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 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027759905 
 
The Garden of Romance 
 
I^gan ^aul. Trench, Trubner & Co.'s 
 SSCfw Illustrated 'Books 
 
 EVERY-DAY CHARACTERS. By Winthrop 
 
 Mackworth Praed. Profusely Illustrated by Ceol 
 Aldin, with a specially designed Cover in Colours. 
 Crown 4to, 6s. 
 
 THE CHAURAPANCHASIKA : An Indian 
 
 Love Lament. Translated and Illustrated by Sir Edwin 
 Arnold, K.C.I.E., C.S.L Oblong royal 8vo, los. 6d. 
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 By Maxwell Gray. New Edition, with numerous 
 Illustrations, Title-page, and Cover Design by F. 
 Haadlton Jackson. Post 8vo, 66. 
 
 ALL-FELLOWS: Seven Legends of Lower 
 Redemption. By LAimENCE Housman. With Seven 
 Illustrations, and Title-page and Cover Design by the 
 Author. Imperial i6mo, 6s. 
 
 IN THE GREEN LEAF AND THE SERE. 
 
 By "A Son oe the Marshes." Edited by J. A. Owen. 
 With Illustrations by George C. Hatte and Dorothy C. 
 NiCHOLL. Large post 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 London : Paternoster House, daring Cross Road 
 
The 
 
 Garden of Romance 
 
 Romantic Tales of 
 All Time 
 
 Chosen and Edited by Ernest Rhys 
 
 London 
 
 Kegan Paul, Trench, Triibner &' Co. L^d 
 
 Paternoster House, Charing Cross Road 
 
 1897. 
 
 E.V. 
 
The rights of translation and of reproduction jire reserved. 
 
 Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson &• Co. 
 At the Ballahtyne Press 
 
Preface 
 
 The old taste for the Tale, pure and simple, which, 
 stimulated by such writers as Mr. Kipling and M. de 
 Maupassant, has grown anew of late years, is enough in 
 itself to account for the present anthology. Within its 
 limits will be found, as in a garden, the fine flowers 
 of the art, chosen with a preference for those of a 
 romantic order, and transplanted from many lands and 
 many times. From the East, where Romance may 
 be said to have begun — whence we have taken an 
 " Arabian Night " — to the extreme West, where Haw- 
 thorne and Edgar Poe gave the art a new effect ; from 
 Sir Thomas Malory to Sir Walter Scott ; from Sterne 
 to Hans Andersen ; we have ranged to get all the 
 variety in excellence, and all the delight of stories 
 wonderfully well told, to be had within so small a 
 space. Most of the tales are so famous that they need 
 give no account of themselves. To " Balin and Balan," 
 let us remind the reader, however, Mr. Swinburne has 
 lent lately a new interest, and a new excuse, if one 
 
vi PREFACE 
 
 be needed, for its being detached from the " Morte 
 D' Arthur." Of the translated tales, we have taken 
 an early seventeenth century version of " Cymon and 
 Iphigenia," and Smollett's, of the "Story of Mar- 
 cella ; " while a new translation has been made for 
 us by sympathetic hands of Hans Andersen's most 
 touching " Pebersvendens Nathue " (Pepper- Vendor's 
 or Old Bachelor's Nightcap). 
 
 E. R. 
 
Contents 
 
 I 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Story of the Lame Young Man . i 
 
 From The Arabian Nights 
 
 II 
 
 The Story of Cymon and Iphigenia . 28 
 
 From The Decameron 
 
 III 
 
 The Story of Balin and Balan . . 47 
 
 From The Morte D'Arthur 
 
 IV 
 
 The Story of Marcella .... 79 
 From Don Quixote 
 
 V 
 
 The Story of Le Fevre . . . .110 
 
 From Tristram Shandy 
 
viii CONTENTS 
 
 VI 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Tapestried Chamber .... 128 
 By Sir Walter Scott 
 
 VII 
 
 Rip Van Winkle ..... 148 
 
 By Washington Irving 
 
 VIII 
 
 My Kinsman, Major Molineux . . 170 
 
 By Nathaniel Hawthorne 
 
 IX 
 
 The Fall of the House of Usher . . 197 
 By Edgar Allan Poe 
 
 X 
 
 The "Old Bachelor's" Nightcap . . 223 
 By Hans C. Andersen (Translated by Grace 
 Rhys) 
 
The Garden of Romance 
 
 I 
 
 THE STORY OF THE LAME YOUNG MAN 
 Told by the Tailor 
 
 From The Arabian Nights 
 
 A MERCHANT, Sire, of this city did me the honour two 
 days since of inviting me to an entertainment which he 
 gave yesterday morning to his friends ; I repaired to his 
 house at an early hour, and found about twenty people 
 assembled. 
 
 We were waiting for the master of the house, who 
 was gone out on some sudden business, when we saw 
 him arrive, accompanied by a young stranger, very neatly 
 dressed, and of a good figure, but lame. We all rose, 
 and to do honour to the master of the house, we begged 
 the young man to sit with us on the sofa. He was just 
 going to sit down, when, perceiving a barber, who was 
 one of the company, he abruptly stepped back, and was 
 going away. The master of the house, surprised at this, 
 stopped him. " Where are you going ? " said he ; "I 
 
1 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 bring you here to do me the honour of being present at 
 an entertainment I am going to give my friends, and you 
 are scarcely entered before you want to go away ! " " In 
 the name of God, sir," replied the stranger, " I entreat 
 you not to detain me, but suffer me to depart. I cannot 
 behold without horror that abominable barber who is 
 sitting there ; although he is born in a country where 
 the complexion of the people is white, yet he bears the 
 colour of an Ethiopian ; and his mind is of a still deeper 
 and more horrible dye than his visage." 
 
 We were all very much surprised at this speech, and 
 began to conceive a very bad opinion of the barber, with- 
 out knowing whether the young stranger had any just 
 reason for speaking of him in such terms. We even went 
 so far as to declare that we would not suffer at our table 
 a man of whom we had heard so shocking a character. 
 The master of the house begged the stranger to acquaint 
 us with the occasion of his hatred to the barber. " Gentle- 
 men," said the young man, "you must know that this 
 barber was the cause of my being lame, and also of the 
 most cruel affair that you can possibly conceive, which 
 befell me ; for this reason I have made a vow to quit 
 instantly any place where he may be, and even not to 
 reside in any town where he lives ; for this reason I left 
 Bagdad, where he was, and undertook so long a journey 
 to come and settle myself in this city, where, being in 
 the centre of Great Tartary, I flattered myself I should 
 be secure of never beholding him again. However, con- 
 trary to my hopes and expectations, I find him here ; 
 this obliges me, gentlemen, to deprive myself of the 
 honour of partaking of your feast, I will this day leave 
 your city, and go to hide myself, if I can, in some place 
 
THE LAME YOUNG MAN 3 
 
 where he can never again offend my sight." In saying 
 this, he was going to leave us, but the master of the 
 house still detained him, and entreated him to relate to 
 us the cause of the aversion he had against the barber, 
 who all this time kept his eyes fixed on the ground, and 
 was silent. We joined our entreaties to those of the 
 master of the house, and at last the young man, yielding 
 to our wishes, seated himself on the sofa, and began his 
 history in these words, having first turned his back towards 
 the barber, lest he should see him : 
 
 " My father, who lived in Bagdad, was of a rank to 
 aspire to the highest offices of state, but he preferred 
 leading a quiet and tranquil life to all the honours he 
 might deserve. I was his only child, and when he died 
 I had completed my education, and was of an age to 
 dispose of the large possessions he had bequeathed me. 
 I did not dissipate them in folly, but made such use of 
 them as procured me the esteem of every one. 
 
 " I had not yet felt any tender passion, and far from 
 being at all sensible to love, I will confess, perhaps to 
 my shame, that I carefully avoided the society of women. 
 One day, as I was walking in a street, I saw a great 
 number of ladies coming towards me ; in order to avoid 
 them, I turned into a little street that was before me, 
 and sat down on a bench that was placed near a door. 
 I was opposite to a window where there was a number 
 of very fine flowers, and my eyes were fixed on them, 
 when the window opened, and a lady appeared, whose 
 beauty dazzled me. She cast her eyes on me, and water- 
 ing the flowers with a hand whiter than alabaster, she 
 looked at me with a smile, which inspired me with as 
 much love for her as I had hitherto felt aversion towards 
 
4 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 the rest of her sex. After having watered her flowers, 
 and bestowed on me another look full of charms, which 
 completed the conquest of my heart, she shut the win- 
 dow, and left me in a state of pain and uncertainty which 
 I cannot describe. 
 
 " I should have remained thus a considerable time, 
 had not the noise I heard in the street brought me to my 
 senses again. I turned my head as I got up, and saw that 
 it was one of the first cadis of the city, mounted on a 
 mule, and accompanied by five or six of his people : he 
 alighted at the door of the house where the young lady 
 had opened the window, and went in, which made me 
 suppose he was her father. 
 
 " I returned home in a state very different from that 
 in which I had left it ; agitated by a passion so much the 
 more violent from its being the first attack, I went to bed 
 with a raging fever, which caused great affliction in my 
 household. My relations, who loved me, alarmed by my 
 sudden indisposition, came quickly to see me, and impor- 
 tuned me to acquaint them of the cause, but I was very 
 careful to keep it secret. My silence increased their 
 alarms, nor could the physicians dissipate their fears for 
 my safety, because they knew nothing of my disease, 
 which was only increased by the medicines they adminis- 
 tered. 
 
 " My relations began to despair of my life, when an 
 old lady of their acquaintance, being informed of my 
 illness, arrived ; she considered me with a great deal of 
 attention, and after she had thoroughly examined me, she 
 discovered, I know not by what token, the cause of my 
 disorder. She took them aside, and begged them to leave 
 her alone with me, and to order my people to retire. 
 
THE LAME YOUNG MAN 5 
 
 " The room being cleared, she seated herself near my 
 pillow. ' My son,' said she, ' you have hitherto per- 
 sisted in concealing the cause of your illness : nor do I 
 require you to confess it : I have sufficient experience to 
 penetrate into this secret, and I am sure you will not 
 disown what I am going to declare. It is love which 
 occasions your indisposition. I can probably assist your 
 cure, provided you will tell me who is the happy lady 
 that has been able to wound a heart so insensible as 
 yours; for you have the reputation of not liking the 
 ladies, and I have not been the last to perceive it ; how- 
 ever, what I foresaw is at last come to pass, and I shall be 
 delighted if I can be of any service in releasing you from 
 your pain.' 
 
 " The old lady having finished this speech, waited to 
 hear my answer ; but although it had made a strong 
 impression on me, I did not dare open my heart to her. 
 I only turned towards her and uttered a deep sigh, with- 
 out saying a word. ' Is it shame,' continued she, ' that 
 prevents you from speaking, or is it want of confidence 
 in my power to relieve you ? Can you doubt the effects 
 of my promise ? I could mention to you an infinite 
 number of young people of your acquaintance who have 
 endured the same pain that you do, and for whom I have 
 obtained consolation.' 
 
 " In short, the good lady said so many things to me, 
 that at length I broke silence, and declared to her the 
 cause of my pain. I acquainted her with the place where 
 I had seen the object that had given birth to it, and 
 related all the circumstances of the adventure. ' If you 
 succeed,' continued I, ' and procure me the happiness of 
 seeing this enchanting beauty, and of expressing to her 
 
6 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 the passion with which I burn, you may rely on my 
 gratitude.' ' My son,' replied the old lady, ' I know the 
 person you mention ; she is, as you justly suppose, the 
 daughter of the principal cadi in this city. I am not 
 surprised that you should love her ; she is the most beau- 
 tiful, as well as most amiable, lady in Bagdad ; but what 
 grieves me is, she is very haughty and difficult of access. 
 You know that many of our officers of justice are very 
 exact in making women observe the harsh laws which 
 subject them to so irksome a restraint ; they are still 
 more strict in their own families, and the cadi you saw is 
 himself alone more rigid on this point than all the others 
 put together. As they are continually preaching to their 
 daughters the enormity of the crime of showing them- 
 selves to men, the poor things are in general so cautious 
 of being guilty of it, that when necessity obliges them to 
 walk in the streets, they make no use of their eyes but to 
 guide them on their way ; I do not say that this is abso- 
 lutely the case with the daughter of the principal cadi, 
 yet I am much afraid of having as great obstacles to 
 overcome on her side as on her father's. Would to 
 Heaven you loved any other lady ! I should not have so 
 many difficulties as I foresee to surmount. I will never- 
 theless employ all my address, but it will require time to 
 succeed. At any rate, take courage, and place confidence 
 in me.' 
 
 " The old lady left me, and as I reflected with anxiety 
 on all the obstacles she had represented to me, the fear 
 that she would not succeed possessed me, and increased 
 my disease. She returned the following day, and I soon 
 read in her countenance that she had no favourable in- 
 telligence to announce. She said, ' My son, I was not 
 
THE LAME YOUNG MAN 7 
 
 mistaken ; I have more to surmount than merely the 
 ■«gilance of a father; you love an insensible object, who 
 delights in letting those burn with unrequited passion 
 who suffer themselves to be charmed with her beauty ; 
 she will not allow them the least relief ; she listened to 
 me with pleasure whilst I talked to her only of the pain 
 she made you suffer, but no sooner did I open my mouth 
 to persuade her to allow you an interview, than she cast 
 an angry look at me, and said, ' You are very insolent 
 to attempt to make such a proposition ; and I desire you 
 will never see me more, if it be only to hold such con- 
 versations as this.' 
 
 " ' But let not that afflict you,' continued the old 
 lady ; ' I am not easily discouraged, and provided you do 
 not lose your patience, I hope at last to accomplish my 
 design.' Not to protract my narration (said the young 
 man), I will only say that this good messenger made 
 several fruitless attempts in my favour with the haughty 
 enemy of my peace. The vexation I endured increased 
 my disorder to such a degree, that the physicians gave me 
 over. I was therefore considered as a man who was at 
 the point of death, when the old lady came to give me 
 new life. 
 
 " That no one might hear her, she whispered in my 
 ear, * Think of the present you will make me for the 
 good news I bring you.' These words produced a won- 
 derful effect ; I raised myself in my bed, and replied 
 with transport, ' The present will not be deficient ; what 
 have you to tell me .? ' ' My dear sir,' resumed she, 
 'you will not die this time, and I shall soon have the 
 pleasure of seeing you in perfect health, and well satisfied 
 with me ; yesterday being Monday, I went to the lady 
 
8 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 you are in love with, and found her in very good humour ; 
 I at first put on a mournful countenance, uttered an 
 abundance of sighs, and shed some tears. ' My good 
 motljier,' said she, ' what is the matter ? Why are you in 
 such affliction ? ' * Alas ! my dear and honourable lady,' 
 replied I, ' I am just come from the young gentleman I 
 spoke to you of the other day ; it is all over with him ; 
 he is at the point of death, and all for love of you ; it is 
 a great pity, I assure you, and you are very cruel.' ' I 
 do not know,' said she, ' why you should accuse me of 
 being the cause of his death ; how can I have contributed 
 to his illness ? ' ' How ? ' replied I ; ' did I not tell you 
 that he seated himself before your window just as you 
 opened it to water your flowers ? He beheld this prodigy 
 of beauty — these charms which your mirror reflects every 
 day ; from that moment he has languished for you, and 
 his disease is so augmented, that, he is now reduced to 
 the pitiable state I have had the honour of describing to 
 you. You may remember, madam,' continued I, 'how 
 rigorously you treated me lately when I was going to tell 
 you of his illness, and propose to you a method of re- 
 lieving him from his dangerous condition : I returned to 
 him after I left you, and he no sooner perceived from my 
 countenance that I did not bring a favourable account, 
 than his malady redoubled its violence. From that time, 
 madam, he has been in the most' imminent danger of 
 death, and I do not know whether you could now save 
 his life even if you were inclined to take pity on him.' 
 
 " ' This was what I said to her,' added the old lady. 
 ' The fear of your death staggered her, and I saw her 
 face change colour. ' Is what you say to me quite true,' 
 said she ; ' and does his illness proceed only from his love 
 
THE LAME YOUNG MAN 9 
 
 of me ? ' ' Ah, madam,' replied I, ' it is but too true ; 
 would to Heaven it were false ! ' ' And do you really 
 think,' resumed she, ' that the hope of seeing and speak- 
 ing to me could contribute to diminish the peril of his 
 situation ? ' 'It very likely may,' said I ; ' and if you desire 
 me, I will try this remedy.' ' Well, then,' replied she, 
 sighing, ' let him hope that he may see me, but he must 
 not expect any other favours, unless he aspires to marry 
 me, and my father gives his consent ! ' ' Madam,' said I, 
 ' you are very good ; I will go directly to this young gentle- 
 man, and announce to him that he will have the pleasure 
 of seeing and conversing with you.' ' I do not know,' 
 said she, ' that I can fix a more convenient time to do him 
 this favour than on Friday next during the midday prayer. 
 Let him observe when my father goes out to attend at 
 the mosque ; and then let him come immediately before 
 this house, if he is well enough to go abroad. I shall see 
 him arrive from my window, and will come down to let 
 him in. We will converse together while prayers last, and 
 he can retire before my father returns.' 
 
 " ' This is Tuesday,' continued the old lady ; ' between 
 this and Friday you will be sufficiently recovered to en- 
 counter this interview.' Whilst the good lady was talking, 
 I felt my disorder diminish, or rather by the time she 
 concluded her discourse, I found myself quite recovered. 
 ' Take this,' said I, giving her my purse, which was quite 
 full, ' to you alone I owe my cure ; I think this money 
 better employed than all I have given to the physicians, 
 who have done nothing but torment me during my 
 illness.' 
 
 " The lady having left me, I found myself sufficiently 
 strong to get up. My relations, delighted to see me so 
 
lo THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 much better, congratulated me on my recovery, and took 
 their leave. 
 
 " Friday morning being arrived, the old lady came 
 whilst I was dressing, and making choice of the hand- 
 somest dress my wardrobe contained, ' I do not ask 
 you,' said she, 'how you find yourself; the occupation 
 you are engaged in sufficiently convinces me of what I 
 am to think ; but will not you bathe before you go to 
 the principal cadi's ? ' ' That would take up too much 
 time,' replied I ; ' I shall content myself with sending for 
 a barber to shave my head and beard.' I then ordered 
 one of my slaves to seek one who was expert in his busi- 
 ness, as well as expeditious. 
 
 " The slave brought me this unlucky barber, who is 
 here present. After having saluted me, he said, ' Sir, by 
 your countenance you seem to be unwell.' I replied that 
 I was recovering from a very severe illness. ' I wish God 
 may preserve you from all kinds of evils,' continued he, 
 'and may His grace accompany you everywhere.' 'I 
 hope He will grant this wish,' said I, 'for which I am 
 much obliged to you.' ' As you are now recovering from 
 illness,' resumed he, ' I pray God that He will preserve 
 you in health. Now tell me, what is your pleasure ; I 
 have brought my razors and my lancets ; do you wish 
 me to shave, or to bleed you ? ' ' Did I not tell you,' 
 returned I, ' that I am recovering from illness ? You 
 may suppose then that I did not send for you to bleed 
 me. Be quick and shave me, and do not lose time in 
 talking, for I am in a hurry, and have an appointment 
 precisely at noon.' 
 
 " The barber employed a great deal of time in un- 
 doing his apparatus, and preparing his razors ; and then. 
 
THE LAME YOUNG MAN ii 
 
 instead of putting water into his basin, he drew out of 
 his case an astrolabe, went out of my room, and walked 
 into the middle of the court with a sedate step, to take 
 the height of the sun. He returned with the same gravity, 
 and on entering the chamber, ' You will, no doubt, be glad 
 to learn, sir,' said he, ' that this Friday is the eighteenth 
 day of the moon of Safar, in the year six hundred and 
 fifty-three (the year of the Hegira, an epoch from which 
 all the Mahometans reckon) since the retreat of our great 
 prophet from Mecca to Medina, and in the year seven 
 thousand three hundred and twenty of the epoch of the 
 great Iskander with the two horns; and that the con- 
 junction of Mars and Mercury signifies that you cannot 
 choose a better time than the present day and present 
 hour to be shaved. But on the other side, this con- 
 junction forms a bad presage for you. It demonstrates 
 to me, that you this day will encounter a great danger; 
 not indeed of losing your life, but of an inconvenience 
 which will remain with you all your days ; you ought to 
 be obliged to me for advertising you to be careful of this 
 misfortune ; I should be sorry that it befell you.' 
 
 " Judge, gentlemen, of my vexation, of having fallen 
 in the way of this chattering and ridiculous barber ; what 
 a mortifying delay for a lover, who was preparing for a 
 tender meeting with his mistress ! I was quite exaspe- 
 rated. ' I care very little,' said I angrily, ' either for your 
 advice or your predictions ; I did not send for you to 
 consult you on astrology ; you came here to shave me ; 
 therefore either perform your office, or take yourself 
 away, that I may send for another barber.' 
 
