woodpecker is almost the only sound\nthat ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity.\n\nI recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit in\nsquirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut trees that shades one\nside of the valley. I had wandered into it at noontime, when all nature\nis peculiarly quiet, and was startled by the roar of my own gun, as it\nbroke the Sabbath stillness around and was prolonged and reverberated by\nthe angry echoes. If ever I should wish for a retreat whither I might\nsteal from the world and its distractions, and dream quietly away the\nremnant of a troubled life, I know of none more promising than this\nlittle valley.\n\nFrom the listless repose of the place, and the peculiar character of its\ninhabitants, who are descendants from the original Dutch settlers, this\nsequestered glen has long been known by the name of Sleepy Hollow, and\nits rustic lads are called the Sleepy Hollow Boys throughout all the\nneighbouring country. A drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the\nland, and to pervade the very atmosphere. Some say that the place was\nbewitched by a High German doctor, during the early days of the\nsettlement; others, that an old Indian chief, the prophet or wizard of\nhis tribe, held his powwows there before the country was discovered by\nMaster Hendrick Hudson. Certain it is, the place still continues under\nthe sway of some witching power, that holds a spell over the minds of\nthe good people, causing them to walk in a continual reverie. They are\ngiven to all kinds of marvellous beliefs; are subject to trances and\nvisions, and frequently see strange sights, and hear music and voices in\nthe air. The whole neighbourhood abounds with local tales, haunted\nspots, and twilight superstitions; stars shoot and meteors glare oftener\nacross the valley than in any other part of the country, and the\nnightmare, with her whole ninefold, seems to make it the favourite scene\nof her gambols.\n\nThe dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted region, and\nseems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of the air, is the\napparition of a figure on horseback, without a head. It is said by some\nto be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away\nby a cannon-ball, in some nameless battle during the Revolutionary War,\nand who is ever and anon seen by the country folk hurrying along in the\ngloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind. His haunts are not\nconfined to the valley, but extend at times to the adjacent roads, and\nespecially to the vicinity of a church at no great distance. Indeed,\ncertain of the most authentic historians of those parts, who have been\ncareful in collecting and collating the floating facts concerning this\nspectre, allege that the body of the trooper having been buried in the\nchurchyard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly\nquest of his head, and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes\npasses along the Hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being\nbelated, and in a hurry to get back to the churchyard before daybreak.\n\nSuch is the general purport of this legendary superstition, which has\nfurnished materials for many a wild story in that region of shadows; and\nthe spectre is known at all the country firesides, by the name of the\nHeadless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.\n\nIt is remarkable that the visionary propensity I have mentioned is not\nconfined to the native inhabitants of the valley, but is unconsciously\nimbibed by every one who resides there for a time. However wide awake\nthey may have been before they entered that sleepy region, they are\nsure, in a little time, to inhale the witching influence of the air, and\nbegin to grow imaginative, to dream dreams, and see apparitions.\n\nI mention this peaceful spot with all possible laud; for it is in such\nlittle retired Dutch valleys, found here and there embosomed in the\ngreat state of New York, that population, manners, and customs remain\nfixed, while the great torrent of migration and improvement, which is\nmaking such incessant changes in other parts of this restless country,\nsweeps by them unobserved. They are like those little nooks of still\nwater, which border a rapid stream, where we may see the straw and\nbubble riding quietly at anchor, or slowly revolving in their mimic\nharbour, undisturbed by the brush of the passing current. Though many\nyears have elapsed since I trod the drowsy shades of Sleepy Hollow, yet\nI question whether I should not still find the same trees and the same\nfamilies vegetating in its sheltered bosom.\n\nIn this by-place of nature there abode, in a remote period of American\nhistory, that is to say, some thirty years since, a worthy wight of the\nname of Ichabod Crane, who sojourned, or, as he expressed it, \"tarried,\"\nin Sleepy Hollow, for the purpose of instructing the children of the\nvicinity. He was a native of Connecticut, a state which supplies the\nUnion with pioneers for the mind as well as for the forest, and sends\nforth yearly its legions of frontier woodmen and country schoolmasters.\nThe cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person. He was tall,\nbut exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands\nthat dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for\nshovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was\nsmall, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a\nlong snipe nose, so that it looked like a weathercock perched upon his\nspindle neck to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding along\nthe profile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and\nfluttering about him, one might have mistaken him for the genius of\nfamine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a\ncornfield.\n\nHis schoolhouse was a low building of one large room, rudely constructed\nof logs; the windows partly glazed, and partly patched with leaves of\nold copybooks. It was most ingeniously secured at vacant hours, by a\nwithe twisted in the handle of the door, and stakes set against the\nwindow shutters; so that though a thief might get in with perfect ease,\nhe would find some embarrassment in getting out--an idea most probably\nborrowed by the architect, Yost Van Houten, from the mystery of an\neelpot. The schoolhouse stood in a rather lonely but pleasant situation,\njust at the foot of a woody hill, with a brook running close by, and a\nformidable birch tree growing at one end of it. From hence the low\nmurmur of his pupils' voices, conning over their lessons, might be heard\nin a drowsy summer's day, like the hum of a beehive; interrupted now and\nthen by the authoritative voice of the master, in the tone of menace or\ncommand; or, peradventure, by the appalling sound of the birch, as he\nurged some tardy loiterer along the flowery path of knowledge. Truth to\nsay, he was a conscientious man, and ever bore in mind the golden maxim,\n\"Spare the rod and spoil the child.\" Ichabod Crane's scholars certainly\nwere not spoiled.\n\nI would not have it imagined, however, that he was one of those cruel\npotentates of the school who joy in the smart of their subjects; on the\ncontrary, he administered justice with discrimination rather than\nseverity; taking the burden off the backs of the weak, and laying it on\nthose of the strong. Your mere puny stripling, that winced at the least\nflourish of the rod, was passed by with indulgence; but the claims of\njustice were satisfied by inflicting a double portion on some little\ntough, wrong-headed, broad-skirted Dutch urchin, who sulked and swelled\nand grew dogged and sullen beneath the birch. All this he called \"doing\nhis duty by their parents\"; and he never inflicted a chastisement\nwithout following it by the assurance, so consolatory to the smarting\nurchin, that \"he would remember it and thank him for it the longest day\nhe had to live.