Thursday's Serial: "The Pentamerone, or the Story of Stories, Fun For The Little Ones” by Giambattista Basile. (tanslated into English by John Edward Taylor) - VI

 

THIRD DAY.

 

Ere all the Shades, imprisoned by the tribunal of Night, were liberated by the visit of the Sun, the Prince and his wife, together with the women, returned to the customary spot, to pass pleasantly the hours from morning until dinner-time. Then they summoned the musicians, and began to dance with great delight the 'Roggiero,' 'Villanella,' 'The story of the Ogre,' 'Sfessania,' 'The countryman thrashed,' 'The whole day long with that Dove,' 'Blue-bottle Fly,' 'Nymphs' Dance,' 'The Gipsy,' 'The Coquette,' 'My bright Star,' 'My sweet amorous flame,' 'She whom I seek,' 'The pretty girl and the pretty little girl,' 'Up and down,' 'The Chiaranzana,' 'Take care of him who enamours me,' 'The clouds that skim through the air,' 'The Devil in a shirt,' 'To live upon hope,' 'Change hands,' 'The Cascarda,'[1] 'Spagnoletta,' concluding the dances with Lucia Canazza, to amuse the Slave. Thus the time ran swiftly away, and ere they were aware the dinner-hour had arrived, when there appeared all the good things under heaven, which may perhaps be eaten still. And when the tables were removed, Zeza, who was on thorns of impatience to tell her story, began in the following manner.

 

1.       'The Cascade.' Probably some dance in which the couples advance and "cast off,"—as in "Sir Roger de Coverly." Some of these dances are perhaps named from the first line of songs, to the tune of which they were danced. See Notes at the end of this volume.

 

 

CANNETELLA.

It is an evil thing, my Lord, to seek for better than wheaten bread; for a man comes at last to desire what others throw away, and must content himself with honesty. He who loses all, and walks on the tops of the trees, has as much madness in his head as danger under his feet; as was the case with the daughter of a king, who is the subject of the story I have now to tell you.

There was once on a time a king of High-Hill, who longed for children more than the porters do for a funeral, that they may gather wax[1]; insomuch that he made a vow to the goddess Syrinx, that if she would cause him to have a daughter, he would name her Cannetella, to commemorate her having been turned into a reed[2]. And he prayed and prayed, until at length he found favour, and his wife Renzolla presented him with a little girl, to whom he gave the name he had promised.

The child grew by palms, and when she was as tall as a pole, the king said to her, "My daughter, you are now grown (Heaven bless you!) as large as an oak, and it is full time to provide you with a husband worthy of that pretty face. Since therefore I love you as my own life, and desire to please you, tell me I pray what sort of a husband you would like, what kind of a man would suit your fancy? Will you have him a scholar or a dunce? a boy, or a man in years? brown, or fair and ruddy? tall as a maypole, or short as a spigot? small in the waist, or round as an ox? Do you choose, and I am satisfied."

Cannetella, hearing these lavish offers, thanked her father, but told him that she would on no account encumber herself with a husband. However, being urged by the king again and again, she said, "Not to show myself ungrateful for so much love, I am willing to comply with your wish, provided I have such a man as that he has no like in the world."

Her father, delighted beyond measure at hearing this, took his station at the window from morning till evening, looking out and surveying, measuring and examining every one that passed along the street. And one day seeing a good-looking man go by, the king said to his daughter, "Run, look out, Cannetella! and see if yon man comes up to the measure of your wishes." Then she desired him to be brought up, and they made a most splendid banquet for him, at which there was everything he could desire. And as they were feasting away, an almond fell out of the youth's mouth, whereupon stooping down, he picked it up dextrously from the ground and put it under the cloth; and when they had done eating, he went away. Then the king said to Cannetella, "Well, my life, how does this youth please you?"—"Take the fellow away!" said she; "a man so tall and so big as he should never have let an almond drop out of his mouth."

When the king heard this he returned to his place at the window, and presently seeing another well-shaped youth pass by, he called his daughter, to hear whether this one pleased her. Then Cannetella desired him to be shown up; so he was called, and another entertainment was made. And when they had done eating, and the man had gone away, the king asked his daughter whether he had pleased her; whereupon she replied, "What in the world should I do with such a miserable fellow, who wants at least to have a couple of servants with him to take off his cloak?"

"If that be the case," said the king, "it is plain that these are merely the excuses of a bad paymaster, and you are only looking for pretexts to refuse me this pleasure. So resolve quickly, for I am determined to have you married." To these angry words Cannetella replied, "To tell you the truth plainly[3], papa, and as I really feel, you are digging in the sea and making a wrong reckoning on your fingers; for I never will subject myself to any man living who has not a golden head and teeth." The poor king, seeing his daughter's head thus turned, issued a proclamation, bidding any one in his kingdom who should answer to Cannetella's wishes to appear, and he would give him his daughter and the kingdom.

Now this king had a mortal enemy named Fioravante, whom he could not bear to see so much as even painted on a wall, who, when he heard of this proclamation, being a cunning magician, called a parcel of that evil brood to him, and commanded them forthwith to make his head and teeth of gold. So they did as he desired; and when he saw himself with a head and teeth of pure gold[4], he walked past under the window of the king, who when he saw the very man he was looking for, called his daughter: and as soon as Cannetella set eyes upon him, she cried out, "Ay, that is he! he could not be better if I had kneaded him with my own hands."

When Fioravante was getting up to go away, the king said to him, "Wait a little, brother,—why in such a hurry? one would think you had a pledge in the hands of a Jew, or quicksilver in your body, or a branch of furze tied behind you. Fair and softly! I will give you my daughter, and baggage and servants to accompany you, for I wish her to be your wife."

"I thank you," said Fioravante, "but there is no necessity: a single horse is enough, if the beast will carry double; for at home I have servants and goods as numerous as the sands on the seashore." So after arguing awhile, Fioravante at last prevailed, and placing Cannetella behind him on a horse he set out.

In the evening, when the red horses are taken away from the corn-mill of the sky, and the white oxen are yoked in their place, they came to a stable where some horses were feeding; and leading Cannetella into it, Fioravante said to her, "Listen! I have to make a journey to my own house, and it will take me seven years to get there. Mind therefore and wait for me in this stable, and do not stir out, nor let yourself be seen by any living person, or else I will make you remember it as long as you live." Cannetella replied, "You are my lord and master, and I will perform your command to a tittle; but I should like merely to know what you will leave me to live upon in the meantime." And Fioravante answered, "What the horses leave of their corn will be enough for you."

Only conceive how poor Cannetella now felt, and guess whether she did not curse the hour and the moment when she was born! cold and frozen, she made up with her tears what she wanted in food, cursing her fate and abusing the stars, which had brought her down from a royal palace to a stable, from mattresses of Barbary wool to straw, and from nice delicate morsels to the leavings of horses. And she led this miserable life for several months, during which time corn was given to the horses by an unseen hand, and what they left supported her.

But at the end of this time, as she was standing one day looking through a hole, she saw a most beautiful garden, in which there were so many espaliers of lemons, and grottos of citrons, and beds of flowers, and fruit-trees and trellises of vines, that it was a joy to behold. At this sight a great longing seized her for a fine bunch of grapes that caught her eye, and she said to herself, "Come what will, and if the sky fall, I will go out silently and softly and pluck it: what will it matter a hundred years hence? who is there to tell my husband? and should he by chance hear of it, what will he do to me? moreover these grapes are none of the common sort." So saying she went out, and refreshed her spirits, which were weakened by hunger.

A little while afterwards, and before the appointed time, her husband came back, and one of his horses accused Cannetella of having taken the grapes; whereat Fioravante in a rage, drawing a knife from his breeches pocket, was going to kill her; but falling on her knees upon the ground, she besought him to stay his hand from the deed, since hunger drives the wolf from the wood. And she begged so hard, that Fioravante replied, "I forgive you this time, and grant you your life out of charity; but if ever again you are tempted to disobey me, and I find that you have let the sun see you, I will make mincemeat of you. Now mind me,—I am going away once more, and shall for certain be gone seven years; so take care and plough straight, for you will not escape so easily again, but I shall pay you off the new and the old scores together."

So saying he departed, and Cannetella shed a river of tears; and wringing her hands, beating her breast, and tearing her hair, she cried, "Oh that ever I was born into the world, to be destined to this wretched fate! O father, how have you ruined me! but why do I complain of my father, when I have brought this ill upon myself? I alone am the cause of my misfortunes. Here have I been wishing for a head of gold, only to fall into trouble[5] and die by iron. Alas, how richly I deserve it! by wishing my teeth of gold, I am making the golden tooth. This is the punishment of Heaven, for I ought to have done my father's will, and not have had such whims and fancies: he who minds not what his father and mother say, goes a road he does not know."

Not a day passed that she did not make this lament, until her eyes were become two fountains, and her face was so thin and sallow that it went to one's heart to see her. Where now were those sparkling eyes? where those rosy apples? where the little smile upon that mouth? her own father would not have known her.

At the end of a year the king's locksmith, whom Cannetella knew, happening to pass by the stable, she called to him, and went out. The smith hearing himself called by his name, and not recognizing the poor girl (she was so altered), was in utter amazement; but when he heard who she was, and how she had become thus changed, partly out of pity for the maiden and partly to gain the king's favour, he put her into an empty cask, which he had with him on a pack-horse, and trotting off towards High-Hill, he arrived at midnight at the king's palace. Then he knocked at the door, and the servants, going to the window and hearing that it was the locksmith, fell to abusing him soundly, calling him an ill-mannered fellow for coming at such an hour to disturb the sleep of the whole house; adding, that he would come off cheaply if they did not pelt him with stones and give him a broken pate.