 " ' Sir,' replied he, in a tone so phlegmatic, that I 
 could scarcely contain myself, ' what reason have you to 
 
12 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 be angry ? Do not you know that all barbers are not 
 like me, and that you would not find another such, even 
 if you had him made on purpose. You only asked for 
 a barber, and in my person are united the best barber of 
 Bagdad, an experienced physician, a profound chemist, a 
 never-failing astrologer, a finished grammarian, a perfect 
 rhetorician, a subtle logician ; a mathematician, thoroughly 
 accomplished in geometry, arithmetic, astronomy, and 
 in all the refinements of algebra; an historian who is 
 acquainted with the history of all the kingdoms in the 
 universe. Besides these sciences, I am well instructed 
 in all the points of philosophy ; and have my memory 
 well stored with all our laws and ail our traditions. 
 I am a poet, an architect ; but what am I not ? There 
 is nothing in Nature concealed from me. Your late 
 honoured father, to whom I pay a tribute of tears 
 every time I think of him, was fully convinced of my 
 merit. He loved me, caressed me, and never ceased 
 quoting me in all com'panies, as the first man in the 
 whole world. My gratitude and friendship for him at- 
 taches me to you ; and urges me to take you under my 
 protection, and insure you from all the misfortunes with 
 which the planets may threaten you.' 
 
 " At this speech, notwithstanding my anger, I could 
 not help laughing. ' When do you mean to have done, 
 impertinent chatterer,' cried I, ' and when do you intend 
 to begin shaving me ? ' 
 
 " ' Sir,' replied the barber, ' you do me an injury by 
 calling me a chatterer : every one, on the contrary, bestows 
 on me the honourable appellation of silent. I had six 
 brothers whom you might with some reason have termed 
 chatterers, and that you may be acquainted with them, 
 
THE LAME YOUNG MAN 13 
 
 the eldest was named Bacbouc, the second Bakbarah, the 
 third Bakbac, the fourth Alcouz, the fifth Alnaschar, and 
 the sixth Schacabac. These were indeed most tiresome 
 talkers, but I, who am the youngest of the family, am 
 very grave and concise in my discourses.' 
 
 " Place yourselves in my situation, gentlemen ; what 
 could I do with so cruel a tormentor ? ' Give him three 
 pieces of gold,' said I to the slave who overlooked the 
 expenses of my house, ' and send him away, that I may 
 be at peace ; I will not be shaved to-day.' ' Sir ! ' cried 
 the barber at hearing this, * what am I to understand, sir, 
 by these words ? It was not I who came to seek you ; it 
 was you who ordered me to come; and that being the 
 case, I swear by the faith of a Mussulman, that I will not 
 quit your house till I have shaved you. If you do not 
 know my worth, it is no fault of mine ; your late hon- 
 oured father was more just to my merits. Every time 
 when he sent for me to bleed him he used to make me 
 sit down by his side, and then it was delightful to hear 
 the clever things I entertained him with. I kept him in 
 continual admiration ; I enchanted him ; and when I had 
 done, ' Ah,' he would exclaim, ' you are an inexhaustible 
 fund of science ; no one can approach the profoundness 
 of your knowledge.' ' My dear sir,' I used to reply, ' you 
 do me more honour than I deserve. If I say a good thing, 
 I am indebted to you for the favourable hearing you are 
 so good as to grant me : it is your liberality that inspires 
 me with those sublime ideas, which have the good fortune 
 to meet your approbation.' One day, when he was quite 
 charmed with an admirable discourse I had just concluded, 
 'Give him,' cried he, 'an hundred pieces of gold, and 
 put on him one of my richest robes ! ' I received this 
 
14 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 present immediately ; and at the same instant I drew out 
 his horoscope, which I found to be one of the most for- 
 tunate in the world. I carried the proofs of my grateful- 
 ness still farther, for I cupped him instead of bleeding 
 him with a lancet.' 
 
 " He did not stop here ; he began another speech 
 which lasted a full half-hour. Fatigued with hearing 
 him, and vexed at finding the time pass without my 
 getting forward, I knew not what more to say. ' No, 
 indeed,' at length I exclaimed, 'it is not possible that 
 there should exist in the whole world a man who takes a 
 greater delight in enraging people.' 
 
 "I then thought I might succeed better by gentle 
 means. ' In the name of God,' I said to him, 'leave off 
 your fine speeches, and finish with me quickly : I have 
 an affair of the greatest importance, which obliges me 
 to go out, as I have already told you.' At these words 
 he began to laugh. ' It would be very praiseworthy,' said 
 he, ' if our minds were always wise and prudent ; how- 
 ever, I am willing to believe, that when you put yourself 
 in a passion with me, it was your late illness which occa- 
 sioned this change in your temper; on this account, 
 therefore, you are in need of some instructions, and you 
 cannot do better than follow the example of your father 
 and your grandfather : they used to come and consult me 
 in all their affairs ; and I may safely say without vanity, 
 that they were always the better for my advice. Let me 
 tell you, sir, that a man scarcely ever succeeds in any 
 enterprise, if he has not recourse to the opinions of 
 enlightened persons : no man becomes clever, says the 
 proverb, unless he consults a clever man. I am entirely 
 at your service, and you have only to command me.' 
 
THE LAME YOUNG MAN 15 
 
 " ' Cannot I then persuade you,' interrupted I, ' to 
 desist from these long speeches, which tend to no purpose 
 but to distract my head, and prevent me from keeping 
 my appointment : shave me directly, or leave my house.' 
 In saying this I arose, and angrily struck my foot against 
 the ground. 
 
 "When he saw that I was really exasperated with 
 him, 'Sir,' said he, 'do not be angry; we are going to 
 begin directly.' In fact, he washed my head, and began 
 to shave me ; but he had not made four strokes with his 
 razor when he stopped to say, 'Sir, you are hasty; you 
 should abstain from these gusts of passion, which only 
 come from the devil. Besides which, I deserve that you 
 should have some respect for me on account of my age, 
 my knowledge, and my striking virtues.' 
 
 " ' Go on shaving me,' said I, interrupting him again, 
 ' and speak no more.' ' That is to say,' replied he, ' that 
 you have some pressing affair on your hands ; I'll lay a 
 wager that I am not mistaken.' 'Why, I told you so 
 two hours ago,' returned I ; ' you ought to have shaved 
 me long since.' 'Moderate your ardour,' replied he; 
 ' perhaps you have not considered well of what you are 
 going to do ; when one does anything precipitately, it is 
 almost always a source of repentance. I wish you would 
 tell me what this affair is that you are in such haste 
 about, and I will give you my opinion on it ; you have 
 plenty of time, for you are not expected till noon, and it 
 will not be noon these three hours.' 'That is nothing 
 to me,' said I ; ' people of honour, who keep their word, 
 are always before the time appointed. But I perceive 
 that in reasoning thus with you, I am imitating the faults 
 of chattering barbers ; finish shaving me quickly.' 
 
i6 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 "The more anxious I was for despatch, the less so 
 was he to obey me. He left his razor to take up his 
 astrolabe ; and when he put down his astrolabe, he took 
 up his razor. 
 
 "He got his astrolabe the second time, and left me 
 half-shaved to go and see what o'clock it was precisely. 
 He returned. ' Sir,' said he, ' I was certain I was not 
 mistaken ; it wants three hours to noon, I am well assured, 
 or all the rules of astronomy are false.' ' Gracious heaven ! ' 
 cried I, ' my patience is exhausted, I can hold out no 
 longer. Cursed barber, ill-omened barber, I can hardly 
 refrain from falling upon thee and strangling thee.' 
 'Softly, sir,' said he coolly, and without showing any 
 emotion and anger, ' you seem to have no fear of bring- 
 ing on your illness again ; do not be so passionate, and 
 you shall be shaved in a moment.' Saying this, he put 
 the astrolabe in his case, took his razor, which he sharp- 
 ened on the strop that was fastened to his girdle, and 
 began to shave me ; but whilst he was shaving me he 
 could not help talking. ' If you would, sir,' said he, 
 ' inform me what this affair is that will engage you at 
 noon, I would give you some advic;e, which you might 
 find serviceable.' To satisfy him I told him that some 
 friends expected me at noon to regale me, and rejoice 
 with me on my recovery. 
 
 " No sooner had the barber heard me mention a feast, 
 than he exclaimed, ' God bless you on this day as well as 
 on every other ; you bring to my mind, that yesterday I 
 invited four or five friends to come and regale with me 
 to-day ; I had forgotten it, and have not made any pre- 
 parations for them.' ' Let not that embarrass you,' said 
 I ; ' although I am going out, my table is always well 
 
THE LAME YOUNG MAN 17 
 
 supplied, and I make you a present of all that is intended 
 for it to-day ; I will also give you as much wine as you 
 want, for I have some most excellent in my cellar ; but 
 then you must be quick in finishing to shave me ; and 
 remember that instead of making you presents to hear you 
 talk, as my father did, I give them to you to be silent.' 
 
 " He was not content to rely on my word. ' May 
 God recompense you,' cried he, ' for the favour you do 
 me; but show me directly these provisions, that I may 
 judge if there will be enough to regale my friends hand- 
 somely; for I wish them to be satisfied with the good 
 cheer I shall give them.' 'I have,' said I, 'a lamb, six 
 capons, a dozen of fowls, and sufficient for four courses.' 
 I gave orders to a slave to produce all that, together with 
 four large jugs of wine. ' This is well,' replied the 
 barber, ' but we shall want some fruit, and something for 
 sauce to the meat.' I desired what he wanted to be given 
 him. He left off shaving me to examine each thing 
 separately, and as this examination took up nearly half- 
 an-hour, I stamped and swore ; but I might amuse myself 
 as I pleased, the rascal did not hurry a bit the more. At 
 length, however, he again took up the razor and shaved 
 for a few minutes, then stopping suddenly, ' I should 
 never have supposed, sir,' said he, ' that you had been of 
 so liberal a turn ; I begin to discover that your late 
 father, of honoured memory, lives a second time in you ; 
 certainly I did not deserve the favours you heap on me, 
 and I assure you that I shall retain an eternal sense of the 
 obligation ; for, sir, that you may know it in future, I 
 will tell you that I have nothing but what I get from 
 generous people like yourself, in which I resemble Zan- 
 tout, who rubs people at the bath, and Sali, who sells 
 
 B 
 
18 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 little burnt peas about the streets, and Salouz, who sells 
 beans, and Akerscha, who sells herbs, and Abou Mekares, 
 who waters the streets to lay the dust, and Cassem, who 
 belongs to the caliph's guard : all these people give no 
 reception to melancholy ; they are neither sorrowful nor 
 quarrelsome ; better satisfied with their fortune than the 
 caliph himself in the midst of his court, they are always 
 gay and ready to dance and sing, and they have each 
 their peculiar dance and song, with which they entertain 
 the whole city of Bagdad ; but what I esteem the most 
 in them is, that they are none of them great talkers any 
 more than your slave, who has the honour of speaking to 
 you. Here, sir, I will give you the song and the dance 
 of Zantout, who rubs the people at the bath ; look at me, 
 and you will see an exact imitation.' 
 
 " The barber sung the song and danced the dance of 
 Zantout ; and notwimstanding all I could say to make 
 him cease his buffoonery, he would not stop till he had 
 imitated in the same way all those he had mentioned. 
 After that, ' Sir,' said he, ' I am going to invite all these 
 good people to my house, and if you will take my advice, 
 you will be of our party, and leave your friends, who are 
 perhaps great talkers, and will only disturb you by their 
 tiresome conversations, and will make you relapse into an 
 illness still worse than that from which you are just re- 
 covered ; instead of which, at my house you will only 
 enjoy pleasure.' 
 
 " Notwithstanding my anger, I could not avoid laugh- 
 ing at his folly. ' I wish,' said I, ' that I had no other 
 engagement, and I would gladly accept your proposal ; I 
 would with all my heart make one of your jolly set, but 
 I must entreat you to excuse me, I am too much engaged 
 
THE LAME YOUNG MAN 19 
 
 to-day ; I shall be more at liberty another day, and we 
 will have this party : finish shaving me, and hasten to 
 return, for perhaps your friends are already arrived.' 
 ' Sir,' replied he, ' do not refuse me the favour I ask of 
 you. Come and amuse yourself with the good company 
 I shall have ; if you had once been with such people, you 
 would have been so pleased with them that you would 
 give up your friends for them.' ' Say no more about it,' 
 said I ; ' I cannot be present at, your feast.' 
 
 " I gained nothing by gentleness. ' Since you will 
 not come with me,' replied the barber, ' you must allow 
 me then to accompany you. I will go home with the 
 provisions you have given me ; my friends shall eat of 
 them if they like, and I will return immediately. I 
 cannot commit such an incivility as to suffer you to go 
 alone — you deserve this piece of complaisance on my 
 part.' * Good Heaven,' exclaimed I, on hearing this, 
 * am I then condemned to bear this whole day so tor- 
 menting a creature ! In the name of the great God,' said 
 I to him, * finish your tiresome speeches ; go to your 
 friends, eat and drink, and entertain yourselves, and leave 
 me at liberty to go to mine. I will go alone, and do 
 not want any one to accompany me ; and indeed if you 
 must know the truth, the place where I am going is not 
 one in which you can be received — I only can be ad- 
 mitted.' ' You are joking, sir,' replied he ; 'if your 
 friends have invited you to an entertainment, what reason 
 can prevent me from accompanying you ? You will give 
 them great pleasure, I am sure, by taking with you a man 
 like me, who has the art of entertaining a company and 
 making them merry. Say what you will, sir, I am re- 
 solved to go in spite of you,' 
 
20 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 " These words, gentlemen, threw me into the greatest 
 embarrassment. 'How can I possibly contrive to get 
 rid of this infernal barber,' thought I to myself. ' If I 
 continue obstinately to contradict him, our contest will 
 never be finished.' I had already waited till they had 
 called the people to noon prayers for the first time ; and 
 as it was now almost the moment to set out, I determined 
 therefore not to answer him a single word, and to appear 
 as if I agreed to everything he said. He finished shaving 
 me, and he had no sooner done than I said to him, ' Take 
 some of my people with you to carry these provisions 
 home ; then return here, I will wait, and not go without 
 you.' 
 
 " He then went out, and I finished dressing myself as 
 quickly as possible. I only waited till they called to 
 prayers for the last time, when I hastened to commence 
 my expedition ; but this malicious barber, who seemed 
 aware of my intention, was satisfied with accompanying 
 my people only within sight of his own house, and seeing 
 them go in. He afterwards concealed himself at the 
 corner of the street, to observe and follow me. In short, 
 when I got to the door of the cadi, I turned round and 
 perceived him at the end of the street. This sight put 
 me into the greatest rage. 
 
 " The cadi's door was half open, and when I went in. 
 I saw the old lady who was waiting for me, and who, as 
 soon as she had shut the door, conducted me to the 
 apartment of the young lady with whom I was so much 
 in love. But I had hardly begun to enter into any con- 
 versation with her before we heard a great noise in the 
 street. The young lady ran to the window, and looking 
 through the blinds, perceived that it was the cadi, her 
 
THE LAME YOUNG MAN 21 
 
 father, who was already returning from prayers. I looked 
 out at the same time, and saw the barber seated exactly 
 opposite, and on the same bench from whence I had 
 beheld the lady the first time. 
 
 " I had now two subjects for alarm, the arrival of the 
 cadi, and the presence of the barber. The young lady 
 dissipated my fears On the first, by telling me that her 
 father very rarely came up into her apartment ; but as 
 she had foreseen that such an interruption might take 
 place, she had prepared the means for my escape in case 
 of necessity ; but the indiscretion of that unlucky barber 
 caused me great uneasiness, and you will soon perceive 
 that this disquietude was not without foundation. 
 
 " As soon as the cadi was returned home, he himself 
 inflicted the bastinado on a slave who had deserved it. 
 The slave uttered loud cries, which were distinguishable 
 even in the street. The barber thought I was the person 
 whom they were treating ill, and that these were my 
 cries. Fully persuaded of this, he began to call out as 
 loud as he could, to tear his clothes, throw dust upon his 
 head, and call for help to all the neighbours who ran out 
 to him. They inquired what was the matter, and what 
 assistance they could give him. ' Alas ! ' cried he, * they 
 are assassinating my master, my dear Iqrd ; ' and without 
 saying another word, he ran to my house, crying out in 
 the same way, and returned, followed by all my servants 
 armed with sticks. They knocked furiously at the door 
 of the cadi, who sent a slave to know what the noise was 
 , about; but the slave, quite terrified, returned to his 
 master. ' My lord,' said he, ' above ten thousand men 
 will come into your house by force, and are already 
 beginning to break open the door.' 
 
22 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 " The cadi ran himself to the door and inquired what 
 they wanted. His venerable appearance did not inspire 
 my people with any respect, and they insolently addressed 
 him, ' Cursed cadi ! thou dog ! for what reason art thou 
 going to murder our master? What has he done to 
 thee ? ' ' My good people,' replied the cadi, * why should 
 I murder your master, whom I do not know, and who 
 has never offended me? My door is open, you may 
 come in and search my house.' ' You have given him 
 the bastinado,' said the barber ; * I heard his cries not a 
 minute ago.' ' But,' replied the cadi, * as I said before, 
 in what can your master have offended me, that I should 
 ill-treat him thus ? Is he in my house ? and if he is, how 
 could he get in, or who could have introduced him?' 
 'Thou wilt not make me believe thee with thy great 
 beard, thou wicked cadi,' resumed the barber ; ' I know 
 what I say. Your daughter loves our master, and ap- 
 pointed a meeting in your house during the midday 
 prayers; you no doubt received information of it, and 
 returned quickly; you surprised him here, and ordered 
 your slaves to give him the bastinado ; but this wicked 
 action shall not remain unpunished : the caliph shall be 
 informed of it, and will execute a severe and speedy 
 sentence on you. Give him his liberty, and let him 
 come out directly, otherwise we will go in and take him 
 from you to your shame.' ' There is no occasion to say 
 so much about it,' said the cadi, ' nor to make such a 
 bustle ; if what you say is true, you have only to go in 
 and search for him — I give you full permission.' The 
 cadi had scarcely spoken these words when the barber 
 and my people burst into the house, like a set of furious 
 madmen, and began to seek for me in every corner. 
 
THE LAME YOUNG MAN 23 
 
 " As I heard everything the barber said to the cadi, I 
 endeavoured to find out some place to conceal myself in. 
 I was unable to discover any other than a large empty 
 chest, into which I immediately got, and shut the lid 
 down upon me. After the barber had searched every 
 other place, he did not fail coming into the apartment 
 where I was. He went directly to the chest, and opened 
 it ; and as soon as he perceived that I was in it, he took 
 it up and carried it away upon his head. He descended 
 from the top of the staircase, which was very high, into 
 a court, through which he quickly passed, and at last 
 reached the street-door. 
 
 " As he was carrying me along the street, the lid of 
 the chest unfortunately opened : I had not resolution 
 enough to bear the shame and disgrace of being thus 
 exposed to the populace who followed us; I jumped 
 down, therefore, into the street in such a hurry that I 
 hurt myself violently, and have been lame ever since. I 
 did not at first perceive the full extent of my misfortune ; 
 I therefore made haste to get up, and run away from the 
 people who were laughing at me. At the same time I 
 scattered a handful or two of gold and silver, with which 
 I had filled my purse, and while they were stopping to 
 pick it up, I made my escape by passing through several 
 private streets. But the cursed barber, taking advantage 
 of the trick which I had made use of to get rid of the 
 crowd, followed me so closely, that he never once lost 
 sight of me ; and all the time he continued calling aloud, 
 ' Stop, sir, why do you run so fast ? You know not how 
 much I have felt for you on account of the ill-usage you 
 have received from the cadi ; and well I might, as you 
 have been so generous to me and my friends, and we are 
 
24 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 under such obligations to you. Did I not truly inform 
 you that you would endanger your life through your 
 obstinacy, in not suffering me to accompany you ? All 
 this has happened to you through your own fault ; and I 
 know not what would have become of you if I had not 
 obstinately determined to follow you, and observe which 
 way you went. Where then, my lord, are you running ? 
 Pray wait for me.' 
 
 " It was in this manner that the unlucky barber kept 
 calling out to me all through the street. He was not 
 satisfied with having scandalised me so completely in the 
 quarter of the town where the cadi resided, but seemed 
 to wish that the whole city should become acquainted 
 with my disgrace. This put me into such a rage that I 
 could have stopped and strangled him, but that would 
 only have increased my destruction. I therefore went 
 another way to work. As I perceived that, by his calling 
 out, the eyes of every one were attracted towards me, some 
 looking out of their windows, and others stopping in the 
 street to stare at me, I went into a khan, the master of 
 which was known to me. I found him indeed at the 
 door, where the noise and uproar had brought him. ' In 
 the name of God,' I cried, ' do me the favour to prevent 
 that mad fellow from following me in here.' He not 
 only promised me to do so, but he kept his word, 
 although it was not without great difficulty; for the 
 obstinate barber attempted to force an entrance in spite 
 of him. Nor did he retire before he uttered a thousand 
 abusive words: and he continued to tell every one he 
 met, till he reached his own house, the very great service 
 he pretended to have done me. 
 
 " It was thus that I got rid of this tiresome man. The 
 
THE LAME YOUNG MAN 25 
 
 master of the khan then entreated me to give him an 
 account of my adventure. I did so ; after which I asked 
 him in my turn to let me have an apartment in his house 
 till I was quite cured. ' You will be much better accom- 
 modated, sir,' he said, ' in your own house.' ' I do not 
 wish to return there,' I answered, ' for that detestable 
 barber will not fail to find me out; I shall then be 
 pestered with him every day, and it would absolutely 
 kill me with vexation to have him constantly before my 
 eyes. Besides, after what has happened to me this day, 
 I am determined not to remain any longer in this city. 
 I will wander wherever my ill stars may direct me.' In 
 short, as soon as I was cured, I took as much money as I 
 thought would be sufficient for my journey, and gave the 
 remainder of my fortune to my relations. 
 