\"\n\nWhen school hours were over, he was even the companion and playmate of\nthe larger boys; and on holiday afternoons would convoy some of the\nsmaller ones home, who happened to have pretty sisters, or good\nhousewives for mothers, noted for the comforts of the cupboard. Indeed,\nit behooved him to keep on good terms with his pupils. The revenue\narising from his school was small, and would have been scarcely\nsufficient to furnish him with daily bread, for he was a huge feeder,\nand, though lank, had the dilating powers of an anaconda; but to help\nout his maintenance, he was, according to country custom in those parts,\nboarded and lodged at the houses of the farmers whose children he\ninstructed. With these he lived successively a week at a time, thus\ngoing the rounds of the neighbourhood, with all his worldly effects tied\nup in a cotton handkerchief.\n\nThat all this might not be too onerous on the purses of his rustic\npatrons, who are apt to consider the costs of schooling a grievous\nburden, and schoolmasters as mere drones, he had various ways of\nrendering himself both useful and agreeable. He assisted the farmers\noccasionally in the lighter labours of their farms, helped to make hay,\nmended the fences, took the horses to water, drove the cows from\npasture, and cut wood for the winter fire. He laid aside, too, all the\ndominant dignity and absolute sway with which he lorded it in his little\nempire, the school, and became wonderfully gentle and ingratiating. He\nfound favour in the eyes of the mothers by petting the children,\nparticularly the youngest; and like the lion bold, which whilom so\nmagnanimously the lamb did hold, he would sit with a child on one knee,\nand rock a cradle with his foot for whole hours together.\n\nIn addition to his other vocations, he was the singing-master of the\nneighbourhood, and picked up many bright shillings by instructing the\nyoung folks in psalmody. It was a matter of no little vanity to him on\nSundays, to take his station in front of the church gallery, with a band\nof chosen singers; where, in his own mind, he completely carried away\nthe palm from the parson. Certain it is, his voice resounded far above\nall the rest of the congregation; and there are peculiar quavers still\nto be heard in that church, and which may even be heard half a mile off,\nquite to the opposite side of the mill-pond, on a still Sunday morning,\nwhich are said to be legitimately descended from the nose of Ichabod\nCrane. Thus, by divers little makeshifts, in that ingenious way which is\ncommonly denominated \"by hook and by crook,\" the worthy pedagogue got on\ntolerably enough, and was thought, by all who understood nothing of the\nlabour of headwork, to have a wonderfully easy life of it.\n\nThe schoolmaster is generally a man of some importance in the female\ncircle of a rural neighbourhood; being considered a kind of idle,\ngentlemanlike personage, of vastly superior taste and accomplishments to\nthe rough country swains, and, indeed, inferior in learning only to the\nparson. His appearance, therefore, is apt to occasion some little stir\nat the tea-table of a farmhouse, and the addition of a supernumerary\ndish of cakes or sweetmeats, or, peradventure, the parade of a silver\nteapot. Our man of letters, therefore, was peculiarly happy in the\nsmiles of all the country damsels. How he would figure among them in the\nchurchyard, between services on Sundays! gathering grapes for them from\nthe wild vines that overran the surrounding trees; reciting for their\namusement all the epitaphs on the tombstones; or sauntering, with a\nwhole bevy of them, along the banks of the adjacent mill-pond; while the\nmore bashful country bumpkins hung sheepishly back, envying his superior\nelegance and address.\n\nFrom his half itinerant life, also, he was a kind of travelling gazette,\ncarrying the whole budget of local gossip from house to house, so that\nhis appearance was always greeted with satisfaction. He was, moreover,\nesteemed by the women as a man of great erudition, for he had read\nseveral books quite through, and was a perfect master of Cotton Mather's\n\"History of New England Witchcraft,\" in which, by the way, he most\nfirmly and potently believed.\n\nHe was, in fact, an odd mixture of small shrewdness and simple\ncredulity. His appetite for the marvellous, and his powers of digesting\nit, were equally extraordinary; and both had been increased by his\nresidence in this spellbound region. No tale was too gross or monstrous\nfor his capacious swallow. It was often his delight, after his school\nwas dismissed in the afternoon, to stretch himself on the rich bed of\nclover bordering the little brook that whimpered by his schoolhouse, and\nthere con over old Mather's direful tales, until the gathering dusk of\nevening made the printed page a mere mist before his eyes. Then, as he\nwended his way by swamp and stream and awful woodland, to the farmhouse\nwhere he happened to be quartered, every sound of nature, at that\nwitching hour, fluttered his excited imagination--the moan of the\nwhip-poor-will from the hillside, the boding cry of the tree toad, that\nharbinger of storm, the dreary hooting of the screech owl, to the sudden\nrustling in the thicket of birds frightened from their roost. The\nfireflies, too, which sparkled most vividly in the darkest places, now\nand then startled him, as one of uncommon brightness would stream across\nhis path; and if, by chance, a huge blockhead of a beetle came winging\nhis blundering flight against him, the poor varlet was ready to give up\nthe ghost, with the idea that he was struck with a witch's token. His\nonly resource on such occasions, either to drown thought or drive away\nevil spirits, was to sing psalm tunes; and the good people of Sleepy\nHollow, as they sat by their doors of an evening, were often filled with\nawe at hearing his nasal melody, \"in linked sweetness long drawn out,\"\nfloating from the distant hill, or along the dusky road.\n\nAnother of his sources of fearful pleasure was to pass long winter\nevenings with the old Dutch wives, as they sat spinning by the fire,\nwith a row of apples roasting and spluttering along the hearth, and\nlisten to their marvellous tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted\nfields, and haunted brooks, and haunted bridges, and haunted houses, and\nparticularly of the headless horseman, or Galloping Hessian of the\nHollow, as they sometimes called him. He would delight them equally by\nhis anecdotes of witchcraft, and of the direful omens and portentous\nsights and sounds in the air, which prevailed in the earlier times of\nConnecticut; and would frighten them woefully with speculations upon\ncomets and shooting stars; and with the alarming fact that the world did\nabsolutely turn round, and that they were half the time topsy-turvy!\n\nBut if there was a pleasure in all this, while snugly cuddling in the\nchimney corner of a chamber that was all of a ruddy glow from the\ncrackling wood fire, and where, of course, no spectre dared to show its\nface, it was dearly purchased by the terrors of his subsequent walk\nhomewards. What fearful shapes and shadows beset his path, amidst the\ndim and ghastly glare of a snowy night! With what wistful look did he\neye every trembling ray of light streaming across the waste fields from\nsome distant window! How often was he appalled by some shrub covered\nwith snow, which, like a sheeted spectre, beset his very path! How often\ndid he shrink with curdling awe at the sound of his own steps on the\nfrosty crust beneath his feet; and dread to look over his shoulder, lest\nhe should behold some uncouth being tramping close behind him! and how\noften was he thrown into complete dismay by some rushing blast, howling\namong the trees, in the idea that it was the Galloping Hessian on one of\nhis nightly scourings!\n\nAll these, however, were mere terrors of the night, phantoms of the mind\nthat walk in darkness; and though he had seen many spectres in his time,\nand been more than once beset by Satan in divers shapes, in his lonely\nperambulations, yet daylight put an end to all these evils; and he would\nhave passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the Devil and all his\nworks, if his path had not been crossed by a being that causes more\nperplexity to mortal man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of\nwitches put together, and that was--a woman.