The king, hearing the uproar, and being told by a chamberlain what was the matter, ordered the smith to be instantly admitted; judging that since he made bold to come at such an unusual hour, something extraordinary must have happened. Then the smith, unloading his beast, knocked out the head of the cask, and forth came Cannetella, who required something more than words to make her father recognize her; and had it not been for a wart on her right arm, she might have taken herself off. But as soon as he was assured of the whole truth, he embraced her and kissed her a thousand times; then he instantly commanded a warm bath to be got ready, and when she was washed from head to foot, and had drest herself, he ordered breakfast to be brought, for she was dying with hunger. Then her father said to her, "Who would ever have told me, my child, that I should see you in this plight? what a face indeed! who has brought you to this sad condition?" And she answered, "Alas, my dear sir! that Barbary Turk has made me lead the life of a dog, so that I was every hour on the point of giving up the ghost[6]. But I will not tell you all I have suffered, for greatly as it exceeds human endurance, so much does it pass human belief. Enough, my father, that I am here! and never again will I stir from your feet; rather will I be a servant in your house, than a queen in the house of another; rather will I wear sackcloth where you are, than a golden mantle away from you; rather will I turn a spit in your kitchen, than hold a sceptre under the canopy of another."

Meanwhile Fioravante returning home, was told by the horses that the locksmith had carried off Cannetella in the cask; on hearing which, burning with shame and all on fire with rage, of he ran towards High-Hill; and meeting an old woman who lived opposite to the king's palace, he said to her, "What will you take, good mother, to let me see the king's daughter?" Then she asked a hundred ducats; and Fioravante putting his hand in his purse instantly counted them out, one a-top of another; whereupon the old woman led him up on to the roof, from whence he saw Cannetella out on a balcony drying her hair. But—just as if her heart had whispered to her—the maiden turned that way, and perceiving the snare, rushed down the stairs and ran to her father, crying out, "My lord, if you do not this very instant make me a chamber with seven iron doors, I am lost and undone!"

"I will not lose you for such a trifle," said her father; "I would pluck out an eye to gratify such a dear daughter." So, no sooner said than done, the doors were instantly made.

When Fioravante heard of this, he went again to the old woman, and said to her, "What shall I give you now? go to the king's house under pretext of selling cups of rouge, and entering the room where his daughter is, contrive to slip this little piece of paper among the bed-clothes, saying in an under tone as you place it there,

 

'Let every one now soundly sleep,

But Cannetella awake shall keep!'"

 

So the old woman agreed for another hundred ducats, and she served him faithfully. Woe to him who allows these vile jades to come to his house! for under the pretence of carrying about articles of dress, they dress your very life and honour into morocco-leather.

Now as soon as the old woman had done this good office, such a sound sleep fell on the people of the house, that they seemed just as if they had all their throats cut. Cannetella alone remained awake, and when she heard the doors bursting open, she began to cry aloud as if she were burnt; but no one heard her—there was no one to run to her aid; so Fioravante threw down all the seven doors, and entering the chamber seized up Cannetella, bed-clothes and all, to carry her off; but as luck would have it, the paper which the old woman had put among them fell on the ground, and the powder was spilt; whereupon the people of the house awoke, and hearing Cannetella's shrieks, they ran—cats, dogs, and all—and laying hold on the ogre, quickly cut him in pieces like a pickled tunny. Thus he was caught in the same trap that he had prepared for poor Cannetella, learning to his cost that

 

"No one suffereth greater pain

Than he who by his own weapon is slain."

 

When Zeza had ended her story, all were of opinion that Cannetella deserved this, and even worse, for seeking a hair inside the egg: they rejoiced however to see her at length freed from all her troubles, and observed, that she who had held her head so high and scorned all men, was brought at last to humble herself to a smith, and beg him to help her out of trouble. But the desire to hear Ciulla put a stop to the conversation, and the ears of all present stood erect at the motion of her lips.

 

1.       At funerals and in public processions the poor people pick up the wax that falls from the tapers, and the flowers that are dropt by the way.

2.       Canna

3.       Fora de li diente—'out of the teeth.' In Ireland folks say in like manner 'out of the face.'

4.       Literally, 'four-and-twenty carats fine'—the standard of pure gold.

5.       Literally, pe cadere 'nchiummo—'to fall into lead.'

6.       Co lo spireto a li diente,—'with the breath between my teeth.'

 

 

 

 

CORVETTO.

I once heard say, that Juno went to Candia to find Falsehood; but if any one were to ask me where fraud and hypocrisy might truly be found, I should know of no other place to name than the Court, where detraction always wears the mask of amusement, slander goes drest as a Graziano[1], treachery as a Zany, and villainy as a Polichinello; where at the same time people cut and sew up, wound and heal, break and glue together; of which I will give you only one instance, in the story which I am going to tell you.

There was once upon a time in the service of the King of Wide-River an excellent youth named Corvetto, who for his good conduct was beloved by his master, and for this very cause was disliked and hated by all the courtiers; in fact they were such bats of ignorance, that they could not see the lustre of the virtue of Corvetto, who purchased his master's favour with the ready money of good behaviour. But the zephyrs of the kindness which the king showed Corvette were sciroccos to the spite and malice of these courtiers, who were bursting with envy; so that all the day long, in every corner of the palace, they did nothing but tattle and whisper, murmur and grumble at the poor lad, saying, "What sorcery has this fellow[2] practised on the king, that he takes such a fancy to him? how comes he by this luck, that not a day passes but he receives some new favours, whilst we are for ever going backwards like the rope-maker, and getting from bad to worse, though we slave like dogs, sweat like field-labourers, and race about like deer, to hit the king's pleasure to a hair? Truly one must be born to good fortune in this world, and he who has not luck may as well throw himself into the sea. What is to be done? we can only look on and burst."

These and other words flew from the bow of their mouth, like poisoned arrows aimed at the butt of Corvetto's ruin. Alas for him who is condemned to that infernal den the court, where flattery is sold by kilderkins, malignity and ill offices are measured out in bushels, deceit and treachery are weighed by the ton! But who can count all the bits of orange-peel these courtiers put under his feet to make him slip, or tell the soap of falseness with which they besmeared the ladder to the king's ears, to make Corvette fall and break his neck? who can tell the pitfalls of deceit dug in the king's brain, and covered over with the sticks and straws of pretended zeal, to make him tumble? But Corvetto, who was enchanted, and perceived the traps and discovered the tricks, was aware of all the nets, and was up to all the intrigues, the ambuscades, the plots and conspiracies of his enemies, kept his ears always on the alert and his eyes open, in order not to set a false step, well knowing that the fortune of courtiers is glass. But the higher the lad continued to rise, the lower the others fell; and at last being puzzled to know how to take him off his feet, as their slander was not believed, they thought of leading him to a precipice by the path of flattery (an art invented in a certain hot house, and perfected in the court), which they attempted in the following manner.

Ten miles distant from Scotland, where the seat of this king was, there dwelt an ogre, the most inhuman and savage that had ever been in ogre-land, who, being persecuted by the king, had fortified himself in a lonesome wood on the top of a mountain, where no bird ever flew, and which was so thick and tangled that it could never get a sight of the sun. This ogre had a most beautiful horse, which looked as if it were formed with a pencil; and amongst other wonderful things was that it could speak like any man. Now the courtiers, who knew how wicked the ogre was, how thick the wood, how high the mountain, and how difficult it was to get at the horse, went to the king, and telling him minutely the perfections of the animal, which was a thing worthy of a king, added that he ought to endeavour by all means to get it out of the ogre's claws, and that Corvetto was just the lad to do this, as he was expert and clever at escaping out of the fire. The king, who knew not that under the flowers of these words a serpent was concealed, instantly called Corvetto, and said to him, "If you love me, see that in some way or another you obtain for me the horse of my enemy the ogre, and you shall have no cause to regret having done me this service."

Corvetto knew well that this drum was sounded by those who wished him ill; nevertheless, to obey the king, he set out and took the road to the mountain; then going very quietly to the ogre's stable, he saddled and mounted the horse, and fixing his feet firmly in the stirrup took his way back. But as soon as the horse saw himself spurred out of the palace, he cried aloud, "Hollo! be on your guard! Corvetto is riding off with me." At this alarm the ogre instantly set out, with all the animals that served him, to cut Corvetto in pieces: from this side jumped an ape, from that was seen a large bear, here sprang forth a lion, there came running a wolf. But the youth, by the aid of bridle and spur, distanced the mountain, and galloping without stop to the city, arrived at the court, where he presented the horse to the king.

Then the king embraced him more than a son, and pulling out his purse filled his hands with crown-pieces. At this the rage of the courtiers knew no bounds; and whereas at first they were pulled up with a little pipe, they were now bursting with the blasts of a smith's bellows; seeing that the crowbars with which they thought to lay Corvetto's good fortune in ruins, only served to smooth the road to his prosperity. Knowing however that walls are not levelled by the first attack of the battering-ram, they resolved to try their luck a second time, and said to the king, "We wish you joy of the beautiful horse! it will indeed be an ornament to the royal stable; but what a pity you have not the ogre's tapestry, which is a thing more beautiful than words can tell, and would spread your fame far and wide! there is no one however able to procure this treasure but Corvetto, who is just the lad to do such a kind of service."

Then the king, who danced to every tune, and ate only the peel of this bitter but sugared fruit, called Corvetto, and begged him to procure for him the ogre's tapestry. Off went Corvetto, and in four seconds was on the top of the mountain where the ogre lived: then passing unseen into the chamber in which he slept, he hid himself under the bed, and waited as still as a mouse, until Night, to make the Stars laugh, puts a carnival-mask on the face of the Sky. And as soon as the ogre and his wife were gone to bed, Corvetto stripped the walls of the chamber very quietly, and wishing to steal the counterpane of the bed likewise, he began to pull it gently. Thereupon the ogre, suddenly starting up, told his wife not to pull so, for she was dragging all the clothes off him, and would give him his death of cold.

"Why you are uncovering me!" answered the ogress; "there's not a thing left upon me!"