 " I then set out from Bagdad, gentlemen, and arrived 
 here. I had every reason, at least, to hope that I should 
 not have met with this mischievous barber in a country 
 so distant from my own ; and I now discover him in your 
 company. Be not therefore surprised at my anxiety and 
 eagerness to retire. You may judge of the painful sensa- 
 tions the sight of this man causes me, through whose 
 means I became lame and was reduced to the neces- 
 sity of giving up my relations, my friends, and my 
 country." 
 
 Having made his speech, the lame young man got 
 up and went out. The master of the house conducted 
 him to the door, assuring him that it gave him great pain 
 to have been the cause, though innocently, of so great a 
 mortification. 
 
 When the young man was gone (continued the tailor), 
 
26 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 we still remained very much astonished at his history. 
 We cast our eyes towards the barber, and told him that 
 he had done wrong — if what we had just heard was true. 
 "Gentlemen," answered he, raising his head, which he 
 had till now kept towards the ground, " the silence which 
 I have imposed upon myself while this young man was 
 telling you his story ought to prove to you that he has 
 advanced nothing that was not the fact ; notwithstanding, 
 however, all that he has told you, I still maintain that I 
 ought to have done what I did, and I leave you your- 
 selves to judge of it. Was he not thrown into a situa- 
 tion of great danger, and, without my assistance, would he 
 so fortunaitely have escaped from it ? He may, indeed, 
 think himself very happy to have got free from it with 
 only a lame leg. Was I not exposed to a much greater 
 danger, in order to get him from a house where I thought 
 he was so ill-treated ? Has he, then, reason to complain 
 of me, and to attack me with so many injurious re- 
 proaches.'' You see what we get by serving ungrateful 
 people. He accuses me of being a chatterer ; it is mere 
 calumny. Of seven brothers, of whom our family con- 
 sists, I am the very one who speaks least, and yet who 
 possesses the most wit. In order to convince you of 
 it, gentlemen, I have only to relate their story and my 
 own to you. I entreat you to favour me with your 
 attention." 
 
 " So soon as the barber had spoken," said the tailor, 
 " we plainly perceived the young man was not wrong 
 in accusing him of being a great chatterer. We never- 
 theless wished that he should remain with us, and 
 partake of the feast which the master of the house had 
 
THE LAME YOUNG MAN 27 
 
 prepared for us. We then sat down at table, and con- 
 tinued to enjoy ourselves till the time of the last prayers 
 before sunset. All the company then separated, and I 
 returned to my shop, where I remained till it was time 
 to shut it up and go to my house." 
 
II 
 
 THE STORY OF CYMON AND IPHIGENIA 
 
 From The Decameron 
 
 Induction 
 
 Now began the sun to dart forth his golden beams, when 
 Fiammetta, incited by the sweet singing birds, which 
 since the break of day sate merrily chanting on the trees, 
 arose from her bed, as all the other ladies likewise did ; 
 and the three young gentlemen descended down into the 
 fields, where they walked in a gentle pace on the green 
 grass, until the sun was risen a little higher. On many 
 pleasant matters they conferred together as they walked 
 in several companies, till at length the Queen, finding 
 the heat to enlarge itself strongly, returned back to the 
 castle, where, when they were all arrived, she commanded 
 that after this morning's walking their stomachs should 
 be refreshed with wholesome wines, and also divers sorts 
 of banqueting stuff. Afterward they all repaired into 
 the garden, not departing thence until the hour of dinner 
 was come : at which time the master of the household 
 having prepared everything in decent readiness, after a 
 solemn song was sung by order of the Queen, they were 
 seated at the table. 
 
CYMON AND IPHIGENIA 29 
 
 When they had dined to their own liking and con- 
 tentment they began, in continuation of their former 
 order, to exercise divers dances, and afterward voices to 
 their instruments, and many pretty madrigals and roun- 
 delays. Upon the finishing of these delights the Queen 
 gave them leave to take their rest, when such as were so 
 minded went to sleep ; others solaced themselves in the 
 garden. But after midday was past over, they met, 
 according to their wonted manner, and, as the Queen 
 had commanded, at the fair fountain, where she being 
 placed in her seat royal, and casting her eye upon 
 Pamfilo, she bade him begin the day's discourses of 
 happy success in love after disastrous and troublesome 
 accidents, who, yielding thereto with humble reverence, 
 thus began : 
 
 Many novels, gracious ladies, do offer themselves to 
 my memory wherewith to begin so pleasant a day as it is 
 her highness's desire that this should be, among which 
 plenty I esteem one above all the rest, because you may 
 comprehend thereby not only the fortunate conclusion 
 wherewith we intend to begin our day, but also how 
 mighty the forces of love are, deserving to be both 
 admired and reverenced. Albeit there are many, who 
 scarcely know what they say, do condemn them with 
 infinite gross imputations, which I purpose to disprove, 
 and, I hope, to your no little pleasing. 
 
30 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 Cymon by falling in love became wise, and by force of arms winning his 
 fair lady Iphigenia on the seas was afterwards imprisoned at Rhodes. 
 Being delivered by one named Lysimachus, with him he recovered 
 his Iphigenia again, and fair Cassandra, even in the midst of their 
 marriage. They fled with them into Crete, where after they had 
 married them, they were called home to their own dwelling. 
 
 According to the ancient annals of the Cypriots, there 
 sometime lived in Cyprus a noble gentleman, who was 
 commonly called Aristippus, and exceeded all other of 
 the country in the goods of fortune. Divers children he 
 had, but (amongst the rest) a son, in whose birth he was 
 more unfortunate than the rest, and continually grieved 
 in regard that, having all complete perfections of beauty, 
 good form, and many parts, surpassing all other youths 
 of his age or stature, yet he wanted the real ornament of 
 the soul — reason and judgment, being indeed a mere idiot 
 or fool, and no better hope to be expected from him. 
 His true name, according as he received it by baptism, 
 was Galeso ; but because whether by the laborious pains 
 of his tutor's indulgence, with great care and fair endea- 
 vour of his parents, or by ingenuity of any other, he 
 could not be brought to civility of life, understanding of 
 letters, or common carriage of a reasonable creature ; for 
 his gross and deformed kind of speech, for his qualities 
 also savouring rather of brutish feeling than any way 
 derived from manly education ; as an epithet of scorn and 
 derision generally, they gave him the name of Cymon, 
 which in their native country-language, and divers other 
 beside, signifieth a very sot or fool, and so was he termed 
 by every one. 
 
CYMON AND IPHIGENIA 31 
 
 This lost kind of life in him was no mean burthen 
 of grief unto his noble father. All hope being already 
 spent of any future happy recovery, he gave command, 
 because he would not always have such a sorrow in his 
 sight, that he should live at a farm of his own in a 
 country village, among his peasants and plough-swains. 
 This was not anyway distasteful to Cymon, but well 
 agreed with his own natural disposition ; for their rural 
 qualities and gross behaviour pleased him beyond the 
 cities' civility. Cymon living thus at his father's country 
 village, exercising nothing else but rural demeanour, such 
 as then delighted him above all other, it chanced upon a 
 day, about the hour of noon, as he was walking over the 
 fields with a long staff on his neck, which commonly he 
 used to carry, he entered into a small thicket, reputed 
 the goodliest in all those quarters, and by reason it was 
 then the month of May, the trees had their leaves fairly 
 shot forth. 
 
 When he had walked through the thicket it came to 
 pass that, even as good fortune guided him, he came into 
 a fair meadow, on every side engirt with trees ; and in one 
 corner thereof stood a goodly fountain, whose current 
 was both cool and clear. Hard by it upon the green 
 grass he espied a very beautiful damsel, seeming to be 
 fast asleep, attired in such loose garments as hid very 
 little of her white body ; only from the girdle downward 
 she wore a kirtle made close unto her of interwoven 
 delicate silk, and at her feet lay two other damsels sleep- 
 ing, and a servant in the same manner. No sooner had 
 Cymon fixed his eye upon her but he stood leaning on 
 his staff, and viewed her advisedly, without speaking a 
 word, and in no mean admiration, as if he had never seen 
 
32 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 the form of a woman before. He began then to feel in 
 his rural understanding (whereunto never till now, either 
 by painful instruction or any good means used to him, 
 any honest civility had power of impression) a strange 
 kind of humour to awake, which informed his gross and 
 dull spirit that this damsel was the very fairest which any 
 living man beheld. 
 
 Then he began to distinguish her parts, commending 
 the tresses of her hair, which he imagined to be of gold, 
 her forehead, nose, mouth, neck, arms, but, above all, 
 her breasts, appearing as yet but only to show themselves 
 like two little mountains. So that from being a rustic 
 clownish lout he would needs now become a judge of 
 beauty, coveting earnestly in his soul to see her eyes, 
 which were veiled over with sound sleep that kept them 
 fast enclosed together; and only to look on them he 
 wished a thousand times that she would awake, for in 
 his judgment she excelled all the women that ever he 
 had seen, and doubted whether she were some goddess 
 or no ; so strangely was he metamorphosed from folly 
 to a sensible apprehension, more than common. And 
 so far did this sudden knowledge in him extend that he 
 could conceive of divine and celestial things, and that 
 they were more to be admired and reverenced than those 
 of human or terrene consideration ; wherefore the more 
 gladly he contented himself to tarry till she awaked of 
 her own accord. And although the time of stay seemed 
 tedious to him, yet notwithstanding, he was overcome 
 with such extraordinary contentment as he had no power 
 to depart thence, but stood as if he had been glued to the 
 ground. 
 
 After some indifferent respite of time, it chanced that 
 
CYMON AND IPHIGENIA 33 
 
 the young damsel, who was named Iphigenia, awaked 
 before any of the others with her, and lifting up her 
 head with her eyes wide open, she saw Cymon standing 
 before her leaning still on his staff. Whereat marvelling 
 not a little she said unto him, " Cymon, whither wan- 
 derest thou, or what dost thou seek for in this wood ? " 
 Cymon, who not only by his countenance but likewise 
 by his folly, nobility of birth, and wealthy possessions of 
 his father, was generally known throughout the country, 
 made no answer at all to the demand of Iphigenia ; but 
 so soon as he beheld her eyes open he began to observe 
 them with a constant regard, and was persuaded in his 
 soul that from them flowed such an unutterable singu- 
 larity as he had never felt till then. Which the young 
 gentlewoman well noting, she began to wax fearful lest 
 these steadfast looks of his should incite his rusticity to 
 some attempt which might redound to her dishonour ; 
 wherefore awaking her women and servants, and they all 
 being risen, she said, " Farewell, Cymon, I leave thee to 
 thine own good fortune ; " whereto he presently replied, 
 saying, " I will go with you." Now although the gentle- 
 woman refused his company as dreading some act of in- 
 civility from him, yet could she not devise any way to be 
 rid of him till he had brought her to her own dwelling, 
 where taking leave mannerly of her, he went directly 
 home to his father's house, saying nothing should compel 
 him to live any longer in the muddy country. And albeit 
 his father was much offended hereat, and all the rest of 
 his kindred and friends, yet not knowing how to help it, 
 they suffered him to continue there still, waiting to know 
 the cause of this his so sudden alteration from the course 
 of life which contented him so highly before. 
 
34 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 Cymon being now wounded to the heart, where never 
 any civil instruction could before get entrance, with love's 
 piercing dart, by the bright beauty of Iphigenia, falling 
 from one change to another, moved much admiration in 
 his father, Idndred, and all else that knew him. For first 
 he requested of his father that he might be habited and 
 respected like to his brethren, whereto right gladly he 
 condescended. And frequenting the company of civil 
 youths, observing also the carriage of gentlemen, espe- 
 cially such as were amorously inclined, he grew to a 
 beginning in a short time, to the wonder of every one, 
 not only to understand the first instruction of letters, 
 but also became most skilful even amongst them that 
 were best exercised in philosophy. And afterward, love 
 to Iphigenia being the sole occasion of this happy altera- 
 tion, not only did his harsh and clownish voice convert 
 itself more mildly, but also he became a singular musi- 
 cian and could perfectly play on any instrument. Beside 
 he took delight in the riding and managing of great horses, 
 and finding himself of a strong and able body he used all 
 kinds of military disciplines, as well by sea as on the land. 
 And to be brief, because I would not seem tedious in the 
 repetition of all his virtues, scarcely had he attained to 
 the fourth year after he was thus fallen in love, but he 
 became generally known to be the most civil, wise, and 
 worthy gentleman, as well for all virtues enriching the 
 mind as any whatsoever to beautify the body, that very 
 hardly he could be equalled throughout the whole king- 
 dom of Cyprus. 
 
 What shall we say then, virtuous ladies, concerning 
 this Cymon? Surely nothing else but that those high 
 and divine virtues infused into his gentle soul, were by 
 
CYMON AND IPHIGENIA 35 
 
 envious Fortune bound and shut up in some small angle 
 of his intellect, which being shaken and set at liberty by 
 Love, as having a far more potent power than Fortune 
 in quickening and reviving the dull and drowsy spirits, 
 so declared hisi mighty and sovereign authority in setting 
 free many fair and precious virtues unjustly detained, 
 and let the world's eye behold them truly, by manifest 
 testimony from whence he can deliver those spirits sub- 
 jected to his power, and guide them, afterward, to the 
 highest degrees of honour. And although Cymon by 
 affecting Iphigenia failed in some particular things, yet 
 notwithstanding his father Aristippus, duly considering 
 that love had made him a man, whereas, before, he was 
 no better than a beast, not only endured all patiently, 
 but also advised him therein to take such courses as best 
 liked himself. Nevertheless Cymon, who refused to be 
 called Galesus, which was his natural name indeed, re- 
 membering that Iphigenia termed him Cymon, and covet- 
 ing, under this title, to compass the issue of his honest 
 amorous desire, made many motions to Cipseus, the 
 father of Iphigenia, that he would be pleased to let him 
 have her in marriage. But Cipseus told him that he had 
 already passed his promise for her to a gentleman of 
 Rhodes, named Pasimunda, which promise he religiously 
 intended to perform. 
 
 The time being come which was concluded on for 
 Iphigenia's marriage, in regard that the affianced hus- 
 band had sent for her, Cymon thus communed with his 
 own thoughts. " Now is the time," quoth he, " to let 
 my divine mistress see how truly and honourably I do 
 affect her, because, by her, I am become a man. But if 
 I could be possessed of her, I should grow more glorious 
 
S6 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 than the common condition of a mortal man, and have 
 her I will, or lose my life in the adventure." Being thus 
 resolved, he prevailed with divers young gentlemen, his 
 friends, making them of his faction, and secretly pre- 
 pared a ship furnished with all things for a naval fight, 
 setting suddenly forth to sea, and hulling abroad in those 
 parts by which the vessel should pass that must convey 
 Iphigenia to Rhodes to her husband. After many honours 
 done to them who were to transport her thence unto 
 Rhodes, being embarked they set sail upon their voyage, 
 Cymon, who slept not in a business so earnestly im- 
 porting him, set on them, the day following, with his 
 ship, and standing aloft on the deck, cried out to them 
 that had the charge of Iphigenia, saying, "Strike your 
 sails, or else determine to be sunk in the sea." The 
 enemies to Cymon, being nothing daunted with his words, 
 prepared to stand upon their own defence ; which made 
 Cymon, after the former speeches delivered, and no 
 answer returned, to command the grappling-irons to be 
 cast forth, which took so fast hold on the Rhodians' ship 
 that, whether they would or no, both the vessels joined 
 close together. And he showing himself fierce like a 
 lion, not tarrying to be seconded by any, stepped aboard 
 the Rhodians' ship as if he made no respect at all of 
 them, and having his sword ready drawn in his hand, 
 incited by the virtue of unfeigned love, laid about him 
 on all sides very manfully. Which when the men of 
 Rhodes perceived, they cast down their weapons, and all 
 of them, as it were, with one voice yielded themselves his 
 prisoners, whereupon he said : " Honest friends, neither 
 desire of booty, nor hatred to you, did occasion my de- 
 parture from Cyprus, thus to assail you with drawn 
 
CYMON AND IPHIGENIA 37 
 
 weapons, but that which hereto hath moved me is a 
 matter highly importing to me, and very easy for you to 
 grant and so enjoy your present peace. I desire to have 
 fair Iphigenia from you, whom I love above all other 
 ladies living, because I could not obtain her of her father 
 to make her my lawful wife in marriage. Love is the 
 ground of my instant conquest, and I must use you as 
 my mortal enemies, if you stand upon any further terms 
 with me, and do not deliver her as mine own, for your 
 Pasimunda must not enjoy what is my right, first by 
 virtue of my love, and now by conquest. Deliver her, 
 therefore, and depart hence at your pleasure." 
 
 The men of Rhodes being rather constrained thereto 
 than of any free disposition in themselves, with tears in 
 their eyes delivered Iphigenia to Cymon, who beholding 
 her in like manner to weep, thus spake unto her : " Noble 
 lady, do not anyway discomfort yourself, for I am your 
 Cymon, who have more right and true title to you, and 
 much better do deserve you, by my long-continued aflFec- 
 tion to you, than Pasimunda can anyway plead, because 
 you belong to him but only by promise." So bringing 
 her aboard his own ship, where the gentlemen his com- 
 panions gave her kind welcome, without touching any- 
 thing else belonging to the Rhodians, he gave them free 
 liberty to depart. 
 
 Cymon being more' joyful by the obtaining of his 
 heart's desire, than any other conquest else in the world 
 could make him, after he had spent some time in com- 
 forting Iphigenia, who as yet sate sadly sighing, he con- 
 sulted with his companions, who joined with him in 
 opinion, that their safest course was by no means to return 
 to Cyprus ; and therefore all, with one accord, resolved 
 
38 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 to set sail for Crete, where every one made account, but 
 especially Cymon, in regard of ancient and new combined 
 kindred, as also very intimate friends, to find very worthy 
 entertainment, and so to continue there safely with Iphi- 
 genia. But fortune, who was so favourable to Cymon in 
 granting him so pleasing a conquest, to show her incon- 
 stancy, so suddenly changed the inestimable joy of our 
 jocund lover into as heavy sorrow and disaster. For, four 
 hours were not fully completed since his departure from 
 the Rhodians, but dark night came upon them, and he 
 sitting conversing with his fair mistress in the sweetest 
 solace of his soul, the winds began to blow roughly, the 
 seas swelled angrily, and a tempest rose impetuously, that 
 no man could see what his duty was to do in such a great 
 unexpected distress, nor how to warrant themselves from 
 perishing. 
 
 If this accident were displeasing to poor Cymon, I 
 think the question were in vain demanded ; for now it 
 seemeth to him that the gods had granted his chief desire, 
 to the end he should die with the greater anguish in losing 
 both his love and life together. His friends likewise felt 
 the self-same afflictions, but especially Iphigenia, who wept 
 and grieved beyond all measure, to see the ship beaten 
 with such stormy billows as threatened her sinking every 
 minute. Impatiently she cursed the love of Cymon, 
 greatly blamed his desperate boldness, and maintaining 
 that so violent a tempest could never happen but only by 
 the gods' displeasure, who would not permit him to have 
 a wife against their will ; and therefore thus punished his 
 proud presumption, not only in his unavoidable death, 
 but also that her life must perish for company. 
 
 She continuing in these woeful lamentations, and the 
 
CYMON AND IPHIGENIA 39 
 
 mariners labouring all in vain because the violence of the 
 tempest increased more and more, so that every moment 
 they expected wrecking, they were carried contrary to their 
 own knowledge, very near to the Isle of Rhodes, ivhich they 
 being no way able to avoid, and utterly ignorant of the 
 coast, for safety of their lives they laboured to land there 
 if possibly they might. Wherein fortune was somewhat 
 furtherous to them, driving them into a small gulf of 
 the sea, whereinto, but a little while before, the Rhodians, 
 from whom Cymon had taken Iphigenia, were newly 
 entered with their ship. Nor had they any knowledge 
 each of other till the break of day, which made the 
 heavens to look more clearly, and gave them discovery 
 of being within a flight's shoot together. Cymon look- 
 ing forth, and espying the same ship which he had left 
 the day before, he grew exceeding sorrowful, as fearing 
 that which after followed, and therefore he willed the 
 mariners to get away from her by all their best endea- 
 vour, and let fortune afterwards dispose of them as she 
 pleased, for into a worse place they could not come, nor 
 fall into the like danger. 
 
 The mariners employed their utmost pains, and all 
 proved but loss of time, for the wind was so stern, and 
 the waves so turbulent, that still they drove them the 
 contrary way ; so that striving to get forth of the gulf, 
 whether they would or no, they were driven on land, and 
 instantly known to the Rhodians, whereof they were not 
 a little joyful. The men of Rhodes being landed, ran 
 presently to the near neighbouring villages, where dwelt 
 divers worthy gentlemen, to whom they reported the 
 arrival of Cymon, what fortune befell them at sea, and 
 that Iphigenia might now be recovered again, with chas- 
 
40 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 tisement to Cymon for his bold insolence. They being 
 very joyful of this good news, took so many men as they 
 could of the same village, and ran immediately to the 
 seaside, where Cymon being newly landed and his people, 
 intending flight into a near adjoining forest for defence 
 of himself and Iphigenia, they were all taken, led thence 
 into the village, and afterward unto the chief city of 
 Rhodes. 
 