\n\nAmong the musical disciples who assembled, one evening in each week, to\nreceive his instructions in psalmody, was Katrina Van Tassel, the\ndaughter and only child of a substantial Dutch farmer. She was a\nblooming lass of fresh eighteen; plump as a partridge; ripe and melting\nand rosy-cheeked as one of her father's peaches, and universally famed,\nnot merely for her beauty, but her vast expectations. She was withal a\nlittle or a coquette, as might be perceived even in her dress, which was\na mixture of ancient and modern fashions, as most suited to set off her\ncharms. She wore the ornaments of pure yellow gold, which her\ngreat-great-grandmother had brought over from Saardam; the tempting\nstomacher of the olden time, and withal a provokingly short petticoat,\nto display the prettiest foot and ankle in the country round.\n\nIchabod Crane had a soft and foolish heart toward the sex; and it is not\nto be wondered at, that so tempting a morsel soon found favour in his\neyes, more especially after he had visited her in her paternal mansion.\nOld Baltus Van Tassel was a perfect picture of a thriving, contented,\nliberal hearted farmer. He seldom, it is true, sent either his eyes or\nhis thoughts beyond the boundaries of his own farm; but within those\neverything was snug, happy and well-conditioned. He was satisfied with\nhis wealth, but not proud of it; and piqued himself upon the hearty\nabundance, rather than the style in which he lived. His stronghold was\nsituated on the banks of the Hudson, in one of those green, sheltered,\nfertile nooks in which the Dutch farmers are so fond of nestling. A\ngreat elm tree spread its broad branches over it, at the foot of which\nbubbled up a spring of the softest and sweetest water, in a little well\nformed of a barrel; and then stole sparkling away through the grass, to\na neighbouring brook, that babbled along among alders and dwarf willows.\nHard by the farmhouse was a vast barn, that might have served for a\nchurch; every window and crevice of which seemed bursting forth with the\ntreasures of the farm; the flail was busily resounding within it from\nmorning to night; swallows and martins skimmed twittering about the\neaves; and rows of pigeons, some with one eye turned up, as if watching\nthe weather, some with their heads under their wings or buried in their\nbosoms, and others swelling, and cooing, and bowing about their dames,\nwere enjoying the sunshine on the roof. Sleek unwieldy porkers were\ngrunting in the repose and abundance of their pens, from whence sallied\nforth, now and then, troops of sucking pigs, as if to snuff the air. A\nstately squadron of snowy geese were riding in an adjoining pond,\nconvoying whole fleets of ducks; regiments of turkeys were gobbling\nthrough the farmyard, and Guinea fowls fretting about it, like\nill-tempered housewives, with their peevish, discontented cry. Before\nthe barn door strutted the gallant cock, that pattern of a husband, a\nwarrior and a fine gentleman, clapping his burnished wings and crowing\nin the pride and gladness of his heart--sometimes tearing up the earth\nwith his feet, and then generously calling his ever-hungry family of\nwives and children to enjoy the rich morsel which he had discovered.\n\nThe pedagogue's mouth watered as he looked upon this sumptuous promise\nof luxurious winter fare. In his devouring mind's eye, he pictured to\nhimself every roasting-pig running about with a pudding in his belly,\nand an apple in his mouth; the pigeons were snugly put to bed in a\ncomfortable pie, and tucked in with a coverlet of crust; the geese were\nswimming in their own gravy; and the ducks pairing cosily in dishes,\nlike snug married couples, with a decent competency of onion sauce. In\nthe porkers he saw carved out the future sleek side of bacon, and juicy\nrelishing ham; not a turkey but he beheld daintily trussed up, with its\ngizzard under its wing, and, peradventure, a necklace of savoury\nsausages; and even bright chanticleer himself lay sprawling on his back,\nin a side dish, with uplifted claws, as if craving that quarter which\nhis chivalrous spirit disdained to ask while living.\n\nAs the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this, and as he rolled his great\ngreen eyes over the fat meadow lands, the rich fields of wheat, of rye,\nof buckwheat, and Indian corn, and the orchards burdened with ruddy\nfruit, which surrounded the warm tenement of Van Tassel, his heart\nyearned after the damsel who was to inherit these domains, and his\nimagination expanded with the idea, how they might be readily turned\ninto cash, and the money invested in immense tracts of wild land, and\nshingle palaces in the wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy already realised\nhis hopes, and presented to him the blooming Katrina, with a whole\nfamily of children, mounted on the top of a wagon loaded with household\ntrumpery, with pots and kettles dangling beneath; and he beheld himself\nbestriding a pacing mare, with a colt at her heels, setting out for\nKentucky, Tennessee--or the Lord knows where!\n\nWhen he entered the house, the conquest of his heart was complete. It\nwas one, of those spacious farmhouses, with high ridged but lowly\nsloping roofs, built in the style handed down from the first Dutch\nsettlers; the low projecting eaves forming a piazza along the front,\ncapable of being closed up in bad weather. Under this were hung flails,\nharness, various utensils of husbandry, and nets for fishing in the\nneighbouring river. Benches were built along the sides for summer use;\nand a great spinning-wheel at one end, and a churn at the other, showed\nthe various uses to which this important porch might be devoted. From\nthis piazza the wondering Ichabod entered the hall, which formed the\ncentre of the mansion, and the place of usual residence. Here rows of\nresplendent pewter, ranged on a long dresser, dazzled his eyes. In one\ncorner stood a huge bag of wool, ready to be spun; in another, a\nquantity of linsey-woolsey just from the loom; ears of Indian corn, and\nstrings of dried apples and peaches, hung in gay festoons along the\nwalls, mingled with the gaud of red peppers; and a door left ajar gave\nhim a peep into the best parlour, where the claw footed chairs and dark\nmahogany tables shone like mirrors; andirons, with their accompanying\nshovel and tongs, glistened from their covert of asparagus tops;\nmock-oranges and conch-shells decorated the mantle-piece; strings of\nvarious coloured birds' eggs were suspended above it; a great ostrich\negg was hung from the centre of the room, and a corner cupboard,\nknowingly left open, displayed immense treasures of old silver and well\nmended china.\n\nFrom the moment Ichabod laid his eyes upon these regions of delight, the\npeace of his mind was at an end, and his only study was how to gain the\naffections of the peerless daughter of Van Tassel. In this enterprise,\nhowever, he had more real difficulties than generally fell to the lot of\na knight-errant of yore, who seldom had anything but giants, enchanters,\nfiery dragons, and such like easily conquered adversaries, to contend\nwith, and had to make his way merely through gates of iron and brass,\nand walls of adamant to the castle keep, where the lady of his heart was\nconfined; all which he achieved as easily as a man would carve his way\nto the centre of a Christmas pie; and then the lady gave him her hand as\na matter of course. Ichabod, on the contrary, had to win his way to the\nheart of a country coquette, beset with a labyrinth of whims and\ncaprices, which were forever presenting new difficulties and\nimpediments; and he had to encounter a host of fearful adversaries of\nreal flesh and blood, the numerous rustic admirers, who beset every\nportal to her heart, keeping a watchful and angry eye upon each other,\nbut ready to fly out in the common cause against any new competitor.\n\nAmong these, the most formidable was a burly, roaring, roystering blade,\nof the name of Abraham, or, according to the Dutch abbreviation, Brom\nVan Brunt, the hero of the country round, which rang with his feats of\nstrength and hardihood. He was broad-shouldered and double-jointed, with\nshort curly black hair, and a bluff but not unpleasant countenance,\nhaving a mingled air of fun and arrogance. From his Herculean frame and\ngreat powers of limb, he had received the nickname of Brom Bones, by\nwhich he was universally known. He was famed for great knowledge and\nskill in horsemanship, being as dexterous on horseback as a Tartar. He\nwas foremost at all races and cock-fights; and, with the ascendancy\nwhich bodily strength always acquires in rustic life, was the umpire in\nall disputes, setting his hat on one side, and giving his decisions with\nan air and tone that admitted of no gainsay or appeal. He was always\nready for either a fight or a frolic; but had more mischief than\nill-will in his composition; and with all his overbearing roughness,\nthere was a strong clash of waggish good humour at bottom. He had three\nor four boon companions, who regarded him as their model, and at the\nhead of whom he scoured the country, attending every scene of feud or\nmerriment for miles round. In cold weather he was distinguished by a fur\ncap, surmounted with a flaunting fox's tail; and when the folks at a\ncountry gathering descried this well-known crest at a distance, whisking\nabout among a squad of hard riders, they always stood by for a squall.