"Where the deuce is the counterpane?" replied the ogre; and stretching out his hand to the floor, he touched Corvetto's face; whereupon he set up a loud cry, "The monaciello! the monaciello! hollo, here, lights! run quickly!" till the whole house was turned topsy-turvy with the noise. But Corvetto, after throwing the clothes out of the window, let himself drop down upon them. Then making up a good bundle, he set out on the road to the city, where the reception he met with from the king, and the vexation of the courtiers, who were bursting with spite, are not to be told. Nevertheless they laid a plan to fall upon Corvetto with the rear-guard of their roguery, and went again to the king, who was almost beside himself with delight at the tapestry, which was not only of silk embroidered with gold, but had besides more than a thousand devices and thoughts worked on it; and amongst the rest, if I remember right, there was a cock in the act of crowing at daybreak, and out of its mouth was seen coming a motto in Tuscan,—If I only see you[3]; and in another part a drooping heliotrope with a Tuscan motto, At sunset; with so many other pretty things that it would require a better memory and more time than I have to relate them.

When the courtiers came to the king, who was thus transported with joy, they said to him, "As Corvetto has done so much to serve you, it would be no great matter for him, in order to give you a signal pleasure, to get the ogre's palace, which is fit for an emperor to live in; for it has so many rooms and chambers, inside and out, that it can hold an army; and you would never believe all the courtyards, porticos, colonnades, balconies, and spiral chimneys which there are, built with such marvellous architecture, that art prides herself upon them, nature is abashed, and stupor is in delight."

The king, who had a fruitful brain which conceived quickly, called Corvetto again, and telling him the great longing that had seized him for the ogre's palace, begged him to add this service to all the others he had done him, promising to score it up with the chalk of gratitude at the tavern of memory. So Corvetto, who was a brimstone match and made a hundred miles an hour, instantly set out heels over head; and arriving at the ogre's palace, he found that the ogress had just given birth to a fine little ogreling; and whilst her husband was gone to invite the kinsfolk, she had got out of bed, and was busying herself with preparing the feast. Then Corvetto entering, with a look of compassion, said, "Good-day, my good woman! truly you are a brave housewife! but why do you torment the very life out of you in this way? only yesterday you were put to bed, and now you are slaving thus, and have no pity on your own flesh."

"What would you have me do?" replied the ogress, "I have no one to help me."

"I am here," answered Corvetto, "ready to help you tooth and nail."

"Welcome then!" said the ogress; "and as you proffer me so much kindness, just help me to split four logs of wood."

"With all my heart," answered Corvetto; "but if four logs are not enow, let me split five." And taking up a newly-ground axe, instead of striking the wood, he struck the ogress on the neck, and made her fall to the ground like a pear. Then running quickly to the gate, he dug a deep hole before the entrance, and covering it over with bushes and earth, he hid himself behind the gate.

As soon as Corvetto saw the ogre coming with his kinsfolk, he set up a loud cry in the courtyard, "Stop, stop! I've caught him!" and "Long live the king of Wide-River!" When the ogre heard this challenge, he ran like mad at Corvetto, to make a hash of him; but rushing furiously towards the gate, down he tumbled with all his companions, head over heels to the bottom of the pit, where Corvetto speedily stoned them to death. Then he shut the door, and took the keys to the king, who seeing the valour and cleverness of the lad, in spite of ill-fortune and the envy and annoyance of the courtiers, gave him his daughter to wife; so that the crosses of envy had proved rollers to launch Corvetto's bark of life on the sea of greatness; whilst his enemies remained confounded and bursting with rage, and went to bed without a candle; for

 

"The punishment of ill deeds past,

Though long delay'd, yet comes at last."

 

There were courtiers in plenty around the Prince who would have betrayed their anger at seeing him touched to the quick by this story, had they not possessed the art of dissembling; nor could they say which was greatest, their vexation at hearing themselves upbraided for their roguery, or their envy at Corvetto's happiness. But Paola now began to speak, and drew their soul out of the well of their own feelings with the book of these words.

 

1.       A clown.

2.       Sto caccia-l'appascere—a name for a booby; because the greatest fools were commonly "sent to tend" the swine, &c.

3.       There is a play upon the words in the Italian,—"Sol (Sun) ch'io ti miri!"

 

 

THE BOOBY.

An ignorant man who associates with clever people has always been more praised than a wise man who keeps the company of fools; for as much profit and fame as one may gain from the former, so much wealth and honour one may lose by the fault of the latter; and as the proof of the pudding is in the eating[1], you will know from the story which I am going to tell you whether my proposition be true.

There was once a man who was as rich as the sea, but as there can never be any perfect happiness in this world, he had a son so idle and good-for-nothing that he could not tell a carob from a cucumber. So being unable any longer to put up with his folly, he gave him a good handful of crowns, and sent him to trade in the Levant; for he well knew that seeing various countries and mixing with divers people awaken the genius, sharpen the judgement, and make men expert.

Moscione (for that was the name of the son) got on horseback, and began his journey towards Venice, the arsenal of the wonders of the world, to embark on board some vessel bound for Cairo; and when he had travelled a good day's journey, he met with a person who was standing fixed at the foot of a poplar, to whom he said, "What is your name, my lad? whence are you? and what is your trade?" And the lad replied, "My name is Lightning; I am from Arrowland, and I can run like the wind."—"I should like to see a proof of it," said Moscione; and Lightning answered, "Wait a moment, and you will see whether it is dust or flour."

When they had stood waiting a little while, a doe came bounding over the plain, and Lightning, letting her pass on some way, to give her the more law, darted after her so rapidly and light of foot, that he would have gone over a place covered with flour without leaving the mark of his shoe, and in four bounds he came up with her. Moscione, amazed at this exploit, asked if he would come and live with him, and promised to pay him royally.

So Lightning consented, and they went on their way together; but they had not journeyed many miles when they met another youth, to whom Moscione said, "What is your name, comrade? what country are you from? and what's your trade?" "My name," replied the lad, "is Hare's-ear; I am from Vale-Curious; and when I put my ear to the ground I hear all that is passing in the world without stirring from the spot. I perceive the monopolies and agreements of tradespeople to raise the prices of things, the ill-offices of courtiers, the appointments of lovers, the plots of robbers, the reports of spies, the complaints of servants, the gossiping of old women, and the oaths of sailors; so that neither Lucian's cock[2] nor Franco's lantern discovered so much as my ears can."

"If that be true," said Moscione, "tell me what they are now saying at my home."

So the lad put his ear to the ground, and replied, "An old man is talking to his wife, and saying, 'Praised be Sol in Leo! I have got rid from my sight of that fellow Moscione, that face of old-fashioned crockery, that nail in my heart. By travelling through the world he will at least become a man, and no longer be such a stupid ass, such a simpleton, such a lose-the-day fellow, such a—"

"Stop, stop!" cried Moscione; "you tell the truth, and I believe you. So come along with me, for you have found the road to good-luck."

"Well and good!" said the youth. So they all went on together and travelled ten miles further, when they met another man, to whom Moscione said, "What is your name, my brave fellow? where were you born? and what can you do in the world?" And the man answered, "My name is Shootstraight; I am from Castle Aimwell; and I can shoot with a crossbow so point-blank as to hit a crab-apple in the middle."

"I should like to see the proof," said Moscione. So the lad charged his crossbow, took aim, and made a pea leap from the top of a stone; whereupon Moscione took him also like the others into his company. And they travelled on another day's journey, till they came to some people who were building a large pier in the scorching heat of the sun, and who might well say, "Boy, put water to the wine, for my heart is burning." So Moscione had compassion on them, and said, "My masters, how is it you have the head to stand in this furnace, which is fit to roast a buffalo?" And one of them answered, "Oh, we are as cool as a rose; for we have a young man here who blows upon us from behind in such a manner that it seems just as if the west wind were blowing." "Let me see him, I pray," cried Moscione. So the mason called the lad, and Moscione said to him, "Tell me, by the life of your father, what is your name? what country are you from? and what is your profession?" And the lad replied, "My name is Blowblast; I am from Windy-land; and I can make all the winds with my mouth. If you wish for a zephyr, I will breathe one that will send you into transports; if you wish for a squall, I will throw down houses."

"Seeing is believing," said Moscione. Whereupon Blowblast breathed at first quite gently, so that it seemed to be the wind that blows at Posilippo towards evening; then turning suddenly to some trees, he sent forth such a furious blast that it uprooted a row of oaks.

When Moscione saw this he took him for a companion; and travelling on as far again, he met another lad, to whom he said, "What is your name, if I may make so bold? whence are you, if one may ask? and what is your trade, if it is a fair question?" And the lad answered, "My name is Strongback; I am from Valentino, and I have such strength that I can take a mountain on my back, and it seems to me only a feather."

"If that be the case," said Moscione, "you deserve to be the king of the custom-house, and you should be chosen for standard-bearer on the first of May[3]. But I should like to see a proof of what you say."

Then Strongback began to load himself with masses of rock, trunks of trees, and so many other weights, that a thousand large waggons could not have carried them; which when Moscione saw, he agreed with the lad to join him.

So they travelled on, till they came to Fair-Flower, the king of which place had a daughter who ran like the wind, and could pass over the waving corn without bending an ear; and the king had issued a proclamation, that whoever could overtake her in running should have her to wife, but whoever was left behind should lose his head.

When Moscione arrived in this country, and heard the proclamation, he went straight to the king, and offered to run with his daughter, making the wise agreement either to win the race or leave his noddle there. But in the morning he sent to inform the king that he was taken ill, and being unable to run himself, he would send another young man in his place. "Come who will!" said Ciannetella (for that was the king's daughter), "I care not a fig—it is all one to me."