 No sooner were they arrived, but Pasimunda, the 
 intended husband for Iphigenia, who had already heard 
 the tidings, went and complained to the senate, who 
 appointed a gentleman of Rhodes, named Lysimachus, 
 and being that year sovereign magistrate over the Rho- 
 dians, to go well provided for the apprehension of Cymon 
 and his company, committing them to prison, which 
 accordingly was done. In this manner the poor unfoi"- 
 tunate lover Cymon lost his fair Iphigenia, having won 
 her in so short a time before, and scarcely requited with 
 so much as a kiss. But as for Iphigenia, she was royally 
 welcomed by many lords and ladies of Rhodes, who so 
 kindly comforted her that she soon forgot all her grief 
 and trouble on the sea, remaining in company of those 
 ladies and gentlemen until the day determined for her 
 marriage. 
 
 At the earnest entreaty of divers Rhodian gentlemen 
 who were in the ship with Iphigenia, and had their lives 
 courteously saved by Cymon, both he and his friends had 
 their lives likewise spared, although Pasimunda laboured 
 importunately to have them all put to death ; only they 
 were condemned to perpetual imprisonment, which, you 
 must think, was most grievous to them, as being now 
 hopeless of any deliverance. But in the meantime, while 
 
CYMON AND IPHIGENIA 41 
 
 Pasimunda was ordering his nuptial preparation, Fortune 
 seeming to repent the wrongs she had done to Cymon, 
 prepared a new accident whereby to comfort him in his 
 deep distress, and in such manner as I will relate unto 
 you. 
 
 Pasimunda had a brother, younger than he in years, 
 but not a jot inferior to him in virtue, whose name was 
 Ormisda, and long time the case had been in question for 
 his taking to wife a fair young gentlewoman of Rhodes, 
 called Cassandra, whom Lysimachus the governor loved 
 very dearly, and hindered her marriage with Ormisda by 
 divers strange accidents. Now Pasimunda perceiving 
 that his own nuptials required much cost and solemnity, 
 he thought it very convenient that one day might serve 
 for both their weddings, which else would launch into 
 more lavish expenses, and therefore concluded that his 
 brother Ormisda should marry Cassandra at the same 
 time as he wedded Iphigenia. Hereupon he consulted 
 with the gentlewoman's parents, who liking the motion 
 as well as he, the determination was set down, and one 
 day to effect the duties of both. 
 
 When this came to the hearing of Lysimachus, it was 
 greatly displeasing to him, because now he saw himself 
 utterly deprived of all hope to attain the issue of his 
 desire if Ormisda received Cassandra in marriage. Yet 
 being a very wise and worthy man, he dissembled his 
 distaste, and began to consider on some apt means 
 whereby to disappoint the marriage once more, which 
 he thought impossible to be done except it were by 
 stealth; and that did not appear to him any difficult 
 matter in regard of his office and authority, only it would 
 seem dishonest in him by giving such an unfitting example. 
 
42 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 Nevertheless, after long deliberation, honour gave way to 
 love, and resolutely he concluded to steal her away, what- 
 soever became of it. 
 
 Nothing wanted now but a convenient company to 
 assist him, and the order how to have it done. Then he 
 remembered Cymon and his friends, whom he detained as 
 his prisoners, and persuaded himself that he could not 
 have a more faithful friend in such a business than Cymon 
 was. Hereupon, the night following, he sent for him 
 into his chamber, and being alone by themselves, thus 
 he began : " Cymon," quoth he, " as the gods are very 
 bountiful in bestowing their blessings on men, so do they 
 therein most wisely make proof of their virtues, and such 
 as they find firm and constant in all occurrences which 
 may happen, them they make worthy, as valiant spirits, 
 of the very best and highest merit. Now, they being 
 willing to have more certain experience of thy virtues 
 than those which heretofore thou hast shown within the 
 bounds and limits of your father's possessions, which I 
 know to be superabounding, perhaps do intend to pre- 
 sent thee other occasions of more important weight and 
 consequence. 
 
 " For first of all, as I have heard, by the piercing soli- 
 citudes of love, from a senseless creature they made thee 
 to become a man endued with reason. Afterward, by 
 adverse fortune, and now again by wearisome imprison- 
 ment, it seemeth that they are desirous to make trial 
 whether thy manly courage be changed or no from that 
 which heretofore it was, when thou hast won a matchless 
 beauty and lost her again in so short a while. Where- 
 fore if thy virtue be such as it hath been, the gods can 
 never give thee any blessing more worthy any acceptance 
 
CYMON AND IPHIGENIA 43 
 
 than she whom they are now minded to bestow on thee ; 
 in which respect, to the end that thou mayest reassume 
 thy wonted heroic spirit, and become more courageous 
 than ever heretofore, I will acquaint thee more at large. 
 
 " Understand then, noble Cymon, that Pasimunda, the 
 only glad man of thy misfortune, and diligent suitor 
 after thy death, maketh all haste he can possibly devise 
 to celebrate his marriage with thy fair mistress, because 
 he would plead possession of the prey, which Fortune, 
 when she smiled, did first bestow, and, afterward frown- 
 ing, took from thee again. Now, that it must needs 
 be very irksome to thee — at least if thy love be such 
 as I am persuaded it is — I partly can collect from myself, 
 being intended to be wronged by his brother Ormisda, 
 even in the self-same manner and on his marriage- 
 day, by taking from me fair Cassandra, the only jewel 
 of my love and life. For the ptevention of two such 
 notorious injuries, I see that fortune hath left us no 
 other means but only the virtue of our courages, and 
 the help of our right hands, by preparing ourselves for 
 arms, opening a way to thee by a second seizure or 
 stealth, and to me the first, for absolute possession of 
 our divine mistresses. Wherefore, if thou art desirous 
 to recover thy loss, I will not only pronounce liberty to 
 thee — which I think thou dost little care for without 
 her — but dare also assure thee to have Iphigenia, so thou 
 wilt assist me in mine enterprise, and follow me in my 
 fortune, if the gods do let them fall into our power." 
 
 You may well imagine that Cymon's dismayed soul 
 was not a little cheered at these speeches, and therefore, 
 without craving any longer respite of time for answer, 
 thus he replied : " Lord Lysimachus, in such a business 
 
44 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 as this is, you cannot have a faster friend than myself, at 
 least if such good hap may betide me as you have more 
 than half promised ; and therefore do no more but com- 
 mand what you would have to be effected by me, and make 
 no doubt of my courage in the execution." Whereupon 
 Lysimachus made this answer : " Know then, Cymon," 
 quoth he, " that three days hence these marriages are to 
 be celebrated in the houses of Pasimunda and Ormisda ; 
 upon which day thou, thy friends, and myself, with some 
 others, in whom I repose especial trust, by the friendly 
 favour of night, will enter into their houses while they 
 are in the midst of their jovial feasting, and seizing on 
 the two brides, bear them thence to a ship which I will 
 have lie in secret, waiting for our coming, and kill all 
 such as shall presume to impeach us." This direction 
 gave great contentment to Cymon, who remained still in 
 prison without revealing a word to his own friends, until 
 the appointed time was come. 
 
 Upon the wedding-day, performed with great and mag- 
 nificent triumph, there was not a corner in the brethren's 
 houses but it sung joy in the highest key. Lysimachus, 
 after he had ordered all things as they ought to be, and 
 the hour for despatch approached near, he made a divi- 
 sion in three parts, of Cymon, of his followers, and his 
 own friends, being all well armed under their outward 
 habits. Having first used some encouraging speeches for 
 more resolute prosecution of the enterprise, he sent one 
 troop secretly to the port, that they might not be hin- 
 dered of going aboard the ship when the urgent occasion 
 should require it. Passing with the other two trains to 
 Pasimunda, he left the one at the door, that such as were 
 in the house might not shut them up fast, and so hinder 
 
CYMON AND IPHIGENIA 45 
 
 their passage forth. Then with Cymon and the third 
 band of confederates he ascended the stairs up into the 
 hall, where he found the brides with store of ladies and 
 gentlewomen all sitting in comely order at supper. Rush- 
 ing in roughly among the attendants, down they threw 
 the tables, and each of them laying hold of his mistress, 
 delivered them into the hands of their followers, com- 
 manding that they should be carried aboard the ship for 
 avoiding of further inconveniences. 
 
 This hurry and amazement being in the house — the 
 brides weeping, the ladies lamenting, and all the servants 
 confusedly wondering — Cymon and Lysimachus, with their 
 friends, having their weapons drawn in their hands, made 
 all opposers to give them way, and so gained the stairs for 
 their own descending. There stood Pasimunda, with a 
 huge long staff in his hand, to hinder their passage down 
 the stairs, but Cymon saluted him so soundly on the head 
 that, it being cleft in twain, he fell dead before his feet. 
 His brother Ormisda came to his rescue, and sped like- 
 wise in the self-same manner as he had done ; so did divers 
 others beside, whom the companions to Lysimachus and 
 Cymon either slew outright or wounded. 
 
 So they left the house filled with blood, tears, and 
 outcries, going on together without any hindrance, and 
 so brought both the brides aboard the ship, which they 
 rowed away instantly with their oars. For now the shore 
 was full of armed people, who came in rescue of the stolen 
 ladies, but all in vain, because they were launched into the 
 main, and sailed on merrily towards Crete ; where being 
 arrived they were worthily entertained by honourable 
 friends and kinsmen, who pacified all unkindness between 
 them and their mistresses ; and having accepted them in 
 
46 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 lawful marriage, there they lived in no mean joy and 
 contentment, albeit there was a long and troublesome 
 difference about these captures between Rhodes and 
 Cyprus. 
 
 But yet in the end, by the means of noble friends and 
 kindred on either side, labouring to have such discontent- 
 ment appeased, endangering war between the kingdoms, 
 after a limited time of banishment, Cymon returned joy- 
 fully with Iphigenia home to Cyprus, and Lysimachus 
 with his beloved Cassandra unto Rhodes, each living in 
 their several countries with much felicity. 
 
Ill 
 
 THE STORY OF BALJN AND BALAN 
 
 By Sir Thomas Malory 
 
 After the death of Uther Pendragon reigned Arthur his 
 son, the which had great war in his days for to get all 
 England into his hand. For there were many kings 
 within the realm of England, and in Wales, Scotland, 
 and Cornwall. So it befell on a time when King Arthur 
 was at London, there came a knight and told the king 
 tidings how that the King Ryons of North Wales had 
 reared a great number of people, and were entered into 
 the land, and burnt and slew the king's true liege people. 
 " If this be true," said Arthur, " it were great shame unto 
 mine estate but that he were mightily withstood." " It 
 is truth," said the knight, " for I saw the host myself." 
 " Well," said the king, " let make a cry, that all the 
 lords, knights, and gentlemen of arms, should draw unto 
 a castle, called Camelot in those days, and there the king 
 would let make a council general, and a great justs." 
 
 So when the king was come thither with all his baron- 
 age, and lodged as they seemed best, there was come a 
 damsel the which was sent on message from the great 
 lady- Lily of Avelion. And when she came before King 
 Arthur, she told from whom she came, and how she was 
 
 47 
 
48 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 sent on message unto him for these causes. Then she 
 let her mantle fall that was richly furred ; and then was 
 she girt with a noble sword, whereof the king had marvel, 
 and said, " Damsel,' for what cause are ye girt with that 
 sword ? it beseemeth you not." " Now shall I tell you," 
 said the damsel : " this sword that I am girt withal doth 
 me great sorrow and cumbrance, for I may not be deli- 
 vered of this sword but by a knight, but he must be a 
 passing good man of his hands and of his deeds, and 
 without villainy or treachery, and without treason. And 
 if I may find such a knight that hath all these virtues, he 
 may draw out this sword out of the sheath. For I have 
 been at King Ryons' ; it was told me there were passing 
 good knights, and he and all his knights have assayed it, 
 and none can speed." "This is a great marvel," said 
 Arthur ; " if this be sooth, I will myself assay to draw 
 out the sword, not presuming upon myself that I am the 
 best knight, but that I will begin to draw at your sword 
 in giving example to all the barons, that they shall assay 
 every one after other when I have assayed it." Then 
 Arthur took the sword by the sheath and by the girdle, 
 and pulled at it eagerly, but the sword would not out. 
 " Sir," said the damsel, " ye need not to pull half so hard, 
 for he that shall pull it out shall do it with little might." 
 " Ye say well," said Arthur ; " now assay ye, all my 
 barons, but beware ye be not defiled with shame, treachery, 
 nor guile." " Then it will not avail," said the damsel, 
 " for he must be a clean knight without villainy, and of 
 a gentle stock of father side and mother side." Most of 
 all the barons of the Round Table that were there at that 
 time assayed all by row, but there might none speed ; 
 wherefore the damsel made great sorrow out of measure, 
 
BALIN AND BALAN 49 
 
 and said, " Alas ! I wend in this court had been the best 
 knights, without treachery or treason." " By my faith," 
 saith Arthur, " here are good knights as I deem any been 
 in the world, but their grace is not to help you, where- 
 fore I am displeased." 
 
 Then fell it so that time there was a poor knight with 
 King Arthur, that had been prisoner with him half a year 
 and more, for slaying of a knight the which was cousin 
 unto King Arthur, The name of this knight was called 
 Balin, and by good means of the barons he was delivered 
 out of prison, for he was a good man named of his body, 
 and he was born in Northumberland. And so he went 
 privily into the court, and saw this adventure, whereof it 
 raised his heart, and he would assay it as other knights 
 did, but for he was poor and poorly arrayed he put him 
 not far in press ; but in his heart he was fully assured to 
 do as well, if his grace happed him, as any knight that 
 there was. And as the damsel took her leave of Arthur 
 and of all the barons, so departing, this knight, Balin, 
 called unto her, and said, " Damsel, I pray you of your 
 courtesy, to suffer me as well to assay as these lords ; 
 though I be poorly clothed, in mine heart meseemeth I am 
 fully assured as some of these other lords, and meseemeth 
 in my heart to speed right well." The damsel beheld the 
 poor knight, and saw he was a likely man ; but, because 
 of his poor array, she thought he should be of no worship 
 without villainy or treachery. And then she said to the 
 knight Balin, " Sir, it is no need to put me to any more 
 pain or labour, for it beseemeth not you to speed there, 
 as others have failed." " Ah ! fair damsel," said Balin, 
 " worthiness and good graces, and good deeds, are not all 
 only in raiment, but manhood and worship is hid within 
 
 P 
 
50 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 man's person ; and many a worshipful knight is not known 
 unto all people ; and therefore worship and hardiness is 
 not in raiment and clothing." " By God ! " said the 
 damsel, " ye say truth ; therefore ye shall assay to do 
 what ye may." Then Balin took the sword by the girdle 
 and scabbard, and drew it out easily ; and when he looked 
 upon the sword, it pleased him well. Then had the king 
 and all the barons great marvel, that Balin had done that 
 adventure; and many knights had great spite at Balin. 
 " Truly," said the damsel, " that is a passing good knight, 
 and the best man that ever I found, and most of worship, 
 without treason, treachery, or villainy, and many marvels 
 shall he achieve. Now, gentle and courteous knight," said 
 the damsel, " give me the sword again." " Nay," said 
 Balin, " for this sword will I keep, but it be taken from 
 me by force." "Well," said the damsel, "ye are not 
 wise to keep the sword from me ; for ye shall slay with 
 the sword the best friend that ye have, and the man that 
 ye most love in this world ; and the sword shall be your 
 destruction." " I shall take the adventure," said Balin, 
 " that God will ordain to me ; but the sword ye shall not 
 have at this time, by the faith of my body." " Ye shall 
 repent it within a short time," said the damsel, " for I 
 would have the sword more for your avail than for mine, 
 for I am passing heavy for your sake; for ye will not 
 believe that the sword shall be your destruction, and that 
 is as great pity as ever I knew." With that the damsel 
 departed, making the greatest sorrow that might be. 
 Anon after Balin sent for his horse and his armour, and 
 so would depart from the court, and took his leave of 
 King Arthur. " Nay," said the king, " I suppose ye will 
 not depart so lightly from this fellowship. I believe ye 
 
BALIN and BALAN 51 
 
 are displeased, that I have showed you unkindness ; blame 
 me the less, for I was misinformed against you. But I 
 weened you had not been such a knight as ye are of wor- 
 ship and prowess ; and if ye will abide in this court with 
 my good knights, I shall so advance you, that ye shall be 
 well pleased." " God thank your highness," said Balin, 
 " for your bounty and highness may no man praise half 
 to the value ; but now at this time I must needs depart, 
 beseeching you alway of your good grace." "Truly," 
 said King Arthur, " I am right wrath for your departing ; 
 I beseech you, fair knight, that ye will not tarry long, 
 and ye shall be right welcome to me and all my barons, 
 and I shall amend all that is amiss, and that I have done 
 against you." " God thank your lordship," said Balin, 
 and therewith made him ready to depart. Then the 
 most part of the knights of the Round Table said, that 
 Balin did not this adventure all only by might, but by 
 witchcraft. 
 
 The meanwhile that this knight was making him ready 
 to depart, there came into the court a lady, which hight 
 the Lady of the Lake, and she came on horseback richly 
 beseen, and saluted King Arthur, and there she asked him 
 a gift that he had promised her when she gave him the 
 sword. 
 
 " That is sooth," said King Arthur, " a gift I promised 
 you ; but I have forgotten the name of the sword which 
 ye gave me." " The name of it," said the lady, " is 
 Excalibur, that is as much to say as cut-steel." " Ye say 
 well," said King Arthur ; " ask what ye will, and ye shall 
 have it, if it lie in my power to give it." " Well," said 
 the Lady of the Lake, " I ask the head of the knight that 
 hath won the sword, or else the damsel's head that brought 
 
52 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 it ; and though I have both their heads I care not, for he 
 slew my brother, a full good knight and a true, and the 
 gentlewoman was causer of my father's death." " Truly," 
 said King Arthur, " I may not grant you neither of their 
 heads with my worship ; therefore ask what ye will else, 
 and I shall fulfil your desire." " I will ask none other 
 thing of you," said the lady. When Balin was ready to 
 depart, he saw the Lady of the Lake there, by whose 
 means was slain his own mother, and he had sought her 
 three years. And when it was told him that she demanded 
 his head of King Arthur, he went straight to her and 
 said, "Evil be ye found, ye would have my head, and there- 
 fore ye shall lose yours ; " and with bis sword lightly he 
 smote off her head in the presence of King Arthur. 
 " Alas ! for shame," said the king ; " why have you done 
 so ? you have shamed me and all my court, for this was a 
 lady that I was much beholden unto, and hither she came 
 under my safe-conduct : I shall never forgive you that 
 trespass." " My lord," said Balin, " me forethinketh 
 much of your displeasure, for this lady was the untruest 
 lady living ; and by her enchantment and witchcraft she 
 hath been the destroyer of many good knights, and she 
 was the causer that my mother was burnt through her 
 falsehood and treachery." " What cause soever ye had," 
 said King Arthur, " ye should have forborne her in my 
 presence ; therefore think not the contrary, ye shall repent 
 it, for such another despite had I never in my court afore; 
 therefore withdraw you out of my court in all the haste 
 ye may." Then Balin took up the head of the lady, and 
 bare it with him to his hostel, and there he met with his 
 squire, that was sorry he had displeased King Arthur; 
 and so they rode forth out of the town. " Now," said 
 
BALIN AND BALAN 53 
 
 Balin, " we must here depart ; take you this head and 
 bear it to my friends, and tell them how I have sped, and 
 tell my friends in Northumberland that my most foe is 
 dead ; also tell them now I am out of prison, and also 
 what adventure did befall me at the getting of this sword." 
 " Alas," said the squire, " ye are greatly to blame for to 
 displease King Arthur." " As for that," said Balin, " I 
 will hie me with all the haste I may to meet with Rience, 
 and destroy him, or else to die therefor ; and if it may 
 happen me to win him, then will King Arthur be my 
 good and gracious lord." " Where shall I meet with 
 you ? " said the squire. " In King Arthur's court," said 
 Balin. So his squire and he departed at that time. Then 
 King Arthur and all the court made great dole, and had 
 great shame of the death of the Lady of the Lake. Then 
 the king full richly buried her. 
 