\nSometimes his crew would be heard dashing along past the farmhouses at\nmidnight, with whoop and halloo, like a troop of Don Cossacks; and the\nold dames, startled out of their sleep, would listen for a moment till\nthe hurry-scurry had clattered by, and then exclaim, \"Ay, there goes\nBrom Bones and his gang!\" The neighbours looked upon him with a mixture\nof awe, admiration, and good-will; and, when any madcap prank or rustic\nbrawl occurred in the vicinity, always shook their heads, and warranted\nBrom Bones was at the bottom of it.\n\nThis rantipole hero had for some time singled out the blooming Katrina\nfor the object of his uncouth gallantries, and though his amorous\ntoyings were something like the gentle caresses and endearments of a\nbear, yet it was whispered that she did not altogether discourage his\nhopes. Certain it is, his advances were signals for rival candidates to\nretire, who felt no inclination to cross a lion in his amours; insomuch,\nthat when his horse was seen tied to Van Tassel's paling, on a Sunday\nnight, a sure sign that his master was courting, or, as it is termed,\n\"sparking,\" within, all other suitors passed by in despair, and carried\nthe war into other quarters.\n\nSuch was the formidable rival with whom Ichabod Crane had to contend,\nand, considering all things, a stouter man than he would have shrunk\nfrom the competition, and a wiser man would have despaired. He had,\nhowever, a happy mixture of pliability and perseverance in his nature;\nhe was in form and spirit like a supple-jack--yielding, but tough;\nthough he bent, he never broke; and though he bowed beneath the\nslightest pressure, yet, the moment it was away--jerk!--he was as erect,\nand carried his head as high as ever.\n\nTo have taken the field openly against his rival would have been\nmadness; for he was not a man to be thwarted in his amours, any more\nthan that stormy lover, Achilles. Ichabod, therefore, made his advances\nin a quiet and gently insinuating manner. Under cover of his character\nof singing-master, he made frequent visits at the farmhouse; not that he\nhad anything to apprehend from the meddlesome interference of parents,\nwhich is so often a stumbling block in the path of lovers. Balt Van\nTassel was an easy, indulgent soul; he loved his daughter better even\nthan his pipe, and, like a reasonable man and an excellent father, let\nher have her way in everything. His notable little wife, too, had enough\nto do to attend to her housekeeping and manage her poultry; for, as she\nsagely observed, ducks and geese are foolish things, and must be looked\nafter, but girls can take care of themselves. Thus, while the busy dame\nbustled about the house, or plied her spinning-wheel at one end of the\npiazza, honest Balt would sit smoking his evening pipe at the other,\nwatching the achievements of a little wooden warrior, who, armed with a\nsword in each hand, was most valiantly fighting the wind on the pinnacle\nof the barn. In the meantime, Ichabod would carry on his suit with the\ndaughter by the side of the spring under the great elm, or sauntering\nalong in the twilight, that hour so favourable to the lover's eloquence.\n\nI profess not to know how women's hearts are wooed and won. To me they\nhave always been matters of riddle and admiration. Some seem to have but\none vulnerable point, or door of access; while others have a thousand\navenues, and may be captured in a thousand different ways. It is a great\ntriumph of skill to gain the former, but a still greater proof of\ngeneralship to maintain possession of the latter, for a man must battle\nfor his fortress at every door and window. He who wins a thousand common\nhearts is therefore entitled to some renown; but he who keeps undisputed\nsway over the heart of a coquette is indeed a hero. Certain it is, this\nwas not the case with the redoubtable Brom Bones; and from the moment\nIchabod Crane made his advances, the interests of the former evidently\ndeclined: his horse was no longer seen tied to the palings on Sunday\nnights, and a deadly feud gradually arose between him and the preceptor\nof Sleepy Hollow.\n\nBrom, who had a degree of rough chivalry in his nature, would fain have\ncarried matters to open warfare and have settled their pretensions to\nthe lady, according to the mode of those most concise and simple\nreasoners, the knights-errant of yore--by single combat; but Ichabod was\ntoo conscious of the superior might of his adversary to enter the lists\nagainst him; he had overheard a boast of Bones, that he would \"double\nthe schoolmaster up, and lay him on a shelf of his own schoolhouse\"; and\nhe was too wary to give him an opportunity. There was something\nextremely provoking in this obstinately pacific system; it left Brom no\nalternative but to draw upon the funds of rustic waggery in his\ndisposition, and to play off boorish practical jokes upon his rival.\nIchabod became the object of whimsical persecution to Bones and his gang\nof rough riders. They harried his hitherto peaceful domains, smoked out\nhis singing-school by stopping up the chimney, broke into the\nschoolhouse at night, in spite of its formidable fastenings of withe and\nwindow stakes, and turned everything topsy-turvy, so that the poor\nschoolmaster began to think all the witches in the country held their\nmeetings there. But what was still more annoying, Brom took all\nopportunities of turning him into ridicule in presence of his mistress,\nand had a scoundrel dog whom he taught to whine in the most ludicrous\nmanner, and introduced as a rival of Ichabod's, to instruct her in\npsalmody.\n\nIn this way matters went on for some time, without producing any\nmaterial effect on the relative situations of the contending powers. On\na fine autumnal afternoon, Ichabod, in pensive mood, sat enthroned on\nthe lofty stool from whence he usually watched all the concerns of his\nlittle literary realm. In his hand he swayed a ferule, that sceptre of\ndespotic power; the birch of justice reposed on three nails behind the\nthrone, a constant terror to evil doers; while on the desk before him\nmight be seen sundry contraband articles and prohibited weapons detected\nupon the persons of idle urchins, such as half-munched apples, popguns,\nwhirligigs, fly-cages, and whole legions of rampant little paper\ngame-cocks. Apparently there had been some appalling act of justice\nrecently inflicted, for his scholars were all busily intent upon their\nbooks, or slyly whispering behind them with one eye kept upon the\nmaster; and a kind of buzzing stillness reigned throughout the\nschoolroom. It was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a negro in\ntow-cloth jacket and trousers, a round-crowned fragment of a hat, like\nthe cap of Mercury, and mounted on the back of a ragged, wild,\nhalf-broken colt, which he managed with a rope by way of halter. He came\nclattering up to the school door with an invitation to Ichabod to attend\na merry-making or \"quilting-frolic,\" to be held that evening at Mynheer\nVan Tassel's; and having delivered his message with that air of\nimportance and effort at fine language which a negro is apt to display\non petty embassies of the kind, he dashed over the brook, and was seen\nscampering away up the Hollow, full of the importance and hurry of his\nmission.\n\nAll was now bustle and hubbub in the late quiet schoolroom. The scholars\nwere hurried through their lessons without stopping at trifles; those\nwho were nimble skipped over half with impunity, and those who were\ntardy had a smart application now and then in the rear, to quicken their\nspeed or help them over a tall word. Books were flung aside without\nbeing put away on the shelves, inkstands were overturned, benches thrown\ndown, and the whole school was turned loose an hour before the usual\ntime, bursting forth like a legion of young imps, yelping and racketing\nabout the green in joy at their early emancipation.