So when the great square was filled with people, come to see the race, insomuch that the men swarmed like ants, and the windows and roofs were all as full as an egg, Lightning came out and took his station at the top of the square, waiting for the signal. And lo! forth came Ciannetella, drest in a little gown, tucked halfway up her legs, and a neat and pretty little shoe with a single sole. Then they placed themselves shoulder to shoulder; and as soon as the tarantara and too-too of the trumpets was heard, off they darted, running at such a rate that their heels touched their shoulders, and in truth they seemed just like hares with the greyhounds after them, horses broken loose from the stable, dogs with kettles tied to their tails, or jackasses with furze-bushes behind them. But Lightning (as he was both by name and nature) left the princess more than a handsbreadth behind him, and came first to the goal. Then you should have heard the huzzaing and shouting, the cries and the uproar, the whistling and clapping of hands of all the people, bawling out, "Hurra! Long life to the stranger!" Whereat Ciannetella's face turned as red as a schoolboy's who is going to be whipped, and she stood lost in shame and confusion at seeing herself vanquished. But as there were to be two heats to the race, she fell to planning how to be revenged for this affront; and going home, she put a charm into a ring, of such power, that if any one had it upon his finger, his legs would totter so that he would not be able to walk, much less to run; then she sent it as a present to Lightning; begging him to wear it on his finger for love of her.

Quickear, who heard this trick plotted between the father and daughter, said nothing, and waited to see the upshot of the affair. And when, at the trumpeting of the birds, the Sun whipped on the Night, who sat mounted on the jackass of the Shades[4], they returned to the field, where at the usual signal they fell to plying their heels. But if Ciannetella was like another Atalanta, Lightning had become no less like a shoulder-slipped ass and a foundered horse, for he could not stir a step. But Shootstraight, who saw his comrade's danger, and heard from Quickear how matters stood, laid hold on his crossbow, and shot a bolt so exactly that it hit Lightning's finger, and out flew the stone from the ring, in which the virtue of the charm lay; whereupon his legs, that had been tied, were set free, and with four goat-leaps he passed Cianuetella and won the race.

The king seeing this victory of a blockhead, the palm thus carried off by a simpleton, the triumph of a fool, bethought himself seriously whether or no he should give him his daughter; and taking counsel with the wiseacres of his court, they replied that Ciauuetella was not a mouthful for the tooth of such a miserable dog and lose-the-day bird, and that without breaking his word he might commute the promise of his daughter for a gift of crowns, which would be more to the taste of a poor beggar like Moscione than all the women in the world.

This advice pleased the king, and he asked Moscione how much money he would take instead of the wife who had been promised him. Then Moscione, after consulting with the others, answered, "I will take as much gold and silver as one of my comrades can carry on his back." The king consented; whereupon they brought Strongback, on whom they began to load bales of ducats, sacks of patacas, large purses full of crowns, barrels of copper money, chests full of chains and rings; but the more they loaded him the firmer he stood, just like a tower, so that the treasury, the banks, the usurers, and the money-dealers of the city did not suffice, and he sent to all the great people in every direction to borrow their silver candlesticks, basins, jugs, plates, trays and baskets; and yet all was not enough to make up the full load. At length they went away, not laden, but tired and satisfied.

When the councillors saw what heaps and stores these four miserable dogs were carrying off, they said to the king that it was a great piece of assery to load them with all the sinews of his kingdom, and that it would be well to send people after them to lessen the load of that Atlas who was carrying on his shoulders a heaven of treasure. The king gave ear to this advice, and immediately despatched a party of armed men, foot and horse, to overtake Moscione and his friends. But Quickear, who had heard this counsel, informed his comrades; and while the dust was rising to the sky from the trampling of those who were coming to unload the rich cargo, Blowblast, seeing that things were come to a bad pass, began to blow at such a rate, that he not only made the enemies fall flat on the ground, but he sent them flying more than a mile distant, as the north wind does folks who pass through that country. So without meeting any more hindrance, Moscione arrived at his father's house, where he shared the booty with his companions, since, as the saying goes, a good deed deserves a good meed. So he sent them away content and happy; but he stayed with his father, rich beyond measure, and saw himself an ass laden with gold, not giving the lie to the saying,

 

"Heaven sends biscuits to him who has no teeth."

 

No sooner was this story ended, than, according to the command of the Prince, Giallaise and Cola Jacovo, one the cook and the other the butler of the Court, made their appearance, clad in the old Neapolitan dress, and began a dialogue, which was vastly relished by all the auditors, who, enchanted with the pleasure, were scarcely aware that the Sun, tired of journeying the whole day long through the fields of heaven, having driven the Stars to the torch-dance, had retired to change his shirt. But as it was now growing dusk, after receiving the usual command to return the next day, they all retired to their homes.

 

1.       Literally, 'as the proof of the ham is in the stick,'—which a person thrusts into the meat to taste its flavour.

2.       See Lucian's "Somnium, vel Gallus."

3.       The porters in the custom-house at Naples are remarkable for their strength. A fête is held in that city on the first of May, in which a standard with a pole of an enormous height is carried by the strongest man.

4.       One mode of punishment in Naples was for the criminal to ride through the city on a jackass, with a paper cap (mitera) on his head, and whipped on his naked back.

Good Reading: "Quanto Sare’ Men Doglia il Morir Presto" by Michelangelo Buonarroti (in Italian)

   Quanto sare’ men doglia il morir presto
che provar mille morte ad ora ad ora,
da ch’in cambio d’amarla, vuol ch’io mora!
Ahi, che doglia ’nfinita
 sente ’l mio cor, quando li torna a mente
che quella ch’io tant’amo amor non sente!
Come resterò ’n vita?
Anzi mi dice, per più doglia darmi,
che se stessa non ama: e vero parmi.
Come posso sperar di me le dolga,
se se stessa non ama? Ahi trista sorte!
Che fia pur ver, ch’io ne trarrò la morte?

Tuesday's Serial: "Frankenstein or the Modern Prometheus" by Mary Shelley (first version, 1818) (in English) - VIII

 VOLUME III

 

CHAPTER I.

Day after day, week after week, passed away on my return to Geneva; and I could not collect the courage to recommence my work. I feared the vengeance of the disappointed fiend, yet I was unable to overcome my repugnance to the task which was enjoined me. I found that I could not compose a female without again devoting several months to profound study and laborious disquisition. I had heard of some discoveries having been made by an English philosopher, the knowledge of which was material to my success, and I sometimes thought of obtaining my father's consent to visit England for this purpose; but I clung to every pretence of delay, and could not resolve to interrupt my returning tranquillity. My health, which had hitherto declined, was now much restored; and my spirits, when unchecked by the memory of my unhappy promise, rose proportionably. My father saw this change with pleasure, and he turned his thoughts towards the best method of eradicating the remains of my melancholy, which every now and then would return by fits, and with a devouring blackness overcast the approaching sunshine. At these moments I took refuge in the most perfect solitude. I passed whole days on the lake alone in a little boat, watching the clouds, and listening to the rippling of the waves, silent and listless. But the fresh air and bright sun seldom failed to restore me to some degree of composure; and, on my return, I met the salutations of my friends with a readier smile and a more cheerful heart.

It was after my return from one of these rambles that my father, calling me aside, thus addressed me:—

"I am happy to remark, my dear son, that you have resumed your former pleasures, and seem to be returning to yourself. And yet you are still unhappy, and still avoid our society. For some time I was lost in conjecture as to the cause of this; but yesterday an idea struck me, and if it is well founded, I conjure you to avow it. Reserve on such a point would be not only useless, but draw down treble misery on us all."

I trembled violently at this exordium, and my father continued—

"I confess, my son, that I have always looked forward to your marriage with your cousin as the tie of our domestic comfort, and the stay of my declining years. You were attached to each other from your earliest infancy; you studied together, and appeared, in dispositions and tastes, entirely suited to one another. But so blind is the experience of man, that what I conceived to be the best assistants to my plan may have entirely destroyed it. You, perhaps, regard her as your sister, without any wish that she might become your wife. Nay, you may have met with another whom you may love; and, considering yourself as bound in honour to your cousin, this struggle may occasion the poignant misery which you appear to feel."

"My dear father, re-assure yourself. I love my cousin tenderly and sincerely. I never saw any woman who excited, as Elizabeth does, my warmest admiration and affection. My future hopes and prospects are entirely bound up in the expectation of our union."

"The expression of your sentiments on this subject, my dear Victor, gives me more pleasure than I have for some time experienced. If you feel thus, we shall assuredly be happy, however present events may cast a gloom over us. But it is this gloom, which appears to have taken so strong a hold of your mind, that I wish to dissipate. Tell me, therefore, whether you object to an immediate solemnization of the marriage. We have been unfortunate, and recent events have drawn us from that every-day tranquillity befitting my years and infirmities. You are younger; yet I do not suppose, possessed as you are of a competent fortune, that an early marriage would at all interfere with any future plans of honour and utility that you may have formed. Do not suppose, however, that I wish to dictate happiness to you, or that a delay on your part would cause me any serious uneasiness. Interpret my words with candour, and answer me, I conjure you, with confidence and sincerity."

I listened to my father in silence, and remained for some time incapable of offering any reply. I revolved rapidly in my mind a multitude of thoughts, and endeavoured to arrive at some conclusion. Alas! to me the idea of an immediate union with my cousin was one of horror and dismay. I was bound by a solemn promise, which I had not yet fulfilled, and dared not break; or, if I did, what manifold miseries might not impend over me and my devoted family! Could I enter into a festival with this deadly weight yet hanging round my neck, and bowing me to the ground. I must perform my engagement, and let the monster depart with his mate, before I allowed myself to enjoy the delight of an union from which I expected peace.

I remembered also the necessity imposed upon me of either journeying to England, or entering into a long correspondence with those philosophers of that country, whose knowledge and discoveries were of indispensable use to me in my present undertaking. The latter method of obtaining the desired intelligence was dilatory and unsatisfactory: besides, any variation was agreeable to me, and I was delighted with the idea of spending a year or two in change of scene and variety of occupation, in absence from my family; during which period some event might happen which would restore me to them in peace and happiness: my promise might be fulfilled, and the monster have departed; or some accident might occur to destroy him, and put an end to my slavery for ever.