 At that time there was in King Arthur's court a 
 knight that was the king's son of Ireland, and his name 
 was Lanceor ; and he was a proud knight, and he counted 
 himself one of the best knights of the court, and he had 
 great spite at Balin for the achieving of the sword, that 
 any should be accounted of more prowess than he was, 
 and he asked King Arthur "if he would give him leave 
 to ride after Balin, and to revenge the despite that he hath 
 done." " Do your best," said King Arthur, " for I am 
 right wrath with Balin ; I would he were quit of the 
 despite that he hath done to me and to my court." Then 
 this Lanceor went to his hostel to make him ready ; in 
 the meanwhile came Merlin to King Arthur's court, and 
 there it was told him of the adventure of the sword, and 
 of the Lady of the Lake, " Now shall I say to you," 
 said Merlin, " this damsel that here standeth, that brought 
 
54 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 the sword unto your court, I shall tell you the cause of her 
 coming, she is the falsest damsel that liveth." " Say not 
 so," said they ; " she hath a brother, a passing good 
 knight of prowess, and a full true man ; and this damsel 
 loved another that held her to paramour, and this good 
 knight, her brother, met with the knight that held her 
 to paramour, and slew him by force of his hands. When 
 this false damsel understood this, she went to the lady 
 Lily of Avelion, and besought her of help to be avenged 
 on her brother. And so this lady Lily of Avelion 
 took her this sword, which she brought with her, and 
 told that there should no man draw it out of the 
 scabbard, but if he were one of the best knights of 
 this realm, and he should be hardy and full of prowess, 
 and with that sword he should slay her brother. This 
 was the cause that the damsel came into this court/' " I 
 know it as well as ye do," said Merlin ; "would to God 
 she had never come into this court, for she came never in 
 fellowship or worship to do good, but alway great harm, 
 and that knight which hath achieved the sword shall be 
 destroyed by that sword; wherefore it shall be great 
 damage, for there is not living a knight of more prowess 
 than he is, and he shall do unto you my lord, King 
 Arthur, great honour and kindness ; and great pity it is, 
 for he shall not endure but a while, and as for his strength 
 and hardiness, I know not his match living." But the 
 knight of Ireland armed him in all points, and dressed 
 him his shield on his shoulder, and mounted upon horse- 
 back, and took his spear in his hand, and rode after as 
 fast as his horse could run ; and within a little on a moun- 
 tain he had a sight of Balin, and with a loud voice he cried 
 to him, and said, "Abide, knight, for ye shall abide, 
 
BALIN AND BALAN 55 
 
 whether ye will or will not ; and the shield that is before 
 you shall not help you." When Balin heard that noise, 
 he turned his horse fiercely, and said, " Fair knight, what 
 will you with me ; will ye joust with me ? " " Yes," said 
 the Irish knight, " therefore am I come after you." " Per- 
 adventure," said Balin, " it had been better to have holden 
 you at home ; for many a man weeneth to put his enemy 
 to rebuke, and often it falleth to himself. Of what court 
 be ye sent from ? " " I am come from the court of King 
 Arthur," said the knight of Ireland, "that am come 
 hither for to revenge the despite that ye have done this 
 day to King Arthur and to his court." 
 
 " Well," said Balin, " I see well I must have ado with 
 you, which me forethinketh for to grieve King Arthur 
 or any of his knights, and your quarrel is full simple to 
 me," said Balin ; " for the lady that is dead did great 
 damage, and else I would have been as loth as any knight 
 that liveth for to slay a lady." " Make you ready," said 
 the knight Lanceor, " and dress you to me ; for one of 
 us shall abide in the field." Then they took their spears 
 in all the haste they might, and came together as fast as 
 their horses might drive, and the king's son of Ireland 
 smote Balin upon his shield, that his spear went all to 
 shivers. And Balin smote him with such a might, that 
 it went through his shield and perished the hawberk, and 
 so pierced through his body and the horse croup ; and 
 Balin anon turned his horse fiercely, and drew out his 
 sword, and wist not that he had slain him, and then he 
 saw him lie as a dead corpse. 
 
 Then he looked by him, and was ware of a damsel 
 that came riding as fast as her horse might gallop upon 
 a fair palfrey. And when she espied that Sir Lanceor 
 
S6 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 was slain, then she made sorrow out of measure, and 
 said, "O Balin ! two bodies hast thou slain and one 
 heart, and two hearts in one body, and two souls thou 
 hast lost." And therewith she took the sword from her 
 love that lay dead, and as she took it she fell to the 
 ground in a swoon : and when she arose, she made great 
 dole out of measure, which sorrow grieved Balin passing 
 sore, and went to her for to have taken the sword out 
 of her hands, but she held it so fast, that in nowise he 
 might take the sword out of her hands, but if he should 
 have hurt her ; and suddenly she set the pommel of the 
 sword to the ground, and ran herself through the body. 
 And when Balin saw her dead, he was passing heavy in his 
 heart, and ashamed that so fair a damsel had destroyed 
 herself for the great love she had unto Sir Lanceor. 
 " Alas ! " said Balin, " me repenteth sore the death of 
 this knight, for the love of this damsel; for there was 
 much true love between them both," and for sorrow he 
 might no longer behold them, but turned his horse and 
 looked toward a forest, and there he espied the arms of 
 his brother Balan ; and when they were met, they put off 
 their helms and kissed together, and wept for joy and pity, 
 " Then," said Balan, " I weened little to have met with 
 you at this sudden adventure ; I am right glad of your 
 deliverance out of your dolorous prisoning, for a man told 
 me in the Castle of Fourstones that ye were delivered, and 
 that man had seen you in King Arthur's court ; and there- 
 fore I came hither into this country, for here I supposed 
 to find you." And anon Balin told unto his brother of 
 all his adventures of the sword, and of the death of the 
 Lady of the Lake, and how King Arthur was displeased 
 with him ; " wherefore he sent this knight after me that 
 
BALIN AND BALAN 57 
 
 lieth here dead, and the death of this damsel grieveth 
 me full sore." " So doth it me," said Balan ; " but ye 
 must take the adventure that God will ordain unto you." 
 " Truly," said Balin, " I am right heavy of mind that 
 my lord. King Arthur, is displeased with me, for he is 
 the most worshipfullest knight that reigneth now on the 
 earth, and his love I will get, or else I will put my life in 
 adventure ; for King Rience, of North Wales, lieth at a 
 siege at the Castle Terabil, and thither will we draw in all 
 haste, to prove our worship and prowess upon him." " I 
 will well," said Balan, " that we do so, and we will help 
 each other as brethren ought to do." 
 
 " Brother," said Balin, " let us go hence, and well be 
 we met." The meanwhile as they talked there came a 
 dwarf from the city of Camelot on horseback, as fast 
 as he might, and found the dead bodies ; wherefore he 
 made great dole, and drew his hair for sorrow, and 
 said, " Which of you knights hath done this deed ? " 
 "Whereby asketh thou it?" said Balin. "For I would 
 wit," said the dwarf. "It was I," said Balin, "that 
 slew this knight in my defence ; for hither came he to 
 chase me, and either I must slay him or me ; and this 
 damsel slew herself for his love, which me sore repenteth, 
 and for her sake I shall owe all women the better love 
 and favour." "Alas ! " said the dwarf, " thou hast done 
 great damage unto thyself ; for this knight, that is here 
 dead, was one of the most valiantest men that lived, and 
 trust thou well, Balin, that the kin of this knight will 
 chase thee through the world till they have slain thee." 
 " As for that," said Balin, " I fear it not greatly ; but I 
 am right heavy, because I have displeased my sovereign 
 lord, King Arthur, for the death of this knight." So, 
 
58 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 as they talked together, there came a man of Cornwall 
 riding by them, which was named King Marke ; and when 
 he saw these two bodies dead, and understood how they 
 were dead by one of the two knights abovesaid, then 
 made King Marke great sorrow for the true love that 
 was between them, and said, " I will not depart from 
 hence till I have on this earth made a tomb." And 
 there he pitched his pavilions, and sought through all 
 the country to find a tomb. And in a church they 
 found one was rich and fair, and then the king let put 
 them both in the earth, and put the tomb on them, and 
 wrote both their names on the tomb, " Here lieth Lan- 
 ceor the king's son of Ireland ; that at his own request 
 was slain by the hands of Balin, and how his lady Colombe, 
 and paramour, slew herself with her love's sword, for dole 
 and sorrow." 
 
 The meanwhile as this was doing, came Merlin unto 
 King Marke, and seeing all his doing, said, " Here in 
 this place shall be the greatest battle between two knights 
 that ever was or ever will be, and the truest lovers, and 
 yet none of them shall slay other ; " and there Merlin 
 wrote their names upon the tomb with letters of gold, 
 that should fight in that place, whose names were Laun- 
 celot du Lake, and Tristram de Liones. " Thou art a 
 marvellous man," said King Marke unto Merlin, "that 
 speakest of such marvels; thou art a boisterous fellow, 
 and an unlikely, to tell of such deeds. What is thy 
 name ? " said King Marke. " At this time," said Merlin, 
 "I will not tell; but at that time, when Sir Tristram 
 shall be taken with his sovereign lady, then ye shall know 
 and hear my name, and at that time ye shall hear tidings 
 that shall not please you. Then," said Merlin to Balin, 
 
BALIN AND BALAN 59 
 
 " thou hast done thyself great hurt, because thou did not 
 save this lady that slew herself, that might have saved 
 her if thou had would." " By the faith of my body," 
 said Balin, " I could not, nor might not save her : for she 
 slew herself suddenly." "Me repenteth," said Merlin; 
 " because of the death of that lady, thou shalt strike a 
 stroke the most dolorous that ever man stroke, except 
 the stroke of our Lord : for thou shalt hurt the truest 
 knight, and the man of the most worship that now liveth, 
 and through that stroke three kingdoms shall be in great 
 poverty, misery, and wretchedness twelve years, and the 
 knight shall not be whole of that wound in many years." 
 And then Merlin took his leave of Balin. " Then," said 
 Balin, " if I wist it were sooth that ye say, I should 
 do such a perilous deed as that, I would slay myself to 
 make thee a liar." And therewith anon Merlin suddenly 
 vanished away: then Balin and his brother took their 
 leave of King Marke. 
 
 " First," said the king, " tell me your name." " Sir," 
 said Balin, "ye may see he beareth two swords, thereby 
 ye may call him the knight of the two swords." And 
 so departed King Marke, and rode to Camelot to King 
 Arthur ; and Balin and his brother took the way to King 
 Rience, and as they rode together they met with Merlin 
 disguised, but they knew him not. " Whither ride 
 ye ? " said Merlin. " We have little to do," said the two 
 knights, " for to tell thee." " But what is thy name ? " 
 said Balin. " As at this time," said Merlin, " I will not 
 tell thee." " It is full evil seen," said the two knights, 
 " that thou art a true man, when thou wilt not tell thy 
 name." " As for that," said Merlin, " be it as it may ; 
 but I can tell you wherefore ye ride this way, for to 
 
6o THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 meet King Rience : but it will not avail you, without you 
 have my counsel." " Ah ! " said Balin, " ye are Merlin : 
 we will be ruled by your counsel." " Come on," said 
 Merlin; "ye shall have great worship, and look that 
 ye do knightly ; for ye shall have great need." " As for 
 that," said Balin, " dread ye not : we will do what we may." 
 Then Merlin lodged them in a wood amongst leaves, 
 beside the highway, and took off the bridles of their 
 horses, and put them to grass, and laid them down to 
 rest them till it was nigh midnight. Then Merlin bade 
 them arise and make them ready ; for the king was nigh 
 them that was stolen away from his host, with threescore 
 of his best knights : and twenty of them rode before, 
 to warn the Lady de Vance that the king was coming ; 
 for that night King Rience should have been with her. 
 "Which is the king?" said Balin. "Abide," said 
 Merlin ; "here in a straight way ye shall meet with him." 
 And therewith he showed Balin and his brother where he 
 rode. Anon Balin and his brother met with the king, 
 and smote him down, and wounded him fiercely, and laid 
 him to the ground; and there they slew on the right 
 hand and on the left, and slew more than forty of his 
 men, and the remnant fled. Then went they again to 
 King Rience, and would have slain him, if he had not 
 yielded him to their grace. Then said the king again, 
 " Knights, full of prowess, slay me not ; for by my life 
 ye may win, and by my death shall ye win nothing." 
 Then said these two knights, " Ye say sooth and troth ; " 
 and so laid him on a horse-litter. With that Merlin 
 was vanished, and came to King Arthur aforehand, and 
 told him how his most enemy was taken and discomfited. 
 "By whom?" said King Arthur. "By two knights," 
 
BALIN AND BALAN 6i 
 
 said Merlin, "that would please your lordship, and to- 
 morrow ye shall know what they be," Anon after came 
 the knight with the two swords, and Balan, his brother, 
 and brought with them King Rience, and there delivered 
 him to the porters, and charged them with him, and so 
 they two returned again in the springing of the day. 
 King Arthur came to King Rience and said, " Sir king, you 
 are welcome ; by what adventure came ye hither ? " " Sir," 
 said King Rience, " I came hither by a hard adventure." 
 " Who won you ? " said King Arthur. " Sir," said Rience, 
 " the knight with the two swords and his brother, which 
 are two marvellous knights of prowess." " I know them 
 not," said King Arthur ; " but much I am beholden unto 
 them." " Ah ! " said Merlin, " I shall tell you it is Balin 
 that achieved the sword, and his brother Balan, a good 
 knight ; there liveth not a better in prowess and worthi- 
 ness, and it shall be the greatest dole of him that ever was 
 of knight, for he shall not long endure." " Alas ! " said 
 King Arthur, " that is a great pity ; for I am greatly be- 
 holden unto him, and I have full evil deserved it unto him 
 for his kindness." " Nay," said Merlin, " he shall do 
 much more for you, and that shall ye know ere it be long. 
 But, sir, are ye purveyed ? " said Merlin ; " for to-morrow 
 the host of Nero, King Rience's brother, will set upon you 
 afore dinner with a mighty host; therefore, make you 
 ready, for I will depart from you." 
 
 Then King Arthur made ready his host in ten battles ; 
 and Nero was ready in the field, afore the Castle Terabil, 
 with a mighty host ; for he had ten battles, with much 
 more people than King Arthur had. So Nero himself 
 had the vanguard with the most party of his people : 
 and Merlin came to King Lot of the Isle of the Orkney, 
 
62 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 and held him with a tale of prophecy, till Nero and his 
 people were destroyed. And there Sir Kaye, the seneschal, 
 did passing well, that all the days of his life he had thereof 
 worship ; and Sir Herves de Revel did marvellous deeds 
 with King Arthur : and King Arthur slew that day twenty 
 knights, and maimed forty. At that time came in the 
 knight with the two swords, and his brother, Balan ; but 
 they two did so marvellously, that the king and all the 
 knights had great marvel thereof: and all that beheld 
 them said, that they were sent from heaven as angels, or 
 as devils from hell ; and King Arthur said himself, that 
 they were the best knights that ever he saw ; for they gave 
 such strokes that all men had wonder of them. In the 
 meantime came one to King Lot and told him that, while 
 he tarried there, Nero was destroyed and slain with all his 
 people. " Alas ! I am ashamed," said King Lot, " for, 
 through my default, is slain many a worshipful man : for, 
 if we had been together, there had been no host under 
 heaven that had been able to match us. This flatterer, 
 with his prophesy, hath mocked me." All that did Mer- 
 lin ; for he knew well that, if King Lot had been there 
 with his body at the first battle. King Arthur and all his 
 people should have been destroyed and slain ; and Merlin 
 knew well that one of the kings should be dead that day, 
 and loth was Merlin that any of them both should be 
 slain ; but of the twain he had liever King Lot had been 
 slain than King Arthur. 
 
 " Now what is best to do ? " said King Lot ; " whether 
 is it better for to treat with King Arthur, or to fight ? for 
 the most part of our people are slain and destroyed." 
 " Sir," said a knight, " set upon King Arthur ; for he 
 and his men are weary of fighting, and we be fresh." 
 
BALIN AND BALAN 63 
 
 " As for me," said King Lot, " I would that every knight 
 would do his part as I will do mine." And then they 
 advanced their banners, and smote together, and all to- 
 shivered their spears; and King Arthur's knights, with 
 the help of the knight of the two swords, and his 
 brother, Balan, put King Lot and his host to the worst. 
 But always King Lot held him in the foremost, and 
 did great deeds of arms ; for all his host was borne up by 
 his hands, for he abode and withstood all knights. Alas! 
 he might not ever endure, the which was great pity that 
 so worthy a knight as he was should be overmatched, and 
 that of late time afore had been a knight of King Arthur's, 
 and had wedded King Arthur's sister ; and, because King 
 Arthur cast his love upon her and therewith begat Mor- 
 dred, therefore King Lot held against King Arthur. So 
 there was a knight, that was called the knight with the 
 strange beast, and at that time his right name was Pelli- 
 nore, which was a good man of prowess ; and he smote a 
 mighty stroke at King Lot as he fought with his enemies : 
 and he failed of his stroke, and smote the horse's neck, 
 that he fell to the ground with King Lot. And there- 
 with Sir Pellinore smote him a great stroke through the 
 helm, and hewed him to the brows : then all the host of 
 Orkney fled for the death of King Lot, and there was slain 
 many a mother's son. But King Pellinore bare the blame 
 of the death of King Lot : wherefore. Sir Gawaine re- 
 venged the death of his father the tenth year after he was 
 made knight, and slew King Pellinore with his own hands. 
 Also there was slain at the battle twelve kings on King 
 Lot's side with Nero, and all were buried in the church 
 of St. Stevens, in Camelot ; and the remnant of knights 
 and of others were buried in a great rock. 
 
64 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 So, at the interment, came King Lot's wife, Mor- 
 gause, with her four sons, Gawaine, Agravaine, Gaheris, 
 and Gareth. Also there came thither King Urience, Sir 
 Ewaine's father, and Morgan le Fay, his wife, that was 
 King Arthur's sister: all these came to the interment. 
 But of all these twelve knights King Arthur let make 
 the tomb of King Lot passing richly, and his tomb stood 
 by itself apart. And then King Arthur let make twelve 
 images of latten and of copper, and made them to be 
 overgilt with fine gold, in sign and token of the twelve 
 kings ; and every image held a taper of wax, which burnt 
 night and day. And King Arthur was made in sign of 
 a figure standing above them all, with a sword drawn in 
 his hand; and all the twelve figures had countenances 
 like unto men that were overcome. All this made Merlin 
 by his subtle craft, and there he said to King Arthur, 
 " When I am dead the twelve tapers shall burn no longer ; 
 and, soon after this, the adventures of the Holy Sancgreal 
 shall come among you, and shall also be achieved." Also 
 he told unto King Arthur, how Balin, the worshipful 
 knight, should give the dolorous stroke, whereof shall 
 fall great vengeance, "And where is Balin, and Balan, 
 and Pellinore ? " said King Arthur. 
 
 "As for Sir Pellinore," said Merlin, "he will meet 
 with you anon ; and as for Balin, he will not be long 
 from you ; but the other brother, Balan, will depart, and 
 ye shall see him no more." " Now, by my faith," said 
 King Arthur, " they are two marvellous knights, and 
 namely, Balin passeth of prowess far of any knight 
 that ever I found; for I am much beholden unto him. 
 Would to God that he would abide still with me." " Sir," 
 aid Merlin, "look that ye keep well the scabbard of 
 
BALIN AND BALAN 65 
 
 Excalibur; for, as I told you, ye shall lose no blood as 
 long as ye have the scabbard upon you, though ye have 
 as many wounds upon your body as ye may have." So 
 afterwards, for great trust. King Arthur betook the 
 scabbard to Morgan le Fay, his sister; and she loved 
 another knight better than her husband. King Urience, 
 or King Arthur. And she would have had King Arthur 
 slain : and, therefore, she let make another scabbard like 
 it by enchantment, and gave the scabbard of Excalibur 
 to her love, a knight named Sir Accolon, which after had 
 nigh slain King Arthur. After this. Merlin told unto 
 King Arthur of the prophecy that there should be a great 
 battle beside Salisbury, and that Mordred, his own son, 
 should be against him : also he told him, that Basdemegus 
 was his cousin, and german unto King Urience. 
 
 Within a day or two King Arthur was somewhat sick, 
 and he let pitch his pavilion in a meadow, and there he 
 laid him down on a pallet to sleep, but he might have 
 no rest. Right so he heard a great noise of a horse ; 
 and therewith the king looked out at the porch of the 
 pavilion's door, and saw a knight coming by him making 
 great sorrow. " Abide, fair sir," said King Arthur, " and 
 tell me wherefore thou makest this sorrow." " Ye may 
 little amend it," said the knight, and so passed forth unto 
 the castle of Meliot. Anon after there came Balin ; and, 
 when he saw King Arthur, anon he alighted off his horse, 
 and came to the king on foot, and saluted him. "By 
 my head," said King Arthur, " ye be welcome, sir. Right 
 now came riding this way a knight making great sorrow, 
 and I cannot tell for what cause; wherefore, I would 
 desire you, of your courtesy and gentleness, that ye will 
 fetch that knight again, either by force, or else by his 
 
 E 
 
66 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 good will." " I will do more for your lordship than 
 that," said Balin, and so rode more than a pace, and 
 found the knight with a damsel in a forest, and said, 
 "Sir knight, ye must come with me unto my lord, 
 King Arthur, for to tell him the cause of your sorrow." 
 " That will I not," said the knight ; " for it would scath 
 me greatly, and do you none avail." " Sir," said Balin, 
 " I pray you make you ready ; for ye must needs go with 
 me, or else I will fight with you, and bring you by force, 
 and that were I loth to do." "Will ye be my war- 
 rant," said the knight to Balin, " if I go with you ? " 
 "Yea," said Balin, "or else I will die therefor." And so 
 he made him ready to go with the good knight, Balin, 
 and left there the damsel : and, as they were afore King 
 Arthur's pavilion, there came one invisible, and smote 
 the knight that went with Balin throughout the body 
 with a spear. 
 