\n\nThe gallant Ichabod now spent at least an extra half hour at his toilet,\nbrushing and furbishing up his best, and indeed only suit of rusty\nblack, and arranging his locks by a bit of broken looking-glass that\nhung up in the schoolhouse. That he might make his appearance before his\nmistress in the true style of a cavalier, he borrowed a horse from the\nfarmer with whom he was domiciliated, a choleric old Dutchman of the\nname of Hans Van Ripper, and, thus gallantly mounted, issued forth like\na knight-errant in quest of adventures. But it is meet I should, in the\ntrue spirit of romantic story, give some account of the looks and\nequipments of my hero and his steed. The animal he bestrode was a broken\ndown plow-horse, that had outlived almost everything but its\nviciousness. He was gaunt and shagged, with a ewe neck, and a head like\na hammer; his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with burs;\none eye had lost its pupil, and was glaring and spectral, but the other\nhad the gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still he must have had fire and\nmettle in his day, if we may judge from the name he bore of Gunpowder.\nHe had, in fact, been a favourite steed of his master's, the choleric\nVan Ripper, who was a furious rider, and had infused, very probably,\nsome of his own spirit into the animal; for, old and broken down as he\nlooked, there was more of the lurking devil in him than in any young\nfilly in the country.\n\nIchabod was a suitable figure for such a steed. He rode with short\nstirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to the pommel of the saddle;\nhis sharp elbows stuck out like grasshoppers'; he carried his whip\nperpendicularly in his hand, like a sceptre, and as his horse jogged on,\nthe motion of his arms was not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings. A\nsmall wool hat rested on the top of his nose, for so his scanty strip of\nforehead might be called, and the skirts of his black coat fluttered out\nalmost to the horse's tail. Such was the appearance of Ichabod and his\nsteed as they shambled out of the gate of Hans Van Ripper, and it was\naltogether such an apparition as is seldom to be met with in broad\ndaylight.\n\nIt was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day; the sky was clear and\nserene, and nature wore that rich and golden livery which we always\nassociate with the idea of abundance. The forests had put on their sober\nbrown and yellow, while some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped\nby the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet.\nStreaming files of wild ducks began to make their appearance high in the\nair; the bark of the squirrel might be heard from the groves of beech\nand hickory nuts, and the pensive whistle of the quail at intervals from\nthe neighbouring stubble field.\n\nThe small birds were taking their farewell banquets. In the fullness of\ntheir revelry, they fluttered, chirping and frolicking from bush to\nbush, and tree to tree, capricious from the very profusion and variety\naround them. There was the honest cockrobin, the favourite game of\nstripling sportsmen, with its loud querulous note; and the twittering\nblackbirds flying in sable clouds; and the golden-winged woodpecker,\nwith his crimson crest, his broad black gorget, and splendid plumage;\nand the cedar-bird, with its red-tipt wings and yellow-tipt tail and its\nlittle monteiro cap of feathers; and the blue jay, that noisy coxcomb,\nin his gay light blue coat and white underclothes, screaming and\nchattering, nodding and bobbing and bowing, and pretending to be on good\nterms with every songster of the grove.\n\nAs Ichabod jogged slowly on his way, his eye, ever open to every symptom\nof culinary abundance, ranged with delight over the treasures of jolly\nautumn. On all sides he beheld vast store of apples: some hanging in\noppressive opulence on the trees; some gathered into baskets and barrels\nfor the market; others heaped up in rich piles for the cider-press.\nFarther on he beheld great fields of Indian corn, with its golden ears\npeeping from their leafy coverts, and holding out the promise of cakes\nand hasty-pudding; and the yellow pumpkins lying beneath them, turning\nup their fair round bellies to the sun, and giving ample prospects of\nthe most luxurious of pies; and anon he passed the fragrant buckwheat\nfields breathing the odour of the beehive, and as he beheld them, soft\nanticipations stole over his mind of dainty slap-jacks, well buttered,\nand garnished with honey or treacle, by the delicate little dimpled hand\nof Katrina Van Tassel.\n\nThus feeding his mind with many sweet thoughts and \"sugared\nsuppositions,\" he journeyed along the sides of a range of hills which\nlook out upon some of the goodliest scenes of the mighty Hudson. The sun\ngradually wheeled his broad disk down in the west. The wide bosom of the\nTappen Zee lay motionless and glassy, excepting that here and there a\ngentle undulation waved and prolonged the blue shadow of the distant\nmountain. A few amber clouds floated in the sky, without a breath of air\nto move them. The horizon was of a fine golden tint, changing gradually\ninto a pure apple green, and from that into the deep blue of the\nmid-heaven. A slanting ray lingered on the woody crests of the\nprecipices that overhung some parts of the river, giving greater depth\nto the dark gray and purple of the rocky sides. A sloop was loitering in\nthe distance, dropping slowly down with the tide, her sail hanging\nuselessly against the mast; and as the reflection of the sky gleamed\nalong the still water, it seemed as if the vessel was suspended in the\nair.\n\nIt was toward evening that Ichabod arrived at the castle of the Heer Van\nTassel, which he found thronged with the pride and flower of the\nadjacent country. Old farmers, a spare leathern-faced race, in homespun\ncoats and breeches, blue stockings, huge shoes, and magnificent pewter\nbuckles. Their brisk, withered little dames, in close crimped caps, long\nwaisted short-gowns, homespun petticoats, with scissors and pincushions,\nand gay calico pockets hanging on the outside. Buxom lasses, almost as\nantiquated as their mothers, excepting where a straw hat, a fine ribbon,\nor perhaps a white frock, gave symptoms of city innovation. The sons, in\nshort square skirted coats, with rows of stupendous brass buttons, and\ntheir hair generally queued in the fashion of the times, especially if\nthey could procure an eelskin for the purpose, it being esteemed\nthroughout the country as a potent nourisher and strengthener of the\nhair.\n\nBrom Bones, however, was the hero of the scene, having come to the\ngathering on his favourite steed Daredevil, a creature, like himself,\nfull of mettle and mischief, and which no one but himself could manage.\nHe was, in fact, noted for preferring vicious animals, given to all\nkinds of tricks which kept the rider in constant risk of his neck, for\nhe held a tractable, well broken horse as unworthy of a lad of spirit.\n\nFain would I pause to dwell upon the world of charms that burst upon the\nenraptured gaze of my hero, as he entered the state parlour of Van\nTassel's mansion. Not those of the bevy of buxom lasses, with their\nluxurious display of red and white; but the ample charms of a genuine\nDutch country tea-table, in the sumptuous time of autumn. Such heaped-up\nplatters of cakes of various and almost indescribable kinds, known only\nto experienced Dutch housewives! There was the doughty doughnut, the\ntender olykoek, and the crisp and crumbling cruller; sweet cakes and\nshort cakes, ginger cakes and honey cakes, and the whole family of\ncakes. And then there were apple pies, and peach pies, and pumpkin pies;\nbesides slices of ham and smoked beef: and moreover delectable dishes of\npreserved plums, and peaches, and pears, and quinces; not to mention\nbroiled shad and roasted chickens; together with bowls of milk and\ncream, all mingled higgledy-piggledy, pretty much as I have enumerated\nthem, with the motherly teapot sending up its clouds of vapour from the\nmidst--Heaven bless the mark! I want breath and time to discuss this\nbanquet as it deserves, and am too eager to get on with my story.