These feelings dictated my answer to my father. I expressed a wish to visit England; but, concealing the true reasons of this request, I clothed my desires under the guise of wishing to travel and see the world before I sat down for life within the walls of my native town.

I urged my entreaty with earnestness, and my father was easily induced to comply; for a more indulgent and less dictatorial parent did not exist upon earth. Our plan was soon arranged. I should travel to Strasburgh, where Clerval would join me. Some short time would be spent in the towns of Holland, and our principal stay would be in England. We should return by France; and it was agreed that the tour should occupy the space of two years.

My father pleased himself with the reflection, that my union with Elizabeth should take place immediately on my return to Geneva. "These two years," said he, "will pass swiftly, and it will be the last delay that will oppose itself to your happiness. And, indeed, I earnestly desire that period to arrive, when we shall all be united, and neither hopes or fears arise to disturb our domestic calm."

"I am content," I replied, "with your arrangement. By that time we shall both have become wiser, and I hope happier, than we at present are." I sighed; but my father kindly forbore to question me further concerning the cause of my dejection. He hoped that new scenes, and the amusement of travelling, would restore my tranquillity.

I now made arrangements for my journey; but one feeling haunted me, which filled me with fear and agitation. During my absence I should leave my friends unconscious of the existence of their enemy, and unprotected from his attacks, exasperated as he might be by my departure. But he had promised to follow me wherever I might go; and would he not accompany me to England? This imagination was dreadful in itself, but soothing, inasmuch as it supposed the safety of my friends. I was agonized with the idea of the possibility that the reverse of this might happen. But through the whole period during which I was the slave of my creature, I allowed myself to be governed by the impulses of the moment; and my present sensations strongly intimated that the fiend would follow me, and exempt my family from the danger of his machinations.

It was in the latter end of August that I departed, to pass two years of exile. Elizabeth approved of the reasons of my departure, and only regretted that she had not the same opportunities of enlarging her experience, and cultivating her understanding. She wept, however, as she bade me farewell, and entreated me to return happy and tranquil. "We all," said she, "depend upon you; and if you are miserable, what must be our feelings?"

I threw myself into the carriage that was to convey me away, hardly knowing whither I was going, and careless of what was passing around. I remembered only, and it was with a bitter anguish that I reflected on it, to order that my chemical instruments should be packed to go with me: for I resolved to fulfil my promise while abroad, and return, if possible, a free man. Filled with dreary imaginations, I passed through many beautiful and majestic scenes; but my eyes were fixed and unobserving. I could only think of the bourne of my travels, and the work which was to occupy me whilst they endured.

After some days spent in listless indolence, during which I traversed many leagues, I arrived at Strasburgh, where I waited two days for Clerval. He came. Alas, how great was the contrast between us! He was alive to every new scene; joyful when he saw the beauties of the setting sun, and more happy when he beheld it rise, and recommence a new day. He pointed out to me the shifting colours of the landscape, and the appearances of the sky. "This is what it is to live;" he cried, "now I enjoy existence! But you, my dear Frankenstein, wherefore are you desponding and sorrowful?" In truth, I was occupied by gloomy thoughts, and neither saw the descent of the evening star, nor the golden sun-rise reflected in the Rhine.—And you, my friend, would be far more amused with the journal of Clerval, who observed the scenery with an eye of feeling and delight, than to listen to my reflections. I, a miserable wretch, haunted by a curse that shut up every avenue to enjoyment.

We had agreed to descend the Rhine in a boat from Strasburgh to Rotterdam, whence we might take shipping for London. During this voyage, we passed by many willowy islands, and saw several beautiful towns. We staid a day at Manheim, and, on the fifth from our departure from Strasburgh, arrived at Mayence. The course of the Rhine below Mayence becomes much more picturesque. The river descends rapidly, and winds between hills, not high, but steep, and of beautiful forms. We saw many ruined castles standing on the edges of precipices, surrounded by black woods, high and inaccessible. This part of the Rhine, indeed, presents a singularly variegated landscape. In one spot you view rugged hills, ruined castles overlooking tremendous precipices, with the dark Rhine rushing beneath; and, on the sudden turn of a promontory, flourishing vineyards, with green sloping banks, and a meandering river, and populous towns, occupy the scene.

We travelled at the time of the vintage, and heard the song of the labourers, as we glided down the stream. Even I, depressed in mind, and my spirits continually agitated by gloomy feelings, even I was pleased. I lay at the bottom of the boat, and, as I gazed on the cloudless blue sky, I seemed to drink in a tranquillity to which I had long been a stranger. And if these were my sensations, who can describe those of Henry? He felt as if he had been transported to Fairy-land, and enjoyed a happiness seldom tasted by man. "I have seen," he said, "the most beautiful scenes of my own country; I have visited the lakes of Lucerne and Uri, where the snowy mountains descend almost perpendicularly to the water, casting black and impenetrable shades, which would cause a gloomy and mournful appearance, were it not for the most verdant islands that relieve the eye by their gay appearance; I have seen this lake agitated by a tempest, when the wind tore up whirlwinds of water, and gave you an idea of what the water-spout must be on the great ocean, and the waves dash with fury the base of the mountain, where the priest and his mistress were overwhelmed by an avalanche, and where their dying voices are still said to be heard amid the pauses of the nightly wind; I have seen the mountains of La Valais, and the Pays de Vaud: but this country, Victor, pleases me more than all those wonders. The mountains of Switzerland are more majestic and strange; but there is a charm in the banks of this divine river, that I never before saw equalled. Look at that castle which overhangs yon precipice; and that also on the island, almost concealed amongst the foliage of those lovely trees; and now that group of labourers coming from among their vines; and that village half-hid in the recess of the mountain. Oh, surely, the spirit that inhabits and guards this place has a soul more in harmony with man, than those who pile the glacier, or retire to the inaccessible peaks of the mountains of our own country."

Clerval! beloved friend! even now it delights me to record your words, and to dwell on the praise of which you are so eminently deserving. He was a being formed in the "very poetry of nature[1]." His wild and enthusiastic imagination was chastened by the sensibility of his heart. His soul overflowed with ardent affections, and his friendship was of that devoted and wondrous nature that the worldly-minded teach us to look for only in the imagination. But even human sympathies were not sufficient to satisfy his eager mind. The scenery of external nature, which others regard only with admiration, he loved with ardour:

 

——————"The sounding cataract

Haunted him like a passion: the tall rock,

The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,

Their colours and their forms, were then to him

An appetite; a feeling, and a love,

That had no need of a remoter charm,

By thought supplied, or any interest

Unborrowed from the eye[2]."

 

And where does he now exist? Is this gentle and lovely being lost for ever? Has this mind so replete with ideas, imaginations fanciful and magnificent, which formed a world, whose existence depended on the life of its creator; has this mind perished? Does it now only exist in my memory? No, it is not thus; your form so divinely wrought, and beaming with beauty, has decayed, but your spirit still visits and consoles your unhappy friend

Pardon this gush of sorrow; these ineffectual words are but a slight tribute to the unexampled worth of Henry, but they soothe my heart, overflowing with the anguish which his remembrance creates. I will proceed with my tale.

Beyond Cologne we descended to the plains of Holland; and we resolved to post the remainder of our way; for the wind was contrary, and the stream of the river was too gentle to aid us.

Our journey here lost the interest arising from beautiful scenery; but we arrived in a few days at Rotterdam, whence we proceeded by sea to England. It was on a clear morning, in the latter days of December, that I first saw the white cliffs of Britain. The banks of the Thames presented a new scene; they were flat, but fertile, and almost every town was marked by the remembrance of some story. We saw Tilbury Fort, and remembered the Spanish armada; Gravesend, Woolwich, and Greenwich, places which I had heard of even in my country.

At length we saw the numerous steeples of London, St. Paul's towering above all, and the Tower famed in English history.

1.       Leigh Hunt's "Rimini."

2.       'Wordsworth's "Tintern Abbey."

 

 

CHAPTER II.

London was our present point of rest; we determined to remain several months in this wonderful and celebrated city. Clerval desired the intercourse of the men of genius and talent who flourished at this time; but this was with me a secondary object; I was principally occupied with the means of obtaining the information necessary for the completion of my promise, and quickly availed myself of the letters of introduction that I had brought with me, addressed to the most distinguished natural philosophers.

If this journey had taken place during my days of study and happiness, it would have afforded me inexpressible pleasure. But a blight had come over my existence, and I only visited these people for the sake of the information they might give me on the subject in which my interest was so terribly profound. Company was irksome to me; when alone, I could fill my mind with the sights of heaven and earth; the voice of Henry soothed me, and I could thus cheat myself into a transitory peace. But busy uninteresting joyous faces brought back despair to my heart. I saw an insurmountable barrier placed between me and my fellow-men; this barrier was sealed with the blood of William and Justine; and to reflect on the events connected with those names filled my soul with anguish.

But in Clerval I saw the image of my former self; he was inquisitive, and anxious to gain experience and instruction. The difference of manners which he observed was to him an inexhaustible source of instruction and amusement. He was for ever busy; and the only check to his enjoyments was my sorrowful and dejected mien. I tried to conceal this as much as possible, that I might not debar him from the pleasures natural to one who was entering on a new scene of life, undisturbed by any care or bitter recollection. I often refused to accompany him, alleging another engagement, that I might remain alone. I now also began to collect the materials necessary for my new creation, and this was to me like the torture of single drops of water continually falling on the head. Every thought that was devoted to it was an extreme anguish, and every word that I spoke in allusion to it caused my lips to quiver, and my heart to palpitate.