 " Alas ! " said the knight, " I am slain under your 
 conduct and guard, with a traitorous knight, called 
 Garlon; therefore, take my horse, the which is better 
 than yours, and ride to the damsel, and follow the quest 
 that I was in, whereas she will lead you, and revenge my 
 death when ye may best." " That shall I do," said Balin, 
 " and thereof I make a vow to you by my knighthood." 
 And so he departed from this knight, making great 
 sorrow. So King Arthur let bury this knight richly, 
 and made a mention upon the tomb how there was slain 
 Herleus le Berbeus, and also how the treachery was done 
 by the knight, Garlon. But ever the damsel bore the 
 truncheon of the spear with her that Sir Herleus was 
 slain with. 
 
 So Balin and the damsel rode into the forest, and 
 
BALIN AND BALAN 67 
 
 there met with a knight that had been on hunting ; and 
 that knight asked Balin for what cause he made so great 
 sorrow. " Me list not to tell you," said Balin, " Now," 
 said the knight, "and I were armed as ye be I would 
 fight with you." " That should little need," said Balin ; 
 " for I am not afraid to tell it you : " and he told him all 
 the cause how it was. " Ah ! " said the knight, " is this 
 all ? here I ensure you, by the faith of my body, never 
 to depart from you as long as my life lasteth." And so 
 they went to the hostel and armed him, and so rode 
 forth with Balin ; and as they came by a hermitage, fast 
 by a churchyard, there came the knight Garlon invisible, 
 and smote this good knight, Perin de Mountbelyard, with 
 a spear through the body. " Alas ! " said the knight, " I 
 am slain by this traitor knight that rideth invisible." 
 " Alas ! " said Balin, " it is not the first despite that he 
 hath done to me." And there the hermit and Balin 
 buried the knight under a rich stone and a tomb royal ; 
 and, on the morrow, they found letters of gold written, 
 how Sir Gawaine shall revenge King Lot's death, his 
 father, upon King Pellinore. And anon, after this, 
 Balin and the damsel rode till they came to a castle; 
 and there Balin alighted, and he and the damsel weened 
 to have gone into the castle. And anon, as Balin came 
 within the gate, the portcullis fell down at his back, 
 and there came many men about the damsel, and would 
 have slain her. And, when Balin saw that, he was so 
 grieved, because he might not help the damsel : and then 
 he went upon the walls, and leaped over into the ditch, 
 and hurt him not. , And anon he pulled out his sword, 
 and would have foughten with them. And they all said 
 " that they would not fight with him ; for they did 
 
68 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 nothing but the old custom of the castle." And told 
 him how their lady was sick, and had lain many years, 
 and she might not be whole, but if she had a silver dish 
 full of blood, of a clean maid, and a king's daughter; 
 and, therefore, the custom of the castle is, that there 
 shall none pass this way but she shall bleed of her blood 
 a silver dish full. " Well," said Balin, " she shall bleed 
 as much as she may bleed ; but I will not that she lose 
 her life, while my life lasteth." And so Balin made her 
 to bleed by her good will ; but her blood helped not the 
 lady. And so he and she rested there all that night, and 
 had their right good cheer ; and, on the morrow, they 
 passed on their way. And as it telleth afterwards, in the 
 Sancgreal, that Sir Percivale's sister helped that lady with 
 her blood, whereof she died. 
 
 Then they rode three or four days, and never met 
 with adventure; and by hap they were lodged with a 
 gentleman that was a rich man, and well at ease. And, 
 as they sat at their supper, Balin heard one complain 
 grievously by him in a chair. " What noise is this ? " 
 said Balin. " Forsooth," said his host, " I will tell you : 
 I was but late at a. jousting, and there I jousted with a 
 knight, that is brother unto King Pellam, and twice I 
 smote him down ; and then he promised to quit me on 
 my best friend, and so he wounded my son that cannot 
 be whole till I have of that knight's blood : and he rideth 
 always invisible, but I know not his name." " Ah ! " 
 said Balin, " I know that knight, his name is Garlon ; 
 he hath slain two knights of mine in the same manner, 
 therefore I had rather meet with that knight than all 
 the gold in this realm, for the despite that he hath done 
 me." " Well," said his host, " I shall tell you : King 
 
BALIN AND BALAN 69 
 
 Pellam, of Listeneise, hath made a cry, in all this country, 
 of a great feast that shall be within twenty days, and no 
 knight may come there but if he bring his wife with 
 him, or his paramour ; and that knight, your enemy and 
 mine, ye shall see that day." " Then I behove you," said 
 Balin, " part of his blood to heal your son withal." " We 
 will be forward to-morrow," said his host. So, on the 
 morrow, they rode all three towards Pellam, and had 
 fifteen days' journey or they came thither ; and that same 
 day began the great feast, and they alighted and stabled 
 their horses, and went into the castle : but Balin's host 
 might not be let in, because he had no lady. Then was 
 Balin well received, and brought to a chamber, and 
 unarmed him ; and there were brought him robes to his 
 pleasure, and would have had him leave his sword behind 
 him. " Nay," said Balin, " that will I not do ; for it is 
 the custom of my country for a knight always to keep 
 his weapon with him, and that custom will I keep, or 
 else I will depart as I came." Then they gave him leave 
 to wear his sword. And so he went to the castle, and 
 was set among knights of worship, and his lady afore 
 him. Soon Balin asked a knight, " Is there not a knight 
 in this court whose name is Garlon ? " " Yonder he 
 goeth," said the knight, " he with that black face : he is 
 the marvailest knight that is now living, for he destroyeth 
 many good knights, for he goeth invisible." " Ah ! well," 
 said Balin, " is that he?" Then Balin advised him long, 
 " If I slay him here I shall not escape, and if I leave him 
 now, peradventure I shall never meet with him again at 
 such a good time, and much harm he will do, and he 
 live." Therewith this Garlon espied that this Balin 
 beheld him, and then, he came and smote Balin on the 
 
70 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 face with the back of his hand, and said, " Knight, why 
 beholdest thou me so? for shame; therefore eat thy 
 meat, and do that thou came for." " Thou sayest 
 sooth," said Balin ; " this is not the first despite that 
 thou hast done me ; and, therefore, I will do that I came 
 for ; " and rose up so fiercely, and cleaved his head to 
 the shoulders. " Give me the truncheon," said Balin to 
 his lady, " wherewith he slew your knight." Anon she 
 gave it him, for always she bare that truncheon with her. 
 And therewith Balin smote him through the body, and 
 said openly, "With that truncheon thou hast slain a 
 good knight, and now it sticketh in thy body." And 
 then Balin called to him his host, saying, " Now may ye 
 fetch blood enough for to heal your son withal." 
 
 Anon all the knights rose up from the table for to 
 set on Balin ; and King Pellam himself arose up fiercely, 
 and said, " Knight, why hast thou slain my brother ? thou 
 shalt die, therefore, ere thou depart." "Well," said 
 Balin, " then do it yourself." " Yes," said King Pellam, 
 "there shall no man have to do with thee but myself, for 
 the love of my brother," Then King Pellam caught in 
 his hand a grim weapon, and smote eagerly at Balin ; but 
 Balin put the sword between his head and the stroke, and 
 therewith his sword burst in sunder. And when Balin 
 was weaponless, he came into a chamber for to seek some 
 weapon, and so from chamber to chamber, and no weapon 
 could he find; and always King Pellam followed him, 
 and at the last he entered into a chamber that was mar- 
 vellously well dight and richly, and a bed arrayed with 
 cloth of gold, the richest that might be thought, and one 
 lying therein, and thereby stood a table of clean gold, 
 with four pillars of silver that bare up the table, and upon 
 
BALIN AND BALAN 71 
 
 the table stood a marvellous spear, strangely wrought. 
 And when Balin saw the spear, he gat it in his hand, and 
 turned him to King Pellam, and smote him passingly sore 
 with that spear, that King Pellam fell down in a swoon ; 
 and therewith the castle rove and the walls brake, and fell 
 to the earth, and Balin fell down, so that he might not 
 stir hand nor foot : and so the most part of the castle 
 that was fallen down, through that dolorous stroke, lay 
 upon King Pellam and Balin three days. 
 
 Then Merlin came thither and took up Balin, and 
 gat him a good horse, for his horse was dead, and bade 
 him ride out of that country. " I would have my damsel," 
 said Balin. " Lo," said Merlin, " where she lieth dead." 
 And King Pellam lay so many years sore wounded, and 
 might never be whole till Galahad, the haute prince, 
 healed him in the quest of the Sancgreal ; for in that 
 place was part of the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, that 
 Joseph of Arimathea brought into this land, and there 
 himself lay in that rich bed. And that was the same 
 spear that Longius smote our Lord to the heart; and 
 King Pellam was nigh of Joseph's kin, and that was the 
 most worshipful man that lived in those days : and great 
 pity it was of his hurt, for the stroke turned him to great 
 dole, vexation, and grief. Then departed Balin from 
 Merlin, and said, " In this world we shall never meet 
 more." So he rode forth through the fair countries and 
 cities, and found the people dead on every side. And all 
 that were alive, cried, " O Balin ! thou hast caused great 
 damage in these countries, for the dolorous stroke that 
 thou gavest unto King Pellam, three countries are de- 
 stroyed; and doubt not but the vengeance will fall on 
 thee at the last." When Balin was past the countries he 
 
72 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 was passing faint ; so he rode eight days ere he met with 
 adventures, and at the last he came into a fair forest, in 
 a valley, and was aware of a tower, and there beside he 
 saw a great horse of war tied to a tree, and there beside 
 sat a fair knight on the ground, and made great mourn- 
 ing : and he was a likely man, and well made. Balin 
 said, " God save you, why be ye so heavy ? tell me, and I 
 will amend it, and I may to my power." " Sir knight," 
 said he, " again thou doest me great grief; for I was in 
 merry thoughts, and now thou puttest me to more pain." 
 Balin went a little from him, and looked on his horse. 
 Then Balin heard him say thus : " Ah ! fair lady, why 
 have ye broken my promise ; for ye promised me to meet 
 me here by noon, and I may curse you that ever ye gave 
 me this sword ; for with this sword I will slay myself." 
 And he pulled it out, and therewith Balin started to him, 
 and took him by the hand. "Let go my hand," said 
 the knight, " or else I shall slay thee." " That shall not 
 need," said Balin, " for I shall promise you my help to get 
 you your lady, if you will tell me where she is ? " " What 
 is your name ? " said the knight. " My name is Balin le 
 Savage." " Ah ! sir, I know you well enough ; you are 
 the knight with the two swords, and the man of most 
 prowess of your hands living." " What is your name ? " 
 said Balin. " My name is Garnish of the Mount, a poor 
 man's son; but, by my prowess and hardiness, a duke 
 hath made me a knight, and gave me lands : his name is 
 Duke Hermel, and his daughter is she that I love, and 
 she me, as I deemed." " How far is she hence ? " said 
 Balin, " But six mile," said the knight. " Now ride 
 we hence," siaid these two knights. So they rode more 
 than a pace till they came tO' a fair castle, well walled and 
 
BALIN AND BALAN 73 
 
 ditched. "I -will into the castle," said Balin, "and look 
 if she be there." So he went in, and searched from 
 chamber to chamber, and found her bed, but she was not 
 there ; then Balin looked into a fair little garden, and 
 under a laurel tree he saw her lie upon a quilt of green 
 samite, and a knight with her, and under their heads 
 grass and herbs. When Balin saw her with the foulest 
 knight that ever he saw, and she a fair lady, then Balin 
 went through all the chambers again, and told the knight 
 how he found her, as she had slept fast, and so brought 
 him in the place where she lay fast sleeping. 
 
 And when Garnish beheld her so lying, for pure sorrow 
 his mouth and nose burst out on bleeding, and with his 
 sword he smote off both their heads, and then he made 
 sorrow out of measure and said, " O Balin, much sorrow 
 hast thou brought unto me, for hadst thou not shown me 
 that sight I should have passed my sorrow." " Forsooth," 
 said Balin, " I did it to this intent that it should better 
 thy courage, and that ye might see and know her false- 
 hood, and to cause you to leave love of such a lady : 
 truly I did none other but as I would ye did to me." 
 " Alas ! " said Garnish, " now is my sorrow double that 
 I may not endure : now have I slain that I most loved in 
 all my life." And therewith suddenly he rove himself 
 on his own sword unto the hilts. When Balin saw that, 
 he dressed him thenceward, lest folks would say he had 
 slain them, and so he rode forth, and within three days he 
 came by a cross, and thereon were letters of gold written 
 that said, " It is not for any knight alone to ride toward 
 this castle." Then saw he an old hoar gentleman coming 
 toward him that said, " Balin le Savage, thou passest thy 
 bounds to come this way, therefore turn again and it will 
 
74 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 avail thee." And he vanished away anon ; and so he heard 
 an horn blow as it had been the death of a beast. " That 
 blast," said Balin, " is blown for me, for I am the prize, 
 yet am I not dead." Anon withal he saw an hundred 
 ladies and many knights, that welcomed him with fair 
 semblance, and made him passing good cheer unto his 
 sight, and led him into the castle, and there was dancing 
 and minstrelsy, and all manner of joy. Then the chief 
 lady of the castle said, " Knight with the two swords, ye 
 must have ado with a knight hereby that keepeth an 
 island, for there may no man pass this way but he must 
 joust or he pass." " That is an unhappy custom," said 
 Balin, " that a knight may not pass this way but if he 
 joust." "Ye shall not have ado but with one knight," said 
 the lady. " Well," said Balin, " since I shall, thereto am 
 I ready, but travelling men are oft weary, and their horses 
 also; but though my horse be weary my heart is not 
 weary. I would be fain there my death should be." 
 " Sir," said a knight to Balin, " methinketh your shield 
 is not good, I will lend you a bigger : therefore I pray 
 you;" and so he took the shield that was unknown, and 
 left his own, and so rode unto the island, and put him 
 and his horse in a great boat, and when he came on the 
 other side he met with a damsel, and she said, " O knight 
 Balin, why have ye left your own shield ? alas ! ye have 
 put yourself in great danger, for by your shield ye should 
 have been known : it is great pity of you as ever was of 
 knight, for of thy prowess and hardiness thou hast no 
 fellow living." " Me repenteth," said Balin, " that ever 
 I came within this country, but I may not turn now again 
 for shame, and what adventure shall fall to me, be it life 
 or death, I will take the adventure that shall come to 
 
BALIN AND BALAN 75 
 
 me." And then he looked on his armour, and under- 
 stood he was well armed, and therewith blessed him, and 
 mounted upon his horse. 
 
 Then afore him he saw come riding out of a castle a 
 knight, and his horse trapped all red, and himself in the 
 same colour. When this knight in the red beheld- Balin, 
 him thought it should be his brother Balin, because of 
 his two swords, but because he knew not his shield, he 
 deemed it was not he. And so they aventred their spears, 
 and came marvellously fast together, and they smote each 
 other in the shields, but their spears and their course were 
 so big that it bare down horse and man, that they lay 
 both in a swoon. But Balin was bruised sore with the 
 fall of his horse, for he was weary of travel. And Balan 
 was the first that rose on foot and drew his sword, and 
 went toward Balin, and he arose and went against him, 
 but Balan smote Balin first, and he put up his shield, and 
 smote him through the shield and cleft his helm. Then 
 Balin smote him again with that unhappy sword, and well 
 nigh had felled his brother Balan, and so they fought there 
 together till their breaths failed. Then Balin looked up 
 to the castle, and saw the towers stand full of ladies. So 
 they went to battle again, and wounded each other dolefully, 
 and then they breathed oft-times, and so went unto battle, 
 that all the place there as they fought was blood red. And 
 at that time there was none of them both but they had 
 smitten either other seven great wounds ; so that the least 
 of them might have been the death of the mightiest giant 
 in the world. Then they went to battle again so marvel- 
 lously, that doubt it was to hear of that battle ; for the 
 great bloodshedding, and their hawberks unnailed, that 
 naked they were on every side : at the last Balan, the 
 
76 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 younger brother, withdrew him a little, and laid him 
 down. Then said Balin le Savage, " What knight art 
 thou ? for ere now I found never no knight that matched 
 me." " My name is," said he, " Balan, brother to the 
 good knight Balin." "Alas!" said Balin, "that ever 
 I should see this day." And therewith he fell backward 
 in a swoon. Then Balan went on all four, feet and 
 hands, and put off the helm of his brother, and might 
 not know him by the visage, it was so full hewn and 
 bebled ; but when he awoke, he said, " O Balan, my 
 brother, thou hast slain me, and I thee, wherefore all 
 the wide world shall speak of us both." "Alas ! " said 
 Balan, " that ever I saw this day, that through mishap I 
 might not know you ; for I espied well your two swords, 
 but because ye had another shield, I deemed you had 
 been another knight." "Alas!" said Balin, "all that 
 made an unhappy knight in the castle, for he caused me 
 to leave mine own shield to the destruction of us both ; 
 and if I might live I would destroy that castle for the ill 
 customs." "That were well done," said Balan, "for I 
 had never grace to depart from them, since that I came 
 hither, for here it happened me to slay a knight that 
 kept this island, and since might I never depart, and no 
 more should ye, brother, and ye might have slain me, as 
 ye have, and escaped yourself with your life." Right so 
 came the lady of the tower with four knights and six 
 ladies, and six yeomen unto them, and there she heard 
 how they made their mourn either to other, and said, 
 "We came both out of one womb, and so shall we lie 
 both in one pit." So Balan prayed the lady of her gentle- 
 ness, for his true service, that she would bury them both 
 in that place where the battle was done. And she granted 
 
BALIN AND BALAN 77 
 
 them, with weeping cheer, and said, " It should be done 
 richly, and in the best manner." " Now will ye send for 
 a priest, that we may receive the sacrament and blessed 
 body of our Lord Jesus Christ." " Yea," said the lady, 
 " it shall be done." And so she sent for a priest, and 
 gave them their rites, " Now," said Balin, " when we are 
 buried in one tomb, and the inscription made over us 
 how two brethren slew each other, there will never good 
 knight, nor good man, see our tomb, but they will pray 
 for our souls." And so all the ladies and gentlewomen 
 wept for pity. And anon Balan died, but Balin died 
 not till the midnight after, and so were buried both; 
 and the lady let make an inscription of Balan, how he 
 was there slain by the hands of his own brother : but she 
 knew not Balin's name. 
 
 On the morrow came Merlin, and let write Balin's 
 name upon the tomb, with letters of gold : " Here lieth 
 Balin le Savage, that was the Knight with the Two Swords, 
 and he that smote the Dolorous Stroke." Merlin let 
 make there also a bed, that there should never man lie in 
 but he went out of his wit ; yet Launcelot du Lake fordid 
 that bed through his nobleness. And anon, after as 
 Balin was dead. Merlin took his sword, and took off the 
 pommel, and set on another pommel. Then Merlin had 
 a knight that stood afore him to handle that sword, and 
 he assayed, but he could not handle it. Then Merlin 
 laughed. "Why laugh ye.?" said the knight. "This 
 is the cause," said Merlin : " there shall never no man 
 handle this sword but the best knight of the world, and 
 that shall be Launcelot, or else Galahad, his son; and 
 Launcelot, with his sword, shall slay the man that in this 
 world he loved best, that shall be Sir Gawaine." All 
 
78 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 this he let write in the pommel of the sword. Then 
 Merlin let make a bridge of iron and of steel into that 
 island, and it was but half a foot^ broad : and there shall 
 never man pass that bridge, nor have hardiness to go 
 over, but if he were a passing good man, and a good 
 knight, without treachery or villainy. Also, the scabbard 
 of Balin's sword. Merlin left it on this side the island, 
 that Galahad should find it. Also, Merlin let make, 
 by his subtlety and craft, that Balin's sword was put in 
 marble stone, standing upright, as great as a millstone, 
 and the stone hoved always above the water, and did 
 many years : and so, by adventure, it swam down the 
 stream to the city of Camelot. And that same day 
 Galahad, the haughty prince, came with King Arthur; 
 and so Galahad brought with him the scabbard, and 
 achieved the sword that was there in the marble stone, 
 hoving upon the water ; and, on Whitsunday, he achieved 
 the sword as it is rehearsed in the book of the Sancgreal. 
 Soon after this was done Merlin came to King Arthur, 
 and told him of the dolorous stroke that Balin gave to 
 King Pellam, and how Balin and Balan fought together 
 the marvailest battle that ever was heard of, and how 
 they were buried both in one tomb. " Alas," said King 
 Arthur, " this is the greatest pity that ever I heard tell 
 of two knights ; for in the world I know not such two 
 knights as they were." Thus endeth the tale of Balin 
 and Balan, two brethren, born in Northumberland, good 
 knights. 
 