\nHappily, Ichabod Crane was not in so great a hurry as his historian, but\ndid ample justice to every dainty.\n\nHe was a kind and thankful creature, whose heart dilated in proportion\nas his skin was filled with good cheer, and whose spirits rose with\neating, as some men's do with drink. He could not help, too, rolling his\nlarge eyes round him as he ate, and chuckling with the possibility that\nhe might one day be lord of all this scene of almost unimaginable luxury\nand splendour. Then he, thought, how soon he'd turn his back upon the\nold school-house; snap his fingers in the face of Hans Van Ripper, and\nevery other niggardly patron, and kick any itinerant pedagogue out of\ndoors that should dare to call him comrade!\n\nOld Baltus Van Tassel moved about among his guests with a face dilated\nwith content and good humour, round and jolly as the harvest moon. His\nhospitable attentions were brief, but expressive, being confined to a\nshake of the hand, a slap on the shoulder, a loud laugh and a pressing\ninvitation to \"fall to, and help themselves.\"\n\nAnd now the sound of the music from the common room, or hall, summoned\nto the dance. The musician was an old gray-headed negro, who had been\nthe itinerant orchestra of the neighbourhood for more than half a\ncentury. His instrument was as old and battered as himself. The greater\npart of the time he scraped on two or three strings, accompanying every\nmovement of the bow with a motion of the head; bowing almost to the\nground, and stamping with his foot whenever a fresh couple were to\nstart.\n\nIchabod prided himself upon his dancing as much as upon his vocal\npowers. Not a limb, not a fibre about him was idle; and to have seen his\nloosely hung frame in full motion, and clattering about the room, you\nwould have thought St. Vitus himself, that blessed patron of the dance,\nwas figuring before you in person. He was the admiration of all the\nnegroes; who, having gathered, of all ages and sizes, from the farm and\nthe neighbourhood, stood forming a pyramid of shining black faces at\nevery door and window; gazing with delight at the scene; rolling their\nwhite eye-balls, and showing grinning rows of ivory from ear to ear. How\ncould the flogger of urchins be otherwise than animated and joyous? the\nlady of his heart was his partner in the dance, and smiling graciously\nin reply to all his amorous oglings; while Brom Bones, sorely smitten\nwith love and jealousy, sat brooding by himself in one corner.\n\nWhen the dance was at an end, Ichabod was attracted to a knot of the\nsager folks, who, with Old Van Tassel, sat smoking at one end of the\npiazza, gossiping over former times, and drawing out long stories about\nthe war.\n\nThis neighbourhood, at the time of which I am speaking, was one of those\nhighly favoured places which abound with chronicle and great men. The\nBritish and American line had run near it during the war; it had,\ntherefore, been the scene of marauding, and infested with refugees,\ncow-boys, and all kinds of border chivalry. Just sufficient time had\nelapsed to enable each story-teller to dress up his tale with a little\nbecoming fiction, and, in the indistinctness of his recollection, to\nmake himself the hero of every exploit.\n\nThere was the story of Doffue Martling, a large blue-bearded Dutchman,\nwho had nearly taken a British frigate with an old iron nine-pounder\nfrom a mud breast work, only that his gun burst at the sixth discharge.\nAnd there was an old gentleman who shall be nameless, being too rich a\nmynheer to be lightly mentioned, who, in the battle of White Plains,\nbeing an excellent master of defence, parried a musket-ball with a\nsmall-sword, insomuch that he absolutely felt it whiz round the blade,\nand glance off at the hilt; in proof of which he was ready at any time\nto show the sword, with the hilt a little bent. There were several more\nthat had been equally great in the field, not one of whom but was\npersuaded that he had a considerable hand in bringing the war to a happy\ntermination.\n\nBut all these were nothing to the tales of ghosts and apparitions that\nsucceeded. The neighbourhood is rich in legendary treasures of the kind.\nLocal tales and superstitions thrive best in these sheltered,\nlong-settled retreats; but are trampled under foot by the shifting\nthrong that forms the population of most of our country places. Besides,\nthere is no encouragement for ghosts in most of our villages, for they\nhave scarcely had time to finish their first nap and turn themselves in\ntheir graves, before their surviving friends have travelled away from\nthe neighbourhood; so that when they turn out at night to walk their\nrounds, they have no acquaintance left to call upon. This is perhaps the\nreason why we so seldom hear of ghosts except in our long established\nDutch communities.\n\nThe immediate cause, however, of the prevalence of supernatural stories\nin these parts, was doubtless owing to the vicinity of Sleepy Hollow.\nThere was a contagion in the very air that blew from that haunted\nregion; it breathed forth an atmosphere of dreams and fancies infecting\nall the land. Several of the Sleepy Hollow people were present at Van\nTassel's, and, as usual, were doling out their wild and wonderful\nlegends. Many dismal tales were told about funeral trains, and mourning\ncries and wailings heard and seen about the great tree where the\nunfortunate Major Andre was taken, and which stood in the neighbourhood.\nSome mention was made also of the woman in white, that haunted the dark\nglen at Raven Rock, and was often heard to shriek on winter nights\nbefore a storm, having perished there in the snow. The chief part of the\nstories, however, turned upon the favourite spectre of Sleepy Hollow,\nthe Headless Horseman, who had been heard several times of late,\npatrolling the country; and, it was said, tethered his horse nightly\namong the graves in the churchyard.\n\nThe sequestered situation of the church seems always to have made it a\nfavourite haunt of troubled spirits. It stands on a knoll, surrounded by\nlocust trees and lofty elms from among which its decent, whitewashed\nwalls shine modestly forth, like Christian purity beaming through the\nshades of retirement. A gentle slope descends from it to a silver sheet\nof water, bordered by high trees, between which, peeps may be caught at\nthe blue hills of the Hudson. To look upon its grass-grown yard, where\nthe sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one would think that there at\nleast the dead might rest in peace. On one side of the church extends a\nwide woody dell, along which raves a large brook among broken rocks and\ntrunks of fallen trees. Over a deep black part of the stream, not far\nfrom the church, was formerly thrown a wooden bridge; the road that led\nto it, and the bridge itself, were thickly shaded by overhanging trees,\nwhich cast a gloom about it, even in the daytime; but occasioned a\nfearful darkness at night. Such was one of the favourite haunts of the\nHeadless Horseman, and the place where he was most frequently\nencountered. The tale was told of old Brouwer, a most heretical\ndisbeliever in ghosts, how he met the Horseman returning from his foray\ninto Sleepy Hollow, and was obliged to get up behind him; how they\ngalloped over bush and brake, over hill and swamp, until they reached\nthe bridge; when the Horseman suddenly turned into a skeleton, threw old\nBrouwer into the brook, and sprang away over the tree-tops with a clap\nof thunder.\n\nThis story was immediately matched by a thrice marvellous adventure of\nBrom Bones, who made light of the Galloping Hessian as an arrant jockey.\nHe affirmed that on returning one night from the neighbouring village of\nSing Sing, he had been overtaken by this midnight trooper; that the had\noffered to race with him for a bowl of punch, and should have won it\ntoo, for Daredevil beat the goblin horse all hollow, but just as they\ncame to the church bridge, the Hessian bolted, and vanished in a flash\nof fire.\n\nAll these tales, told in that drowsy undertone with which men talk in\nthe dark, the countenances of the listeners only now and then receiving\na casual gleam from the glare of a pipe, sank deep in the mind of\nIchabod. He repaid them in kind with large extracts from his invaluable\nauthor, Cotton Mather, and added many marvellous events that had taken\nplace in his native state of Connecticut, and fearful sights which he\nhad seen in his nightly walks about Sleepy Hollow.