After passing some months in London, we received a letter from a person in Scotland, who had formerly been our visitor at Geneva. He mentioned the beauties of his native country, and asked us if those were not sufficient allurements to induce us to prolong our journey as far north as Perth, where he resided. Clerval eagerly desired to accept this invitation; and I, although I abhorred society, wished to view again mountains and streams, and all the wondrous works with which Nature adorns her chosen dwelling-places.

We had arrived in England at the beginning of October, and it was now February. We accordingly determined to commence our journey towards the north at the expiration of another month. In this expedition we did not intend to follow the great road to Edinburgh, but to visit Windsor, Oxford, Matlock, and the Cumberland lakes, resolving to arrive at the completion of this tour about the end of July. I packed my chemical instruments, and the materials I had collected, resolving to finish my labours in some obscure nook in the northern highlands of Scotland.

We quitted London on the 27th of March, and remained a few days at Windsor, rambling in its beautiful forest. This was a new scene to us mountaineers; the majestic oaks, the quantity of game, and the herds of stately deer, were all novelties to us.

From thence we proceeded to Oxford. As we entered this city, our minds were filled with the remembrance of the events that had been transacted there more than a century and a half before. It was here that Charles I. had collected his forces. This city had remained faithful to him, after the whole nation had forsaken his cause to join the standard of parliament and liberty. The memory of that unfortunate king, and his companions, the amiable Falkland, the insolent Gower, his queen, and son, gave a peculiar interest to every part of the city, which they might be supposed to have inhabited. The spirit of elder days found a dwelling here, and we delighted to trace its footsteps. If these feelings had not found an imaginary gratification, the appearance of the city had yet in itself sufficient beauty to obtain our admiration. The colleges are ancient and picturesque; the streets are almost magnificent; and the lovely Isis, which flows beside it through meadows of exquisite verdure, is spread forth into a placid expanse of waters, which reflects its majestic assemblage of towers, and spires, and domes, embosomed among aged trees.

I enjoyed this scene; and yet my enjoyment was embittered both by the memory of the past, and the anticipation of the future. I was formed for peaceful happiness. During my youthful days discontent never visited my mind; and if I was ever overcome by ennui, the sight of what is beautiful in nature, or the study of what is excellent and sublime in the productions of man, could always interest my heart, and communicate elasticity to my spirits. But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has entered my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit, what I shall soon cease to be—a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to others, and abhorrent to myself.

We passed a considerable period at Oxford, rambling among its environs, and endeavouring to identify every spot which might relate to the most animating epoch of English history. Our little voyages of discovery were often prolonged by the successive objects that presented themselves. We visited the tomb of the illustrious Hampden, and the field on which that patriot fell. For a moment my soul was elevated from its debasing and miserable fears to contemplate the divine ideas of liberty and self-sacrifice, of which these sights were the monuments and the remembrancers. For an instant I dared to shake off my chains, and look around me with a free and lofty spirit; but the iron had eaten into my flesh, and I sank again, trembling and hopeless, into my miserable self.

We left Oxford with regret, and proceeded to Matlock, which was our next place of rest. The country in the neighbourhood of this village resembled, to a greater degree, the scenery of Switzerland; but every thing is on a lower scale, and the green hills want the crown of distant white Alps, which always attend on the piny mountains of my native country. We visited the wondrous cave, and the little cabinets of natural history, where the curiosities are disposed in the same manner as in the collections at Servox and Chamounix. The latter name made me tremble, when pronounced by Henry; and I hastened to quit Matlock, with which that terrible scene was thus associated.

From Derby still journeying northward, we passed two months in Cumberland and Westmoreland. I could now almost fancy myself among the Swiss mountains. The little patches of snow which yet lingered on the northern sides of the mountains, the lakes, and the dashing of the rocky streams, were all familiar and dear sights to me. Here also we made some acquaintances, who almost contrived to cheat me into happiness. The delight of Clerval was proportionably greater than mine; his mind expanded in the company of men of talent, and he found in his own nature greater capacities and resources than he could have imagined himself to have possessed while he associated with his inferiors. "I could pass my life here," said he to me; "and among these mountains I should scarcely regret Switzerland and the Rhine."

But he found that a traveller's life is one that includes much pain amidst its enjoyments. His feelings are for ever on the stretch; and when he begins to sink into repose, he finds himself obliged to quit that on which he rests in pleasure for something new, which again engages his attention, and which also he forsakes for other novelties.

We had scarcely visited the various lakes of Cumberland and Westmoreland, and conceived an affection for some of the inhabitants, when the period of our appointment with our Scotch friend approached, and we left them to travel on. For my own part I was not sorry. I had now neglected my promise for some time, and I feared the effects of the dæmon's disappointment. He might remain in Switzerland, and wreak his vengeance on my relatives. This idea pursued me, and tormented me at every moment from which I might otherwise have snatched repose and peace. I waited for my letters with feverish impatience: if they were delayed, I was miserable, and overcome by a thousand fears; and when they arrived, and I saw the superscription of Elizabeth or my father, I hardly dared to read and ascertain my fate. Sometimes I thought that the fiend followed me, and might expedite my remissness by murdering my companion. When these thoughts possessed me, I would not quit Henry for a moment, but followed him as his shadow, to protect him from the fancied rage of his destroyer. I felt as if I had committed some great crime, the consciousness of which haunted me. I was guiltless, but I had indeed drawn down a horrible curse upon my head, as mortal as that of crime.

I visited Edinburgh with languid eyes and mind; and yet that city might have interested the most unfortunate being. Clerval did not like it so well as Oxford; for the antiquity of the latter city was more pleasing to him. But the beauty and regularity of the new town of Edinburgh, its romantic castle, and its environs, the most delightful in the world, Arthur's Seat, St. Bernard's Well, and the Pentland Hills, compensated him for the change, and filled him with cheerfulness and admiration. But I was impatient to arrive at the termination of my journey.

We left Edinburgh in a week, passing through Coupar, St. Andrews, and along the banks of the Tay, to Perth, where our friend expected us. But I was in no mood to laugh and talk with strangers, or enter into their feelings or plans with the good humour expected from a guest; and accordingly I told Clerval that I wished to make the tour of Scotland alone. "Do you," said I, "enjoy yourself, and let this be our rendezvous. I may be absent a month or two; but do not interfere with my motions, I entreat you: leave me to peace and solitude for a short time; and when I return, I hope it will be with a lighter heart, more congenial to your own temper."

Henry wished to dissuade me; but, seeing me bent on this plan, ceased to remonstrate. He entreated me to write often. "I had rather be with you," he said, "in your solitary rambles, than with these Scotch people, whom I do not know: hasten then, my dear friend, to return, that I may again feel myself somewhat at home, which I cannot do in your absence."

Having parted from my friend, I determined to visit some remote spot of Scotland, and finish my work in solitude. I did not doubt but that the monster followed me, and would discover himself to me when I should have finished, that he might receive his companion.

With this resolution I traversed the northern highlands, and fixed on one of the remotest of the Orkneys as the scene labours. It was a place fitted for such a work, being hardly more than a rock, whose high sides were continually beaten upon by the waves. The soil was barren, scarcely affording pasture for a few miserable cows, and oatmeal for its inhabitants, which consisted of five persons, whose gaunt and scraggy limbs gave tokens of their miserable fare. Vegetables and bread, when they indulged in such luxuries, and even fresh water, was to be procured from the main land, which was about five miles distant.

On the whole island there were but three miserable huts, and one of these was vacant when I arrived. This I hired. It contained but two rooms, and these exhibited all the squalidness of the most miserable penury. The thatch had fallen in, the walls were unplastered, and the door was off its hinges. I ordered it to be repaired, bought some furniture, and took possession; an incident which would, doubtless, have occasioned some surprise, had not all the senses of the cottagers been benumbed by want and squalid poverty. As it was, I lived ungazed at and unmolested, hardly thanked for the pittance of food and clothes which I gave; so much does suffering blunt even the coarsest sensations of men.

In this retreat I devoted the morning to labour; but in the evening, when the weather permitted, I walked on the stony beach of the sea, to listen to the waves as they roared, and dashed at my feet. It was a monotonous, yet ever-changing scene. I thought of Switzerland; it was far different from this desolate and appalling landscape. Its hills are covered with vines, and its cottages are scattered thickly in the plains. Its fair lakes reflect a blue and gentle sky; and, when troubled by the winds, their tumult is but as the play of a lively infant, when compared to the roarings of the giant ocean.

In this manner I distributed my occupations when I first arrived; but, as I proceeded in my labour, it became every day more horrible and irksome to me. Sometimes I could not prevail on myself to enter my laboratory for several days; and at other times I toiled day and night in order to complete my work. It was indeed a filthy process in which I was engaged. During my first experiment, a kind of enthusiastic frenzy had blinded me to the horror of my employment; my mind was intently fixed on the sequel of my labour, and my eyes were shut to the horror of my proceedings. But now I went to it in cold blood, and my heart often sickened at the work of my hands.

Thus situated, employed in the most detestable occupation, immersed in a solitude where nothing could for an instant call my attention from the actual scene in which I was engaged, my spirits became unequal; I grew restless and nervous. Every moment I feared to meet my persecutor. Sometimes I sat with my eyes fixed on the ground, fearing to raise them lest they should encounter the object which I so much dreaded to behold. I feared to wander from the sight of my fellow-creatures, lest when alone he should come to claim his companion.

In the mean time I worked on, and my labour was already considerably advanced. I looked towards its completion with a tremulous and eager hope, which I dared not trust myself to question, but which was intermixed with obscure forebodings of evil, that made my heart sicken in my bosom.

 

 

CHAPTER III.