IV 
 THE STORY OF MARCELLA 
 
 From Don Quixote 
 
 " Do you know what has happened in our town, com- 
 rades ? " said one of the lads who brought them victuals 
 from the village, entering the hut. When one of them 
 answered, " How should we ? " " Know then," continued 
 he, " that the famous student Chrysostom died this 
 morning ; and it is murmured about, that his death was 
 occasioned by his love for that devilish girl Marcella, 
 daughter of William the rich ; she that roves about these 
 plains in the habit of a shepherdess." " For Marcella, 
 said you ? " cried one. " The same," answered the goat- 
 herd, " and it is certain that, in his last will, he ordered 
 himself to be buried in the field, like a Moor (God 
 bless us !), at the foot of the rock hard by the cork-tree 
 spring ; for, the report goes, and they say he said so 
 himself, as how the first time he saw her was in that 
 place ; and he has also ordained many other such things, 
 as the clergy say, must not be accomplished, nor is it right 
 they should be accomplished ; for truly, they seem quite 
 heathenish. To all which objections his dear friend, Am- 
 brosio the student, who also dressed himself like a shep- 
 herd, to keep him company, replies that he will perform 
 
 79 
 
8o THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 everything without fail that Chrysostom has ordered ; 
 and the whole village is in an uproar about it. But it 
 is believed, that everything, at last, will be done accord- 
 ing to the desire of Ambrosio, and all the rest of the 
 shepherds, his friends ; and that to-morrow he will be 
 interred with great pomp in the very spot I have men- 
 tioned. I am resolved, therefore, as it will be a thing 
 well worth seeing, to go thither without fail, even though 
 I thought I should not be able to return to the village 
 that night." " We will do so too," replied the goat- 
 herds, " and cast lots to see which of us must stay and 
 take care of our flocks." " You are in the right, Pedro," 
 said one, " but, there will be no occasion to use that 
 shift ; for I myself will stay and take care of the whole, 
 and you must not impute my tarrying to virtue, or the 
 want of curiosity, but to the plaguy thorn that ran into 
 my foot the other day, and hinders me from walking." 
 " We are obliged to thee, however," answered Pedro, 
 whom Don Quixote desired to tell him who that same 
 dead shepherd and living shepherdess were. 
 
 To this question the goatherd replied, " All that he 
 knew of the matter was, that the deceased was the son 
 of a rich farmer, who lived in the neighbourhood of a 
 village in these mountains ; that he had studied in Sala- 
 manca many years, at the end of which he had returned 
 to his family with the character of a great scholar ; in 
 particular, they said, he was very knowing in the science 
 of the stars, and what passed betwixt the sun and moon, 
 and the heavens; for, he had punctually foretold the 
 clipse of them both ! " " The obscuration of those 
 two great luminaries," said the knight, " is called the 
 eclipse, and not the clipse, friend." But Pedro, without 
 
THE STORY OF MARCELLA 8^ 
 
 troubling his head with these trifles, proceeded saying, 
 "he likewise foresaw when the year would be plentiful 
 or staril." "You mean sterile," said Don Quixote. 
 "Sterile, or staril," replied Pedro, "comes all to the 
 same purpose ; and I say, that his father and his friends, 
 taking his advice, became very rich ; for, they gave credit 
 to his words, and followed his counsel in all things. 
 When he would say, this year you must sow barley, and 
 no wheat ; here you must sow carabances, but no barley ; 
 next year there will be a good harvest of oil ; but for 
 three years to come there will not be a drop." " That 
 science," replied Don Quixote, " is called astrology." 
 " I know not how it is called," replied Pedro, " but 
 this I know, that he knew all this, and much more. In 
 short, not many months after he came from Salamanca, 
 he appeared all of a sudden in shepherd-weeds, with his 
 woolly jacket, and a flock of sheep, having laid aside the 
 long dress of a student. And he was accompanied by a 
 friend of his in the same habit, whose name was Am- 
 brosio, and who had been his fellow-student at college. 
 I forgot to tell you, that Chrysostom the defunct was 
 such a great man at composing couplets, that he made 
 carols for Christmas-eve, and plays for the Lord's-day, 
 which were represented by the young men in our village : 
 and everybody said, that they were tip-top. When the 
 people of the village saw the two scholars, so suddenly 
 clothed like shepherds, they were surprised, and could 
 not guess their reason for such an odd chance. About 
 that time, the father of this Chrysostom dying, he in- 
 herited great riches, that were in moveables and in lands, 
 with no small number of sheep more or less, and a great 
 deal of money : all of which, this young man remained 
 
 F 
 
82 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 desolate lord and master ; and truly he deserved it all ; 
 for he was an excellent companion, very charitable, a 
 great friend to good folks, and had a most blessed 
 countenance. Afterwards it came to be known, that 
 his reason for changing his garb, was no other than with 
 a view of strolling through the woods and deserts after 
 that same shepherdess Marcella, whose name my friend 
 mentioned just now, and with whom the poor defunct 
 Chrysostom was woundily in love : and I will now tell 
 you, for it is necessary that you should know who this 
 wench is ; for, mayhap, nay even without a mayhap, you 
 never heard of such a thing in all the days of your life, 
 though you be older than St. Paul." ^ " Say Paul's," 
 replied Don Quixote, offended at the goatherd's pervert- 
 ing of words. " St. Paul was no chicken," replied Pedro, 
 " and if your worship be resolved to correct my words 
 every moment, we shall not have done in a twelvemonth." 
 " I ask your pardon, friend," said the knight ; " I only 
 mention this, because there is a wide difference between 
 the person of St. Paul, and a church that goes by his 
 name : but, however, you made a very sensible reply ; 
 for, to be sure, the saint lived long before the church 
 was built : therefore go on with your story, and I pro- 
 mise not to interrupt you again." 
 
 " Well then, my good master," said the goatherd, 
 "there lived in our village a farmer, still richer than 
 Chrysostom's father; his name was William, and God 
 gave him, over and above great wealth, a daughter, who at 
 
 1 In the original Spanish, the goatherd, instead of saying as old as Sarah, 
 says as old as Sarna, which in that language signifies the itch ; but as it is 
 impossible to preserve these mistakes in the translation, I have substituted 
 another in its room, which I apprehend is equally expressive. — [[S.I 
 
THE STORY OF MARCELLA 83 
 
 her birth was the death of her mother, the most worthy 
 dame in all the country. Methinks I see her now with 
 that face of hers, which seemed to have the sun on one 
 side, and the moon on the other ; she was an excellent 
 housewife, and a great friend to the poor, for which 
 reason I believe her soul is enjoying the presence of God 
 in paradise. Her husband died of grief for the loss of 
 so good a wife, leaving his daughter Marcella, young 
 and rich, to the care of an uncle, who has got a living 
 in our village. The girl grew up with so much beauty, 
 that she put us in mind of her mother, who had a great 
 share, and yet it was thought it would be surpassed by 
 the daughter's. It happened accordingly, for when she 
 came to the age of fourteen or fifteen, nobody could 
 behold her without blessing God for having made so 
 beautiful a creature ; and everybody almost grew despe- 
 rately in love with her. Her uncle kept her up with 
 great care ; but, for all that, the fame of her exceeding 
 beauty spread in such a manner, that both for her person 
 and her fortune, not only the richest people in our town, 
 but likewise in many leagues about, came to ask her in 
 marriage of her uncle, with much importunity and soli- 
 citation. But he who, to give him his due, was a good 
 Christian, although he wanted to dispose of her as soon 
 as she came to an age fit for matrimony, would not give 
 her away without her own consent ; neither had he a 
 view in deferring her marriage, to the gain and advantage 
 which he might enjoy in managing the girl's fortune. 
 And truly I have heard this spoken in more companies 
 than one, very much to the praise of the honest priest. 
 For I would have you know, sir traveller, that in these 
 small towns, people intermeddle and grumble about 
 
84 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 everything. And this you may take for certain, as I 
 know it to be so, that a clergyman must be excessively 
 good indeed, if he can oblige his flock to speak well of 
 him, especially in country villages." " You are certainly 
 in the right," said Don Quixote, " and pray go on, for 
 your story is very entertaining, and you, honest Pedro, 
 relate it with a good grace." " May I never want God's 
 grace," said the shepherd, " for, that is the main chance ; 
 and you must know, moreover, that though the uncle 
 proposed to his niece, and described the good qualities 
 of each in particular who asked her in marriage, desiring 
 her to give her hand to some one, or other, and choose 
 for herself; she never would give him any other answer, 
 but that she did not choose to marry, for she was too 
 young to bear the burden of matrimony. On account 
 of these excuses, which seemed to have some reason in 
 them, her uncle forbore to importune her, and waited 
 till she should have more years and discernment to make 
 choice of her own company ; for, he said, and to be sure, 
 it was well said, that parents should never dispose of their 
 children against their own inclinations. But, behold, when 
 we least thought of it, the timorous Marcella, one day, 
 appeared in the habit of a shepherdess ; and without im- 
 parting her design to her uncle, or anybody in the village, 
 for fear they might have dissuaded her from it, she took 
 to the field with her own flock, in company with the 
 other damsels of the village. As she now appeared in 
 public, and her beauty was exposed to the eyes of every- 
 body, you cannot conceive what a number of rich youths, 
 gentlemen, and farmers, immediately took the garb of 
 Chrysostom, and went wooing her through the fields. 
 One of these suitors, as you have heard, was the deceased, 
 
THE STORY OF MARCELLA 85 
 
 who, they say, left off loving to adore her ; and you must 
 not think, that because Marcella took this free and un- 
 confined way of living, she brought the least disparage- 
 ment upon her chastity and good name ; on the contrary, 
 such is the vigilance with which she guards her honour, 
 that of all those who serve and solicit her, not one has 
 boasted, nor indeed can boast with any truth, that she has 
 given him the smallest hope of accomplishing his desire ; 
 for, though she neither flies, or avoids the company and 
 conversation of the shepherds, but treats them in a cour- 
 teous and friendly manner, whenever any of them comes 
 to disclose his intention, let it be ever so just and holy, 
 even marriage itself, she throws him from her, like a 
 stone from a sling, and being of this disposition, does 
 more damage in this country than if a pestilence had 
 seized it; for, her affability and beauty allures all the 
 hearts of those that converse with her to serve and love 
 her, but her coyness and plain-dealing drives them even 
 to the borders of despair ; therefore, they know not what 
 to say, but upbraid her with cruelty and ingratitude, and 
 give her a great many such titles, as plainly show the 
 nature of her disposition : and if your worship was but 
 to stay here one day, you would hear these hills and dales 
 resound with the lamentations of her rejected followers. 
 Not far from this place there is a tuft of about a dozen 
 of tall beeches, upon every one of which you may read 
 engraved the name of Marcella, and over some a crown 
 cut out in bark, as if her lover would have declared that 
 Marcella wears, and deserves to wear, the crown of all 
 earthly beauty. Here one shepherd sighs, there another 
 complains ; in one place you may hear amorous ditties, 
 in another the dirges of despair ; one lover sits musing 
 
86 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 through all the hours of the night, at the foot of some 
 tall ash, or rugged rock, and there, without having closed 
 his weeping eyes, shrunk up as it were, and entranced in 
 his own reflections, he is found by the rising sun ; a 
 second, without giving respite or truce to his sighs, ex- 
 posed to the heat of the most sultry summer's sun, lies 
 stretched upon the burning sand, breathing his com- 
 plaints to pitying heaven ; and over this and that, and 
 these and those, the free, the unconcerned, the fair 
 Marcella triumphs. We who are acquainted with her 
 disposition, wait with impatience to see the end of all 
 this disdain, and long to know what happy man will 
 tame such an unsociable humour, and enjoy such exceed- 
 ing beauty. As everything that I have accounted is true 
 to a tittle, I have no reason to doubt the truth of what 
 our comrades said concerning the cause of Chrysostom's 
 death ; and therefore, I advise you, sir, not to fail being 
 to-morrow at his burial, which will be worth seeing ; for 
 Chrysostom had a great many friends, and the spot in 
 which he ordered himself to be buried is not more than 
 half a league from hence." 
 
 " I will take care to be present," said the knight, 
 " and thank you heartily for the pleasure you have given 
 me in relating such an interesting story." " Oh ! as for 
 that," cried the goatherd, "I do not know one half of 
 what has happened to the lovers of Marcella; but, to- 
 morrow perhaps, we may light upon some shepherd on 
 the road who is better acquainted with them. In the 
 meantime you will do well to go to sleep under some 
 cover, though the remedy I have applied is such, that 
 you have nothing else to fear." 
 
 Sancho Panza, who wished the goatherd's loquacity 
 
THE STORY OF MARCELLA 87 
 
 at the devil, earnestly entreated his master to go to sleep 
 in Pedro's hut. This request the knight complied with, 
 and spent the greatest part of the night in thinking of 
 his lady Dulcinea, in imitation of Marcella's lovers ; 
 while Sancho Panza, taking up his lodging betwixt 
 Rozinante and his ass, slept soundly, not like a discarded 
 lover, but like one who had been battered and bruised 
 the day before. 
 
 Scarce had Aurora disclosed herself through the bal- 
 conies of the east, when five of the six goatherds arising, 
 went to waken Don Quixote, and told him, that if he 
 continued in his resolution of going to see the famous 
 funeral of Chrysostom, they would keep him company. 
 The knight, who desired nothing better, arose, and com- 
 manded Sancho to saddle his horse and pannel his ass 
 immediately. This order was executed with great dis- 
 patch, and they set out without loss of time. They had 
 not travelled more than a quarter of a league, when, upon 
 crossing a path, they saw coming towards them six shep- 
 herds, clothed in jackets of black sheep-skin, and crowned 
 with garlands of cypress, and bitter-bay, each having a 
 club of holly in his hand. Along with them came also 
 two gentlemen on horseback, very well equipped for 
 travel, accompanied by three young men on foot. 
 
 When they advanced they saluted one another, and 
 understanding, upon inquiry, that they were all bound 
 to the place of interment, they joined company, and 
 travelled together. One of the horsemen said to his 
 companion, " Signor Vivaldo, we shall not have reason 
 to grudge our tarrying to see this famous fimeral, which 
 must certainly be very extraordinary, by the strange 
 account we have received from these people of the dead 
 
88 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 shepherd and the murderous shepherdess." " I am of 
 the same opinion," answered Vivaldo, " and would not 
 only tarry one day, but even four or five, on purpose to 
 see it." Don Quixote asking what they had heard of 
 Marcella and Chrysostom, the traveller replied, that early 
 in the morning they had met with these shepherds, of 
 whom inquiring the cause of their being clothed in such 
 melancholy weeds, they had been informed of the coyness 
 and beauty of a certain shepherdess called Marcella, and 
 the hapless love of many who courted her, together with 
 the death of that same Chrysostom to whose funeral they 
 were going. In short, he recounted every circumstance 
 of what Pedro had told Don Quixote before. 
 
 This conversation being ended, another began by 
 Vivaldo's asking Don Quixote why he travelled thus in 
 armour in a peaceable country ? To this question the 
 knight replied, " The exercise of my profession will not 
 permit, or allow me to go in any other manner. Revels, 
 feasting, and repose were invented by effeminate courtiers ; 
 but toil, anxiety, and arms are peculiar to those whom 
 the world calls knights-errant, of which order I, though 
 unworthy, and the least, am one." He had no sooner 
 pronounced these words than all present took him for 
 a madman : but, in order to confirm their opinion, and 
 discover what species of madness it was, Vivaldo desired 
 to know what he meant by " knights-errant." " What ! " 
 said Don Quixote, " have you never read the annals and 
 history of England, which treat of the famous exploits 
 of Arthur, who at present, in our Castilian language, is 
 called King Artus, and of whom there is an ancient tradi- 
 tion, generally believed all over Great Britain, that he did 
 not die, but was, by the art of enchantment, metamor- 
 
THE STORY OF MARCELLA 89 
 
 phosed into a raven : and, that the time will come when 
 he shall return, and recover his sceptre and throne. For 
 which reason, it cannot be proved, that from that period 
 to this, any Englishman has killed a raven. In the reign 
 of that excellent king was instituted that famous order 
 of chivalry, called the Knights of the Round Table ; and 
 those amours punctually happened, which are recounted 
 of Don Lancelot of the Lake, with Queen Ginevra, by 
 the help and mediation of that sage and venerable duenna 
 Quitaniona ; from whence that delightful ballad, so much 
 sung in Spain, took its rise : 
 
 ' For never sure was any knight, 
 
 So serv'd by damsel or by dame. 
 As Lancelot, that man of might, 
 
 When he at first from Britain came : ' 
 
 with the rest of that most relishing and delicious account 
 of his amours, and valiant exploits. From that time the 
 order of knight-errantry was extended, as it were, from 
 hand to hand, and spread through divers and sundry parts 
 of the world, producing, among many other worthies 
 celebrated for their achievements, the valiant Amadis 
 de Gaul, with all his sons and nephews even to the fifth 
 generation ; the courageous Fleximarte of Hircania, the 
 never-enough-to-be-commended Tirante the White, and 
 he whom, in this our age, we have as it were seen, heard, 
 and conversed with, the invincible and valorous knight 
 Don Belianis of Greece. This, gentlemen, is what I 
 meant by knight-errant ; and such as I have described is 
 the order of chivalry, which, as I have already told you, 
 I, though a sinner, have professed, and the very same 
 which those knights I mentioned professed, I profess 
 
90 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 also. On which account, I am found in these deserts 
 and solitudes, in quest of adventures, fully determined 
 to lift my arm, and expose my person to the greatest 
 danger, that my destiny shall decree, in behalf of the 
 needy and oppressed." 
 
 By this declaration, the travellers were convinced that 
 the knight had lost his wits, and easily perceived the 
 species of folly which had taken possession of his brain, 
 and which struck them with the same surprise that always 
 seizes those who became acquainted with our knight. 
 Vivaldo, who was a person of discretion, and a great 
 deal of archness, in order to travel agreeably the rest of 
 the road which they had to go, till they should come to 
 the place of interment, wanted to give him an oppor- 
 tunity of proceeding in his extravagance, and in that view 
 said to him, " Sir knight-errant, methinks your worship 
 professes one of the strictest orders upon earth, nay, I 
 will affirm, more strict than that of the Carthusian 
 friars." 
 
 " The order of the Carthusians," answered Don 
 Quixote, "may be as strict, but that it is as beneficial 
 to mankind, I am within a hair's-breadth of doubting ; 
 for, to be plain with you, the soldier who executes his 
 captain's command, is no less valuable than the captain 
 who gave the order : I mean, that the monks pray to 
 God for their fellow-creatures in peace and safety : but, 
 we soldiers and knights put in execution that for which 
 they pray, by the valour of our arms, and the edge of 
 our swords ; living under no other cover than the cope 
 of heaven, set up in a manner as marks for the intoler- 
 able heat of the sun in summer, and the chilling breath 
 of frosty winter : we are therefore God's ministers, and 
 
THE STORY OF MARCELLA 91 
 
 the arms by which he executes his justice upon earth ; 
 and as the circumstances of war, and what has the least 
 affinity and concern with it, cannot be accomplished with- 
 out sweat, anxiety, and fatigue; it follows, that those 
 who possess it are doubtless more subject to toil than 
 those who, in rest and security, implore the favour of 
 God for persons who can do nothing for themselves : not 
 that I would be thought to say, or imagine, the condition 
 of a knight-errant is equal to that of a recluse monk ; I 
 would only infer from what we sufFer, that it is without 
 doubt more troublesome, more battered, more famished, 
 more miserable, ragged, and lousy ; for, the knights- 
 errant of past times certainly underwent numberless mis- 
 fortunes in the course of their lives : and if some of them 
 came to be emperors by the valour of their arms, con- 
 sidering the blood and sweat it cost them, in faith, it 
 was a dear purchase ; and if those who attained such a 
 supreme station, had been without their sage enchanters 
 to assist them, they might have been defrauded of their 
 desires, and grievously baulked of their expectations," 
 
 " I am very much of your opinion," answered the 
 traveller, " but there is one thing among you knights- 
 errant that I cannot approve of, and that is, when any 
 great and dangerous adventure occurs, in which you run 
 a manifest risk of losing your lives, in the instant of 
 engagement, you never think of recommending your 
 souls to God, as every Christian ought to do on such 
 occasions ; but, on the contrary, put up your petitions 
 to your mistresses, with as much fervour and devotion 
 as if they were your deities; a circumstance which, in 
 my opinion, smells strong of paganism." " Sir," replied 
 Don Quixote, " that practice must in no degree be 
 
92 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 altered ; and woe be to that knight-errant who should 
 do otherwise ; for, according to the practice and custom 
 of chivalry, every knight, when he is upon the point of 
 achieving some great feat, must call up the idea of his 
 mistress, and turning his eyes upon her with all the gentle- 
 ness of love, implore, as it were, by his looks, her favour 
 and protection in the doubtful dilemma in which he 
 is about to involve himself: nay, even though nobody 
 should hear him, he is obliged to mutter between his 
 teeth an ejaculation, by which he heartily and confi- 
 dently recommends himself to her good wishes : and of 
 this practice we have innumerable examples in history ; 
 but I would not have you think, that we are to forbear 
 recommending ourselves to God also ; there will be time 
 and opportunity enough for that duty, in the course of 
 action." 
 