\n\nThe revel now gradually broke up. The old farmers gathered together\ntheir families in their wagons, and were heard for some time rattling\nalong the hollow roads, and over the distant hills. Some of the damsels\nmounted on pillions behind their favourite swains, and their\nlight-hearted laughter, mingling with the clatter of hoofs, echoed along\nthe silent woodlands, sounding fainter and fainter, until they gradually\ndied away--and the late scene of noise and frolic was all silent and\ndeserted. Ichabod only lingered behind, according to the custom of\ncountry lovers, to have a tete-a-tete with the heiress; fully convinced\nthat he was now on the high road to success. What passed at this\ninterview I will not pretend to say, for in fact I do not know.\nSomething, however, I fear me, must have gone wrong, for he certainly\nsallied forth, after no very great interval, with an air quite desolate\nand chapfallen. Oh, these women! these women! Could that girl have been\nplaying off any of her coquettish tricks? Was her encouragement of the\npoor pedagogue all a mere sham to secure her conquest of his rival?\nHeaven only knows, not I! Let it suffice to say, Ichabod stole forth\nwith the air of one who had been sacking a henroost, rather than a fair\nlady's heart. Without looking to the right or left to notice the scene\nof rural wealth, on which he had so often gloated, he went straight to\nthe stable, and with several hearty cuffs and kicks roused his steed\nmost uncourteously from the comfortable quarters in which he was soundly\nsleeping, dreaming of mountains of corn and oats, and whole valleys of\ntimothy and clover.\n\nIt was the very witching time of night that Ichabod, heavy-hearted and\ncrest-fallen, pursued his travels homewards, along the sides of the\nlofty hills which rise above Tarry Town, and which he had traversed so\ncheerily in the afternoon. The hour was as dismal as himself. Far below\nhim the Tappen Zee spread its dusky and indistinct waste of waters, with\nhere and there the tall mast of a sloop, riding quietly at anchor under\nthe land. In the dead hush of midnight, he could even hear the barking\nof the watchdog from the opposite shore of the Hudson; but it was so\nvague and faint as only to give an idea of his distance from this\nfaithful companion of man. Now and then, too, the long-drawn crowing of\na cock, accidentally awakened, would sound far, far off, from some\nfarmhouse away among the hills--but it was like a dreaming sound in his\near. No signs of life occurred near him, but occasionally the melancholy\nchirp of a cricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of a bull-frog from a\nneighbouring marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably and turning suddenly in\nhis bed.\n\nAll the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard in the afternoon\nnow came crowding upon his recollection. The night grew darker and\ndarker; the stars seemed to sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds\noccasionally hid them from his sight. He had never felt so lonely and\ndismal. He was, moreover, approaching the very place where many of the\nscenes of the ghost stories had been laid. In the centre of the road\nstood an enormous tulip-tree, which towered like a giant above all the\nother trees of the neighbourhood, and formed a kind of landmark. Its\nlimbs were gnarled and fantastic, large enough to form trunks for\nordinary trees, twisting down almost to the earth, and rising again into\nthe air. It was connected with the tragical story of the unfortunate\nAndre, who had been taken prisoner hard by, and was universally known by\nthe name of Major Andre's tree. The common people regarded it with a\nmixture of respect and superstition, partly out of sympathy for the fate\nof its ill-starred namesake, and partly from the tales of strange\nsights, and doleful lamentations, told concerning it.\n\nAs Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to whistle; he thought\nhis whistle was answered; it was but a blast sweeping sharply through\nthe dry branches. As he approached a little nearer, he thought he saw\nsomething white, hanging in the midst of the tree: he paused, and ceased\nwhistling; but, on looking more narrowly, perceived that it was a place\nwhere the tree had been scathed by lightning, and the white wood laid\nbare. Suddenly he heard a groan--his teeth chattered, and his knees\nsmote against the saddle: it was but the rubbing of one huge bough upon\nanother, as they were swayed about by the breeze. He passed the tree in\nsafety, but new perils lay before him.\n\nAbout two hundred yards from the tree, a small brook crossed the road,\nand ran into a marshy and thickly-wooded glen, known by the name of\nWiley's Swamp. A few rough logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge\nover this stream. On that side of the road where the brook entered the\nwood, a group of oaks and chestnuts, matted thick with wild grape-vines,\nthrew a cavernous gloom over it. To pass this bridge was the severest\ntrial. It was at this identical spot that the unfortunate Andre was\ncaptured, and under the covert of those chestnuts and vines were the\nsturdy yeomen concealed who surprised him. This has ever since been\nconsidered a haunted stream, and fearful are the feelings of the\nschoolboy who has to pass it alone after dark.\n\nAs he approached the stream, his heart began to thump; he summoned up,\nhowever, all his resolution, gave his horse half a score of kicks in the\nribs, and attempted to dash briskly across the bridge; but instead of\nstarting forward, the perverse old animal made a lateral movement, and\nran broadside against the fence. Ichabod, whose fears increased with the\ndelay, jerked the reins on the other side, and kicked lustily with the\ncontrary foot: it was all in vain; his steed started, it is true, but it\nwas only to plunge to the opposite side of the road into a thicket of\nbrambles and alder-bushes. The schoolmaster now bestowed both whip and\nheel upon the starveling ribs of old Gunpowder, who dashed forward,\nsnuffling and snorting, but came to a stand just by the bridge, with a\nsuddenness that had nearly sent his rider sprawling over his head. Just\nat this moment a plashy tramp by the side of the bridge caught the\nsensitive ear of Ichabod. In the dark shadow of the grove, on the margin\nof the brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen, and towering. It\nstirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom, like some gigantic\nmonster ready to spring upon the traveller.\n\nThe hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head with terror.\nWhat was to be done? To turn and fly was now too late; and besides, what\nchance was there of escaping ghost or goblin, if such it was, which\ncould ride upon the wings of the wind? Summoning up, therefore, a show\nof courage, he demanded in stammering accents, \"Who are you?\" He\nreceived no reply. He repeated his demand in a still more agitated\nvoice. Still there was no answer. Once more he cudgelled the sides of\nthe inflexible Gunpowder, and, shutting his eyes, broke forth with\ninvoluntary fervour into a psalm tune. Just then the shadowy object of\nalarm put itself in motion, and with a scramble and a bound stood at\nonce in the middle of the road. Though the night was dark and dismal,\nyet the form of the unknown might now in some degree be ascertained. He\nappeared to be a horseman of large dimensions, and mounted on a black\nhorse of powerful frame. He made no offer of molestation or sociability,\nbut kept aloof on one side of the road, jogging along on the blind side\nof old Gunpowder, who had now got over his fright and waywardness.