I sat one evening in my laboratory; the sun had set, and the moon was just rising from the sea; I had not sufficient light for my employment, and I remained idle, in a pause of consideration of whether I should leave my labour for the night, or hasten its conclusion by an unremitting attention to it. As I sat, a train of reflection occurred to me, which led me to consider the effects of what I was now doing. Three years before I was engaged in the same manner, and had created a fiend whose unparalleled barbarity had desolated my heart, and filled it for ever with the bitterest remorse. I was now about to form another being, of whose dispositions I was alike ignorant; she might become ten thousand times more malignant than her mate, and delight, for its own sake, in murder and wretchedness. He had sworn to quit the neighbourhood of man, and hide himself in deserts; but she had not; and she, who in all probability was to become a thinking and reasoning animal, might refuse to comply with a compact made before her creation. They might even hate each other; the creature who already lived loathed his own deformity, and might he not conceive a greater abhorence for it when it came before his eyes in the female form? She also might turn with disgust from him to the superior beauty of man; she might quit him, and he be again alone, exasperated by the fresh provocation of being deserted by one of his own species.

Even if they were to leave Europe, and inhabit the deserts of the new world, yet one of the first results of those sympathies for which the dæmon thirsted would be children, and a race of devils would be propagated upon the earth, who might make the very existence of the species of man a condition precarious and full of terror. Had I a right, for my own benefit, to inflict this curse upon everlasting generations? I had before been moved by the sophisms of the being I had created; I had been struck senseless by his fiendish threats: but now, for the first time, the wickedness of my promise burst upon me; I shuddered to think that future ages might curse me as their pest, whose selfishness had not hesitated to buy its own peace at the price perhaps of the existence of the whole human race.

I trembled, and my heart failed within me; when, on looking up, I saw, by the light of the moon, the dæmon at the casement. A ghastly grin wrinkled his lips as he gazed on me, where I sat fulfilling the task which he had allotted to me. Yes, he had followed me in my travels; he had loitered in forests, hid himself in caves, or taken refuge in wide and desert heaths; and he now came to mark my progress, and claim the fulfilment of my promise.

As I looked on him, his countenance expressed the utmost extent of malice and treachery. I thought with a sensation of madness on my promise of creating another like to him, and, trembling with passion, tore to pieces the thing on which I was engaged. The wretch saw me destroy the creature on whose future existence he depended for happiness, and, with a howl of devilish despair and revenge, withdrew.

I left the room, and, locking the door, made a solemn vow in my own heart never to resume my labours; and then, with trembling steps, I sought my own apartment. I was alone; none were near me to dissipate the gloom, and relieve me from the sickening oppresion of the most terrible reveries.

Several hours past, and I remained near my window gazing on the sea; it was almost motionless, for the winds were hushed, and all nature reposed under the eye of the quiet moon. A few fishing vessels alone specked the water, and now and then the gentle breeze wafted the sound of voices, as the fishermen called to one another. I felt the silence, although I was hardly conscious of its extreme profundity, until my ear was suddenly arrested by the paddling of oars near the shore, and a person landed close to my house.

In a few minutes after, I heard the creaking of my door, as if some one endeavoured to open it softly. I trembled from head to foot; I felt a presentiment of who it was, and wished to rouse one of the peasants who dwelt in a cottage not far from mine; but I was overcome by the sensation of helplessness, so often felt in frightful dreams, when you in vain endeavour to fly from an impending danger, and was rooted to the spot.

Presently I heard the sound of footsteps along the passage; the door opened, and the wretch whom I dreaded appeared. Shutting the door, he approached me, and said, in a smothered voice—

"You have destroyed the work which you began; what is it that you intend? Do you dare to break your promise? I have endured toil and misery: I left Switzerland with you; I crept along the shores of the Rhine, among its willow islands, and over the summits of its hills. I have dwelt many months in the heaths of England, and among the deserts of Scotland. I have endured incalculable fatigue, and cold, and hunger; do you dare destroy my hopes?"

"Begone! I do break my promise; never will I create another like yourself, equal in deformity and wickedness."

"Slave, I before reasoned with you, but you have proved yourself unworthy of my condescension. Remember that I have power; you believe yourself miserable, but I can make you so wretched that the light of day will be hateful to you. You are my creator, but I am your master;—obey!"

"The hour of my weakness is past, and the period of your power is arrived. Your threats cannot move me to do an act of wickedness; but they confirm me in a resolution of not creating you a companion in vice. Shall I, in cool blood, set loose upon the earth a dæmon, whose delight is in death and wretchedness. Begone! I am firm, and your words will only exasperate my rage."

The monster saw my determination in my face, and gnashed his teeth in the impotence of anger. "Shall each man," cried he, "find a wife for his bosom, and each beast have his mate, and I be alone? I had feelings of affection, and they were requited by detestation and scorn. Man, you may hate; but beware! Your hours will pass in dread and misery, and soon the bolt will fall which must ravish from you your happiness for ever. Are you to be happy, while I grovel in the intensity of my wretchedness? You can blast my other passions; but revenge remains—revenge, henceforth dearer than light or food! I may die; but first you, my tyrant and tormentor, shall curse the sun that gazes on your misery. Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful. I will watch with the wiliness of a snake, that I may sting with its venom. Man, you shall repent of the injuries you inflict."

"Devil, cease; and do not poison the air with these sounds of malice. I have declared my resolution to you, and I am no coward to bend beneath words. Leave me; I am inexorable."

"It is well. I go; but remember, I shall be with you on your wedding-night."

I started forward, and exclaimed, "Villain! before you sign my death-warrant, be sure that you are yourself safe."

I would have seized him; but he eluded me, and quitted the house with precipitation: in a few moments I saw him in his boat, which shot across the waters with an arrowy swiftness, and was soon lost amidst the waves.

All was again silent; but his words rung in my ears. I burned with rage to pursue the murderer of my peace, and precipitate him into the ocean. I walked up and down my room hastily and perturbed, while my imagination conjured up a thousand images to torment and sting me. Why had I not followed him, and closed with him in mortal strife? But I had suffered him to depart, and he had directed his course towards the main land. I shuddered to think who might be the next victim sacrificed to his insatiate revenge. And then I thought again of his words—"I will be with you on your wedding-night." That then was the period fixed for the fulfilment of my destiny. In that hour I should die, and at once satisfy and extinguish his malice. The prospect did not move me to fear; yet when I thought of my beloved Elizabeth,—of her tears and endless sorrow, when she should find her lover so barbarously snatched from her,—tears, the first I had shed for many months, streamed from my eyes, and I resolved not to fall before my enemy without a bitter struggle.

The night passed away, and the sun rose from the ocean; my feelings became calmer, if it may be called calmness, when the violence of rage sinks into the depths of despair. I left the house, the horrid scene of the last night's contention, and walked on the beach of the sea, which I almost regarded as an insuperable barrier between me and my fellow-creatures; nay, a wish that such should prove the fact stole across me. I desired that I might pass my life on that barren rock, wearily it is true, but uninterrupted by any sudden shock of misery. If I returned, it was to be sacrificed, or to see those whom I most loved die under the grasp of a dæmon whom I had myself created.

I walked about the isle like a restless spectre, separated from all it loved, and miserable in the separation. When it became noon, and the sun rose higher, I lay down on the grass, and was overpowered by a deep sleep. I had been awake the whole of the preceding night, my nerves were agitated, and my eyes inflamed by watching and misery. The sleep into which I now sunk refreshed me; and when I awoke, I again felt as if I belonged to a race of human beings like myself, and I began to reflect upon what had passed with greater composure; yet still the words of the fiend rung in my ears like a death-knell, they appeared like a dream, yet distinct and oppressive as a reality.

The sun had far descended, and I still sat on the shore, satisfying my appetite, which had become ravenous, with an oaten cake, when I saw a fishing-boat land close to me, and one of the men brought me a packet; it contained letters from Geneva, and one from Clerval, entreating me to join him. He said that nearly a year had elapsed since we had quitted Switzerland, and France was yet unvisited. He entreated me, therefore, to leave my solitary isle, and meet him at Perth, in a week from that time, when we might arrange the plan of our future proceedings. This letter in a degree recalled me to life, and I determined to quit my island at the expiration of two days.

Yet, before I departed, there was a task to perform, on which I shuddered to reflect: I must pack my chemical instruments; and for that purpose I must enter the room which had been the scene of my odious work, and I must handle those utensils, the sight of which was sickening to me. The next morning, at day-break, I summoned sufficient courage, and unlocked the door of my laboratory. The remains of the half-finished creature, whom I had destroyed, lay scattered on the floor, and I almost felt as if I had mangled the living flesh of a human being. I paused to collect myself, and then entered the chamber. With trembling hand I conveyed the instruments out of the room; but I reflected that I ought not to leave the relics of my work to excite the horror and suspicion of the peasants, and I accordingly put them into a basket, with a great quantity of stones, and laying them up, determined to throw them into the sea that very night; and in the mean time I sat upon the beach, employed in cleaning and arranging my chemical apparatus.

Nothing could be more complete than the alteration that had taken place in my feelings since the night of the appearance of the dæmon. I had before regarded my promise with a gloomy despair, as a thing that, with whatever consequences, must be fulfilled; but I now felt as if a film had been taken from before my eyes, and that I, for the first time, saw clearly. The idea of renewing my labours did not for one instant occur to me; the threat I had heard weighed on my thoughts, but I did not reflect that a voluntary act of mine could avert it. I had resolved in my own mind, that to create another like the fiend I had first made would be an act of the basest and most atrocious selfishness; and I banished from my mind every thought that could lead to a different conclusion.

Between two and three in the morning the moon rose; and I then, putting my basket aboard a little skiff, sailed out about four miles from the shore. The scene was perfectly solitary: a few boats were returning towards land, but I sailed away from them. I felt as if I was about the commission of a dreadful crime, and avoided with shuddering anxiety any encounter with my fellow-creatures. At one time the moon, which had before been clear, was suddenly overspread by a thick cloud, and I took advantage of the moment of darkness, and cast my basket into the sea; I listened to the gurgling sound as it sunk, and then sailed away from the spot. The sky became clouded; but the air was pure, although chilled by the north-east breeze that was then rising. But it refreshed me, and filled me with such agreeable sensations, that I resolved to prolong my stay on the water, and fixing the rudder in a direct position, stretched myself at the bottom of the boat. Clouds hid the moon, every thing was obscure, and I heard only the sound of the boat, as its keel cut through the waves; the murmur lulled me, and in a short time I slept soundly.