\n\nIchabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight companion, and\nbethought himself of the adventure of Brom Bones with the Galloping\nHessian, now quickened his steed in hopes of leaving him behind. The\nstranger, however, quickened his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod pulled\nup, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind--the other did the\nsame. His heart began to sink within him; he endeavoured to resume his\npsalm tune, but his parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and\nhe could not utter a stave. There was something in the moody and dogged\nsilence of this pertinacious companion that was mysterious and\nappalling. It was soon fearfully accounted for. On mounting a rising\nground, which brought the figure of his fellow-traveller in relief\nagainst the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod was\nhorror-struck on perceiving that he was headless! but his horror was\nstill more increased on observing that the head, which should have\nrested on his shoulders, was carried before him on the pommel of his\nsaddle! His terror rose to desperation; he rained a shower of kicks and\nblows upon Gunpowder, hoping by a sudden movement to give his companion\nthe slip; but the spectre started full jump with him. Away, then, they\ndashed through thick and thin; stones flying and sparks flashing at\nevery bound. Ichabod's flimsy garments fluttered in the air, as he\nstretched his long lank body away over his horse's head, in the\neagerness of his flight.\n\nThey had now reached the road which turns off to Sleepy Hollow; but\nGunpowder, who seemed possessed with a demon, instead of keeping up it,\nmade an opposite turn, and plunged headlong down hill to the left. This\nroad leads through a sandy hollow, shaded by trees for about a quarter\nof a mile, where it crosses the bridge famous in goblin story; and just\nbeyond swells the green knoll on which stands the whitewashed church.\n\nAs yet the panic of the steed had given his unskilful rider an apparent\nadvantage in the chase; but just as he had got half way through the\nhollow, the girths of the saddle gave way, and he felt it slipping from\nunder him. He seized it by the pommel, and endeavoured to hold it firm,\nbut in vain; and had just time to save himself by clasping old Gunpowder\nround the neck, when the saddle fell to the earth, and he heard it\ntrampled under foot by his pursuer. For a moment the terror of Hans Van\nRipper's wrath passed across his mind--for it was his Sunday saddle; but\nthis was no time for petty fears; the goblin was hard on his haunches;\nand (unskilful rider that he was!) he had much ado to maintain his seat;\nsometimes slipping on one side, sometimes on another, and sometimes\njolted on the high ridge of his horse's backbone, with a violence that\nhe verily feared would cleave him asunder.\n\nAn opening in the trees now cheered him with the hopes that the church\nbridge was at hand. The wavering reflection of a silver star in the\nbosom of the brook told him that he was not mistaken. He saw the walls\nof the church dimly glaring under the trees beyond. He recollected the\nplace where Brom Bones's ghostly competitor had disappeared. \"If I can\nbut reach that bridge,\" thought Ichabod, \"I am safe.\" Just then he heard\nthe black steed panting and blowing close behind him; he even fancied\nthat he felt his hot breath. Another convulsive kick in the ribs, and\nold Gunpowder sprang upon the bridge; he thundered over the resounding\nplanks; he gained the opposite side; and now Ichabod cast a look behind\nto see if his pursuer should vanish, according to rule, in a flash of\nfire and brimstone. Just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups,\nand in the very act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavoured to\ndodge the horrible missile, but too late. It encountered his cranium\nwith a tremendous crash--he was tumbled headlong into the dust, and\nGunpowder, the black steed, and the goblin rider, passed by like a\nwhirlwind.\n\nThe next morning the old horse was found without his saddle, and with\nthe bridle under his feet, soberly cropping the grass at his master's\ngate. Ichabod did not make his appearance at breakfast; dinner-hour\ncame, but no Ichabod. The boys assembled at the schoolhouse, and\nstrolled idly about the banks of the brook; but no schoolmaster. Hans\nVan Ripper now began to feel some uneasiness about the fate of poor\nIchabod, and his saddle. An inquiry was set on foot, and after diligent\ninvestigation they came upon his traces. In one part of the road leading\nto the church was found the saddle trampled in the dirt; the tracks of\nhorses' hoofs deeply dented in the road, and evidently at furious speed,\nwere traced to the bridge, beyond which, on the dank of a broad part of\nthe brook, where the water ran deep and black, was found the hat of the\nunfortunate Ichabod, and close beside it a shattered pumpkin.\n\nThe brook was searched, but the body of the schoolmaster was not to be\ndiscovered. Hans Van Ripper, as executor of his estate, examined the\nbundle which contained all his worldly effects. They consisted of two\nshirts and a half; two stocks for the neck; a pair or two of worsted\nstockings; an old pair of corduroy small-clothes; a rusty razor; a book\nof psalm tunes full of dog's-ears; and a broken pitch-pipe. As to the\nbooks and furniture of the schoolhouse, they belonged to the community,\nexcepting Cotton Mather's History of Witchcraft, a New England Almanac,\nand a book of dreams and fortune-telling; in which last was a sheet of\nfoolscap much scribbled and blotted in several fruitless attempts to\nmake a copy of verses in honour of the heiress of Van Tassel. These\nmagic books and the poetic scrawl were forthwith consigned to the flames\nby Hans Van Ripper; who, from that time forward, determined to send his\nchildren no more to school; observing that he never knew any good come\nof this same reading and writing. Whatever money the schoolmaster\npossessed, and he had received his quarter's pay but a day or two\nbefore, he must have had about his person at the time of his\ndisappearance.\n\nThe mysterious event caused much speculation at the church on the\nfollowing Sunday. Knots of gazers and gossips were collected in the\nchurchyard, at the bridge, and at the spot where the hat and pumpkin had\nbeen found. The stories of Brouwer, of Bones, and a whole budget of\nothers were called to mind; and when they had diligently considered them\nall, and compared them with the symptoms of the present case, they shook\ntheir heads, and came to the conclusion that Ichabod had been carried\noff by the Galloping Hessian. As he was a bachelor, and in nobody's\ndebt, nobody troubled his head any more about him; the school was\nremoved to a different quarter of the Hollow, and another pedagogue\nreigned in his stead.\n\nIt is true, an old farmer, who had been down to New York on a visit\nseveral years after, and from whom this account of the ghostly adventure\nwas received, brought home the intelligence that Ichabod Crane was still\nalive; that he had left the neighbourhood partly through fear of the\ngoblin and Hans Van Ripper, and partly in mortification at having been\nsuddenly dismissed by the heiress; that he had changed his quarters to a\ndistant part of the country; had kept school and studied law at the same\ntime; had been admitted to the bar; turned politician; electioneered;\nwritten for the newspapers; and finally had been made a justice of the\nten pound court. Brom Bones, too, who, shortly after his rival's\ndisappearance conducted the blooming Katrina in triumph to the altar,\nwas observed to look exceedingly knowing whenever the story of Ichabod\nwas related, and always burst into a hearty laugh at the mention of the\npumpkin; which led some to suspect that he knew more about the matter\nthan he chose to tell.\n\nThe old country wives, however, who are the best judges of these\nmatters, maintain to this day that Ichabod was spirited away by\nsupernatural means; and it is a favourite story often told about the\nneighbourhood round the winter evening fire. The bridge became more than\never an object of superstitious awe; and that may be the reason why the\nroad has been altered of late years, so as to approach the church by the\nborder of the mill-pond. The schoolhouse being deserted soon fell to\ndecay, and was reported to be haunted by the ghost of the unfortunate\npedagogue; and the plough-boy, loitering homeward of a still summer\nevening, has often fancied his voice at a distance, chanting a\nmelancholy psalm tune among the tranquil solitudes of Sleepy Hollow.","title":"Legends That Every Child Should Know; a Selection of the Great Legends of All Times for Young People","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":76339}