I do not know how long I remained in this situation, but when I awoke I found that the sun had already mounted considerably. The wind was high, and the waves continually threatened the safety of my little skiff. I found that the wind was north-east, and must have driven me far from the coast from which I had embarked. I endeavoured to change my course, but quickly found that if I again made the attempt the boat would be instantly filled with water. Thus situated, my only resource was to drive before the wind. I confess that I felt a few sensations of terror. I had no compass with me, and was so little acquainted with the geography of this part of the world that the sun was of little benefit to me. I might be driven into the wide Atlantic, and feel all the tortures of starvation, or be swallowed up in the immeasurable waters that roared and buffeted around me. I had already been out many hours, and felt the torment of a burning thirst, a prelude to my other sufferings. I looked on the heavens, which were covered by clouds that flew before the wind only to be replaced by others: I looked upon the sea, it was to be my grave. "Fiend," I exclaimed, "your task is already fulfilled!" I thought of Elizabeth, of my father, and of Clerval; and sunk into a reverie, so despairing and frightful, that even now, when the scene is on the point of closing before me for ever, I shudder to reflect on it.

Some hours passed thus; but by degrees, as the sun declined towards the horizon, the wind died away into a gentle breeze, and the sea became free from breakers. But these gave place to a heavy swell; I felt sick, and hardly able to hold the rudder, when suddenly I saw a line of high land towards the south.

Almost spent, as I was, by fatigue, and the dreadful suspense I endured for several hours, this sudden certainty of life rushed like a flood of warm joy to my heart, and tears gushed from my eyes.

How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we have of life even in the excess of misery! I constructed another sail with a part of my dress, and eagerly steered my course towards the land. It had a wild and rocky appearance; but as I approached nearer, I easily perceived the traces of cultivation. I saw vessels near the shore, and found myself suddenly transported back to the neighbourhood of civilized man. I eagerly traced the windings of the land, and hailed a steeple which I at length saw issuing from behind a small promontory. As I was in a state of extreme debility, I resolved to sail directly towards the town as a place where I could most easily procure nourishment. Fortunately I had money with me. As I turned the promontory, I perceived a small neat town and a good harbour, which I entered, my heart bounding with joy at my unexpected escape.

As I was occupied in fixing the boat and arranging the sails, several people crowded towards the spot. They seemed very much surprised at my appearance; but, instead of offering me any assistance, whispered together with gestures that at any other time might have produced in me a slight sensation of alarm. As it was, I merely remarked that they spoke English; and I therefore addressed them in that language: "My good friends," said I, "will you be so kind as to tell me the name of this town, and inform me where I am?"

"You will know that soon enough," replied a man with a gruff voice. "May be you are come to a place that will not prove much to your taste; but you will not be consulted as to your quarters, I promise you."

I was exceedingly surprised on receiving so rude an answer from a stranger; and I was also disconcerted on perceiving the frowning and angry countenances of his companions. "Why do you answer me so roughly?" I replied: "surely it is not the custom of Englishmen to receive strangers so inhospitably."

"I do not know," said the man, "what the custom of the English may be; but it is the custom of the Irish to hate villains."

While this strange dialogue continued, I perceived the crowd rapidly increase. Their faces expressed a mixture of curiosity and anger, which annoyed, and in some degree alarmed me. I inquired the way to the inn; but no one replied. I then moved forward, and a murmuring sound arose from the crowd as they followed and surrounded me; when an ill-looking man approaching, tapped me on the shoulder, and said, "Come, Sir, you must follow me to Mr. Kirwin's, to give an account of yourself."

"Who is Mr. Kirwin? Why am I to give an account of myself? Is not this a free country?"

"Aye, Sir, free enough for honest folks. Mr. Kirwin is a magistrate; and you are to give an account of the death of a gentleman who was found murdered here last night."

This answer startled me; but I presently recovered myself. I was innocent; that could easily be proved: accordingly I followed my conductor in silence, and was led to one of the best houses in the town. I was ready to sink from fatigue and hunger; but, being surrounded by a crowd, I thought it politic to rouse all my strength, that no physical debility might be construed into apprehension or conscious guilt. Little did I then expect the calamity that was in a few moments to overwhelm me, and extinguish in horror and despair all fear of ignominy or death.

I must pause here; for it requires all my fortitude to recall the memory of the frightful events which I am about to relate, in proper detail, to my recollection.

Monday's Illustrated Word: "The Man With Nine Lives!" by Bill Woolfolk (in English)

   art by Syd Shores - Wanted Comics #48 – Orbit Comics, Inc., July 1952.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Good Reading: "The Brave Flute-Player" by Ludwig Bechstein (translated into English)

Once on a time there was a merry musician. He was a master of the flute and made his living by travelling about the country playing tunes in towns and villages he passed through.

One evening he was glad to get a lodging in a farm-house, for it was too late to go on to the next village. He was very kindly received. The farmer gave him a good supper in return for the tunes he played on his flute.

Some time during the evening the musician chanced to look out at the window. By the light of the moon he saw the ruins of a fine old castle. "What old castle is that and who owns it?" he asked the farmer.

The farmer in reply told him a long story about how a very rich count had lived there many, many years ago – very rich, but very covetous and miserly too. He had been a tyrant to his tenants, had given alms to none of the poor on his estate or elsewhere. At last had died without heirs, for he could not afford the luxury of a wife, as he said.

After his death the estate fell to his next of kin, but when he came to the castle, he could not find a single penny of the dead count's riches. People liked to think that a great treasure was hidden somewhere, but no one had hit on the right place. And besides, many of those who had entered the castle to search for the money had never shown up again. Therefore the ruler of the province had forbidden anyone to go within the bounds of the castle, and all the people round were warned not to go there.

The musician listened very attentively to all this, and when the farmer had ended his tale, he told the farmer that he had a mind to enter the ruins, granted he would not get afraid of meeting whatever he might find there. The farmer tried hard to persuade him not go there at night. He entreated and threatened, but the musician wanted to go there, and go there he did.

Two of the farm-servants had to take lanterns and accompany the musician to the ruined castle. As soon as they arrived at the gates, he sent them both back with one of the lanterns. The other he took in his hand and went up the steps to the main door. He went in and found himself in a spacious hall with doors on all sides of it. He opened one of them and came into a room. There he set his light on a fine old table, took out his flute and started to play.

The farmer meanwhile had been quite unable to go to bed out of anxiety for his guest's safety so he placed himself at an opened window towards the castle. When he heard the tunes on the flute, he was relieved and thought his guest was safe.

But as his clock struck eleven, the music stopped. At once the farmer imagined that when the clock struck, his guest had been seized by some evil spirit.

But the musician had rested in order to have something to eat, for he had not eaten much at the farmer's table. He went into the next room to see if there was something eatable there. He found a saucepan full of uncooked lentils, a pan of water, some salt and a flask of wine.

He poured the water on the lentils, added some salt and made a fire on the hearth to cook his food over. While the soup was boiling he drank the wine and played some more tunes. Then when the lentils were done enough, he poured them into a dish that stood ready on the table and made a hearty meal.

While he was eating, he looked at his watch and found it was just eleven. In a few minutes after the door suddenly opened and two tall men appeared. They carried a frame between them, with a coffin placed on the frame. They set this without a word on the table before the musician. He was not the least disturbed by it. Then the two lanky men left as silently as they had come.

As soon as they were gone, the musician hastily stood up and opened the coffin. Within it lay a withered, little old man with long grey hair and beard. He did not seem to be quite dead, so the musician took him out and laid him by the fire. The warmth quickly revived the man.

The musician gave him some lentil-soup, and the old man seemed to revive as he ate it, and said to the musician, "Come with me."

Taking his lantern, the musician did as he was told and following the old man down a long flight of steps until they came to a spacious cavern far underground. A great heap of money was lying there. Stopping before it, the old man said to the musician, "Divide this heap into two equally big portions – and if one piece is left over, you will pay with your life!"

The musician laughed at the threat, but nevertheless set about the task. Quickly counting the money, he laid it in two equal heaps. But he found one piece over. He looked for a while at this solitary piece, but he soon thought out what to do: Taking out his pocket-knife, he placed it edgeways on the coin and then split the coin with a hammer into two halves. Then he threw one half on one heap of money and the other on the other heap.

As he did so the old man exclaimed, "You have saved me! I was doomed to watch my treasure for a hundred years, unless anyone should come and manage to divide the heap into two equal portions. All who have tried and given up before you have lost heir lives. But now that you have succeeded one heap is yours and the other half is for the poor."

With these words the old man disappeared. At the same time the musician went up the steps to the room where they had enjoyed lentil soup, took out his flute and played a series of merry tunes on it.

The farmer heard him again and was glad that his guest was alive and playing. As soon as day broke, he went to the castle - anyone could go there in the daytime - and congratulated the musician for having survived the night in the castle.

The musician told the farmer all that had come his way, and when he had told his tale, he went down into the cavern and brought up the gold. Half of it he gave to the poor. With his own half he built himself a good castle on the site of the ruined one and there he lived for the rest of his days, healthy and happy.

Friday's Sung Word: "Estrêla da Manhã" by Noel Rosa and Ary Barroso (in Portuguese)

A estrela da manhã
Quando brilha na amplidão
Faz lembrar uma saudade
Que guardei no coração - ô

Quando à noite olho as estrelas
A brilhar no firmamento
Fico distraída ao vê-las
Esquecendo o meu tormento.

E dos amores que tive
A gozar a mocidade
Só um no meu peito vive
Sob a forma de saudade.

 

 

You can listen "Estrêla da Manhã" sung by Francisco Alves and Madelou Assis

with the Odeon Orchestra here.