 " But, nevertheless," said the traveller, " I have still 
 one scruple remaining, which is, that I have often read 
 of a dispute between two knights, which proceeding to 
 rage from one word to another, they have turned about 
 their steeds, to gain ground for a good career, and then 
 without any more ceremony, returned to the encounter 
 at full gallop, recommending themselves to their mis- 
 tresses by the way ; and the common issue of such an 
 engagement is, that one- of them is thrown down over 
 his horse's crupper, stuck through and through with his 
 adversary's lance, while the other with difficulty avoids 
 a fall by laying hold of his horse's mane : now, I cannot 
 comprehend how the dead man could have time to re- 
 commend himself to God in the course of so sudden an 
 attack ; surely it would have been better for his soul if, 
 instead of ^ the words he uttered in his career, he had put 
 
THE STORY OF MARCELLA 93 
 
 up a petition to heaven, according to the duty and obli- 
 gation of every Christian ; especially, as I take it for 
 granted, that every knight-errant has not a mistress, for 
 all of them cannot be in love." " That's impossible," 
 answered Don Quixote : "I affirm that there never could 
 be a knight-errant without a mistress ; for to be in love 
 is as natural and peculiar to them as the stars are to the 
 heavens. I am very certain, that you never read an his- 
 tory that gives an account of a knight-errant without an 
 amour ; for he that has never been in love would not be 
 held as a legitimate member, but some adulterate brood, 
 who had got into the fortress of chivalry, not through 
 the gate, but over the walls, like a thief in the night." 
 
 " Yet, notwithstanding," said the traveller, " I have 
 read that Don Galaor, brother of the valiant Amadis de 
 Gaul, never had any known mistress to whom he could 
 recommend himself: and he was not disregarded, but 
 looked upon as a very valiant and famous knight." 
 " SIgnor," answered our hero Don Quixote, " one swallow 
 makes not a spring : besides, to my certain knowledge, 
 that knight was privately very much in love : indeed he 
 made love to every handsome woman who came in his 
 way; for that was his natural disposition, which he by 
 no means could resist : in short, it is very well attested 
 that he had one mistress, whom he enthroned as sovereign 
 of his heart, and to whom he recommended himself with 
 great caution and privacy, because he piqued himself upon 
 being a secret knight." 
 
 " Since then it is essential to every knight to be in 
 love, we may conclude that your worship being of that 
 profession, is no stranger to the passion ; and if you do 
 not value yourself upon being as secret a knight as Don 
 
94 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE ' 
 
 Galaor, I earnestly entreat you, in behalf of myself and 
 the rest of the company, to tell us the name, country, 
 station, and qualities of your mistress, who must think 
 herself extremely happy in reflecting that all the world 
 knows how much she is beloved and adored by so valiant 
 a knight as your worship appears to be." 
 
 Here Don Quixote uttered a grievous sigh, saying : 
 " I am not positively certain, whether or not that beau- 
 teous enemy of mine, takes pleasure in the world's know- 
 ing I am her slave ; this only I can say, in answer to the 
 question you asked with so much civility, that her name 
 is Dulcinea ; her native country, a certain part of Valencia 
 called Toboso ; her station must at least be that of a 
 princess, since she is queen and lady of my soul ; her 
 beauty, supernatural, in that it justifies all those impos- 
 sible and chimerical attributes of excellence, which the poets 
 bestow upon their nymphs ; her hair is of gold, her forehead 
 the Elysian fields, her eyebrows heavenly arches, her eyes 
 themselves suns, her cheeks roses, her lips of coral, her 
 teeth of pearl, her neck alabaster, her breast marble, her 
 hands ivory, her skin whiter than snow, and those parts 
 which decency conceals from human view are such, accord- 
 ing to my belief and apprehension, as discretion ought to 
 enhance above all comparison." 
 
 " I wish we knew her lineage, race, and family," re- 
 plied Vivaldo. To this hint the knight answered, "She 
 is not descended of the ancient Caii, Curtii, and Scipios 
 of Rome, nor of the modern Colonas and Ursini, nor of 
 the Moncadas and Requesnes of Catalonia, much less of 
 the Rebellas and Villanovas of Valencia : or the Palafaxes, 
 Nucas, Rocabertis, Corellas ; Lunas, Alagones, Urreas, 
 Fozes and Gurreas of Arragon, or the Cerdas, Manriquez, 
 
THE STORY OF MARCELLA 95 
 
 Mendozas and Gusmans of Castile, or the Alencastros, 
 Pallas and Menesis of Portugal : but she sprung from 
 the family of Toboso de la Mancha, a lineage which, 
 though modern, may give a noble rise to the most illus- 
 trious families of future ages ; and let no man contradict 
 what I say, except upon the conditions expressed in that 
 inscription placed by Cerbino under the trophy of Or- 
 lando's arms — 
 
 ' That knight alone these arms shall move, 
 Who dares Orlando's prowess prove.' " i 
 
 " Although I myself am descended from the Cacho- 
 pines * of Laredo," said the traveller, " I won't presume 
 
 ^ When a knight challenged the whole world, he wore an emprize, 
 consisting of a gold chain, or some other badge of love and chivalry ; 
 and sometimes this emprize was fixed in a public place to attract the 
 attention of strangers ; when any person accepted the challenge for a trial 
 of chivalry, called the combat of courtesy, he touched this emprize ; but, 
 if he tore it away, it was considered as a resolution to fight the owner to 
 extremity or outrance. The combat of courtesy is still practised by our 
 prize-fighters and boxers, who shake hands before the engagement, in 
 token of love. 
 
 But no defiance of this kind could be either published or accepted 
 without the permission of the prince, at whose court the combatants 
 chanced to be. Accordingly we are told by Oliver de la Marche, that 
 the lord of Ternant having published a defiance at the court of Burgundy, 
 in the year 1445, Galiat asked the duke's permission to touch the chal- 
 lenger's emprize, which, being granted, he advanced and touched it, saying 
 to the bearer, while he bowed very low, " Noble knight, I touch your 
 emprize, and, with God's permission, will do my utmost to fulfil your 
 desire either on horseback or on foot." The lord of Ternant humbly 
 thanked him for his condescension, said he was extremely welcome, and 
 promised to send him that same day a cartel, mentioning the arms they 
 should use. 
 
 2 Cachopines is the name given to Europeans by the Indians of 
 Mexico. 
 
96 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 to compare with that of Toboso de la Mancha ; though, 
 to be plain with you, I never before heard of any such 
 generation." " How, not heard ? " replied Don Quixote. 
 The rest of the company jogged on, listening with great 
 attention to this discourse, and all of them, even the very 
 goatherds, by this time, were convinced, that our knight's 
 judgment was grievously impaired. Sancho alone believed 
 that everything his master said was true ; because he knew 
 his family, and had been acquainted with himself from 
 his cradle. The only doubt that he entertained was of 
 this same beautiful Dulcinea del Toboso ; for never had 
 such a name, or such a princess, come within the sphere 
 bf his observation, although he lived in the neighbour- 
 hood of that place. 
 
 While they travelled along, conversing in this manner, 
 they perceived about twenty shepherds descending through 
 a cleft made by two high mountains. They were all clad 
 in jackets of sheep-skin, covered with black wool, and each 
 of them crowned with a garland, which was composed, as 
 it afterwards appeared, partly of cypress, and partly of 
 yew : six of the foremost carried a bier, upon which they 
 had strewed a variety of branches and flowers. And this 
 was no sooner perceived by one of the goatherds, than he 
 said, "These are the people who carry the corpse of Chry- 
 sostom, and the foot of that mountain is the place where 
 he ordered himself to be interred." 
 
 Upon this information they made haste, and came up 
 just at the time that the bearers, having laid down the 
 body, began to dig the grave with pick-axes on one side 
 of a flinty rock. They received our travellers with great 
 courtesy, and Don Quixote, with his company, went 
 towards the bier, to look at the dead body, which was 
 
THE STORY OF MARCELLA 97 
 
 covered with flowers, clad in shepherd's weeds, and seem- 
 ingly thirty years old. Notwithstanding he was dead, 
 they could plainly perceive that he had been a man of 
 an engaging aspect, and genteel stature ; and could not 
 help wondering at the sight of a great many papers, both 
 sealed and loose, that lay round him in the coffin. 
 
 While the new comers were observing this pheno- 
 menon, and the shepherds busied in digging a grave, a 
 wonderful and universal silence prevailed, till such time 
 as one of the bearers said to another : " Consider, Am- 
 brosio, if this be the very spot which Chrysostom men- 
 tioned, that his last will may be punctually fulfilled." 
 " This," answered Ambrosio, " is the very place in which 
 my unhappy friend has often recounted to me the story 
 of his misfortunes. Here it was he first beheld that 
 mortal enemy of the human race ; here also did he first 
 declare his amorous and honourable intention ; and here, 
 at last, did Marcella signify her disgust and disdain, which 
 put an end to the tragedy of his wretched life : and in 
 this place, as a monument of his mishap, did he desire to 
 be deposited in the bowels of eternal oblivion." 
 
 Then addressing himself to Don Quixote and the 
 travellers, he thus proceeded : " This corse, gentlemen, 
 which you behold with compassionate eyes, was the habi- 
 tation of a soul, which possessed an infinite share of the 
 riches of heaven : this is the body of Chrysostom, who 
 was a man of unparalleled genius, the pink of courtesy 
 and kindness ; in friendship a very phoenix, liberal with- 
 out bounds, grave without arrogance, gay without mean- 
 ness ; and, in short, second to none in everything that was 
 good, and without second in all that was unfortunate. He 
 loved, and was abhorred ; he adored, and was disdained ; 
 
98 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 he implored a savage ; he importuned a statue ; he hunted 
 the wind ; cried aloud to the desert ; he was a slave to the 
 most ungrateful of women ; and the fruit of his servitude 
 was death, which overtook him in the middle of his career ; 
 in short, he perished by the cruelty of a shepherdess, wh(im 
 he has eternalised in the memory of all the people in this 
 country ; as these papers which you gaze at would show, 
 if he had not ordered me to commit them to the flames 
 as soon as his body shall be deposited in the earth." 
 
 " You will use them then with more cruelty and 
 rigour," said Vivaldo, "than that of the author himself; 
 seeing it is neither just nor convenient to fulfil the will 
 of any man, provided it be unreasonable. Augustus 
 Caesar would have been in the wrong had he consented 
 to the execution of what the divine Mantuan ordered on 
 his death-bed. Wherefore, Signor Ambrosio, while you 
 commit the body of your friend to the earth, you ought 
 not likewise to consign his writings to oblivion ; nor 
 perform indiscreetly, what he in his affliction ordained : 
 on the contrary, by publishing these papers, you ought 
 to immortalise the cruelty of Marcella, that it may serve 
 as an example in time to come, and warn young men to 
 shun and avoid such dangerous precipices ; for I, and the 
 rest of this company, already know the history of that 
 enamoured and unhappy friend, the nature of your friend- 
 ship, the occasion of his death, together with the orders 
 that he left upon his death-bed ; from which lamentable 
 story, it is easy to conclude how excessive must have 
 been the cruelty of Marcella, the love of Chrysostom, 
 the faith of your friendship, and the check which those 
 receive, who precipitately run through the path exhibited 
 to them by idle and mischievous love. Last night, we 
 
THE STORY OF MARCELLA 99 
 
 understood the death of Chrysostom, who, we are in- 
 formed, was to be buried in this place ; and therefore, 
 out of curiosity and concern, have turned out of our 
 way, resolving to come, and see with our eyes, what had 
 affected us so much in the hearing : and in return for 
 that concern, and the desire we felt in remedying it, if 
 it had been in our power, we entreat thee, O discreet 
 Ambrosio ! at least, for my own part, I beg of thee not 
 to burn these papers, but allow me to preserve some of 
 them." 
 
 Accordingly, without staying for an answer, he reached 
 out his hand, and took some of those that were nearest 
 him : which Ambrosio perceiving, said, " Out of civility, 
 Signor, I will consent to your keeping what you have 
 taken up ; but to think that I will fail to burn the rest, 
 is a vain supposition." Vivaldo being desirous of seeing 
 the contents, immediately opened one entitled " A Song 
 of Despair," which Ambrosio hearing, said, " That is the 
 last poem my unhappy friend composed ; and that you 
 may see, Signor, to what a pass his misfortunes had re- 
 duced him, read it aloud, and you'll have time enough 
 to finish it before the grave be made ! " " That I will 
 do with all my heart," said Vivaldo, and everybody pre- 
 sent being seized with the same desire, they stood around 
 him in a circle, and he read what follows, with an audible 
 voice ; — 
 
 A SONG OF DESPAIR. 
 
 " Since then thy pleasure, cruel maid ! 
 Is, that thy rigour and disdain 
 Should be from clime to clime convey'd ; 
 All hell shall aid me to complain ! 
 
loo THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 The torments of my heart to tell, 
 
 And thy achievements to record, 
 My voice shall raise a dreadful yell. 
 
 My bowels burst at every word : 
 Then listen to the baleful sound 
 
 That issues from my throbbing breast, 
 Thy pride, perhaps, it may confound. 
 
 And yield my madd'ning soul some rest. 
 
 Let the snake's hiss and wolf's dire howl. 
 
 The bull's harsh note, the lion's roar. 
 The boding crow and screeching owl. 
 
 The tempest rattling on the shore. 
 The monster's scream, the turtle's moan, 
 
 The shrieks of the infernal crew, 
 Be mingled with my dying groan, 
 
 A concert terrible and new ! 
 The hearer's senses to appal. 
 
 And reason from her throne depose ; 
 Such melody will suit the gall 
 
 That from my burning liver flows ! 
 
 Old Tagus with his yellow hair. 
 
 And Betis with her olive wreath. 
 Shall never echo such despair. 
 
 Or listen to such notes of death. 
 As here I'll utter and repeat. 
 
 From hill to dale, from rock to cave, 
 In wilds untrod by human feet. 
 
 In dungeons dreary as the grave. 
 The beasts of prey that scour the plain. 
 
 Shall thy more savage nature know, 
 The spacious earth resound my strain ; 
 
 Such is the privilege of woe ! 
 
THE STORY OF MARCELLA loi 
 
 Disdain is death, and doubt o'erturns 
 
 The patience of the firmest mind ; 
 But, jealousy still fiercer burns, 
 
 Like all the flames of hell combin'd. 
 The horrors of that cursed fiend, 
 
 In absence to distraction rage, 
 And all the succour hope can lend. 
 
 The direful pangs will not assuage. 
 Such agonies will surely kill ; 
 
 Yet, 'spite of absence, doubts, and scorn, 
 I live a miracle, and still 
 
 Those deadly flames within me burn ! 
 
 Hope's shadow ne'er refresh'd my view, 
 
 Despair attends with wakeful strife ; 
 The first let happier swains pursue. 
 
 The last my comfort is for life. 
 Can hope and fear at once prevail. 
 
 When fear on certainty is fed ? 
 To shut mine eyes will not avail, 
 
 When thunder bursts around my head. 
 When cold disdain in native dye, 
 
 Appears, and falsehood's cunning lore 
 Perverts the tale of truth, shall I 
 
 Against despondence shut the door i 
 
 jealousy ! love's tyrant lord. 
 
 And thou soul-chilling, dire disdain ! 
 Lend me the dagger and the cord, 
 To stab remembrance, strangle pain. 
 
 1 die bereft of hope in death. 
 
 Yet still those are the freest souls, 
 (I'll vouch it with my latest breath) 
 Whom love's old tyranny controls. 
 
I02 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 My fatal enemy is fair, 
 
 In body and in mind, I'll say, 
 
 And I have earn'd the woes I bear : 
 By rigour love maintains the sway. 
 
 With this opinion let me fall 
 
 A prey to unrelenting scorn : 
 No fun'ral pomp shall grace my pall, 
 
 No laurel my pale corse adorn. 
 O thou ! whose cruelty and hate 
 
 The tortures of my breast proclaim. 
 Behold how willingly to fate 
 
 I offer this devoted frame. 
 If thou, when I am past all pain. 
 
 Should' st think my fall deserves a tear, 
 Let not one single drop distain 
 
 Those eyes so killing and so clear. 
 
 No ! rather let thy mirth display 
 
 The joys that in thy bosom flow ; 
 Ah ! need I bid that heart be gay 
 
 Which always triumph'd in my woe. 
 Come then, for ever barr'd of bliss. 
 
 Ye, who with ceaseless torment dwell, 
 And agonising, howl and hiss 
 
 In the profoundest shades of hell ; 
 Come, Tantalus, with raging thirst. 
 
 Bring, Sisyphus, thy rolling stone, 
 Come, Tityus, with thy vulture curst. 
 
 Nor leave Ixion rack'd, alone : 
 
 IX. 
 
 The toiling sisters, too, shall join. 
 And my sad, solemn dirge repeat, 
 
 When to the grave my friends consign 
 These limbs denied a winding sheet; 
 
THE STORY OF MARCELLA 103 
 
 Fierce Cerberus shall clank his chain, 
 
 In chorus with chimxras dire : 
 What other pomp, what other strain 
 
 Should he who dies of love, require ? 
 Be hush'd, my song, complain no more 
 
 Of her whose pleasure gave thee birth ; 
 But let the sorrows I deplore 
 
 Sleep with me in the silent earth." 
 
 This ditty of Chrysostom was approved by all the 
 hearers : but he who read it observed, that it did not 
 seem to agree with the report he had heard of Marcella's 
 virtue and circumspection ; inasmuch as the author com- 
 plained of jealousy, absence, and suspicion, which tended 
 to the prejudice of her morals and reputation. To this 
 objection Ambrosio, as one that was acquainted with the 
 most secret sentiments of his friend, answered, " Signor, 
 for your satisfaction in this point, it is necessary you 
 should know, that the forlorn shepherd composed this 
 song in the absence of Marcella, from whose presence he 
 had gone into voluntary exile, in order to try if he could 
 reap the' usual fruits of absence, and forget the cause 
 of his despair ; and as one in that situation is apt to be 
 fretted by every circumstance, and invaded by every appre- 
 hension, poor Chrysostom was harassed by groundless 
 jealousy and imaginary fears, which tormented him as 
 much as if they had been real; for which reason, this 
 circumstance ought not to invalidate the fame of Mar- 
 cella's virtue, against which, exclusive of her cruelty, 
 arrogance, and disdain, envy itself hath not been able to 
 lay the least imputation." 
 
 " That may be- very true," replied Vivaldo, who, 
 being about to read another of the papers he had saved 
 from the flames, was diverted from this purpose by a 
 
I04 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 wonderful vision, for such it seemed, that all of a sudden 
 presented itself to their eyes. This was no other than 
 the shepherdess Marcella, who appeared upon the top 
 of the rock, just above the grave they were digging, so 
 beautiful that she surpassed all report. Those who had 
 never seen her before, gazed with silent admiration ; nor 
 were the rest who had been accustomed to see her, less 
 astonished at her appearance. But no sooner did Am- 
 brosio perceive her than, with indignation in his looks, 
 he cried : 
 
 " Comest thou hither, fierce basilisk of these moun- 
 tains ! to see if the wounds of this unhappy youth, whom 
 thy cruelty hath slain, will bleed at thy approach ? or art 
 thou come to rejoice in the exploits of thy barbarity, and 
 from the top of that mountain behold, like another Nero, 
 the flames which thy impiety hath kindled ? or inhumanly 
 to trample upon this unfortunate corse, as the unnatural 
 daughter insulted the dead body of her father Tarquin ? 
 Tell us, at once, the cause of thy approach, and deign to 
 signify thy pleasure, that I, who know how devoutly Chry- 
 sostom obeyed thee, when alive, may, now that he is dead, 
 dispose his friends to yield the same obedience." 
 
 " I come not," answered Marcella, " for any of the 
 purposes you have mentioned, Ambrosio ; but rather 
 personally to demonstrate how unreasonably I am blamed 
 for the death and sufferings of Chrysostom. I beg, there- 
 fore, that all present will give me the hearing, as it will 
 be unnecessary to spend much time, or waste many words, 
 to convince those that are unprejudiced, of the truth. 
 Heaven, you say, hath given me beauty, nay, such a share 
 of it as compels you to love me, in spite of your resolu- 
 tions to the contrary ; from whence you draw this infer- 
 
THE STORY OF MARCELLA 105 
 
 ence, and insist upon it, that it is my duty to return your 
 passion. By the help of that small capacity which nature 
 has bestowed upon me, I know that which is beautiful is 
 lovely ; but I can by no means conceive why the object, 
 which is beloved for being beautiful, is bound to be 
 enamoured of its admirer; more especially, as it may 
 happen that this same admirer is an object of disgust 
 and abhorrence; in which case, would it be reasonable 
 in him to say, ' I love thee because thou art beautiful, and 
 thou must favour my passion, although I am deformed ' ? 
 But, granting the beauty equal on both sides, it does not 
 follow that the desires ought to be mutual ; for all sorts 
 of beauty do not equally affect the spectator ; some, for 
 example, delighting the eye only, without captivating the 
 heart. And well it is for mankind that things are thus 
 disposed, otherwise there would be a strange perplexity 
 and confusion of desires, without power of distinguishing 
 and choosing particular objects; for beauty, being in- 
 finitely diversified, the inclination would be infinitely 
 divided, and I have heard that true love must be un- 
 divided and unconstrained ; if this be the case, as I be- 
 lieve it is, why should I constrain my inclination, when 
 I am under no other obligation so to do, but your saying 
 that you are in love with me ? Otherwise tell me, if 
 heaven that made me handsome had created me a monster 
 of deformity, should I have had cause to complain of you 
 for not loving me ? Besides, you are to consider that I 
 did not choose the beauty I possess ; such as it is, God 
 was pleased of His own free will and favour to bestow it 
 upon me, without any solicitation on my part. There- 
 fore, as the viper deserves no blame for its sting, although 
 it be mortal, because it is the gift of nature; neither 
 
io6 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 ought I to be reviled for being beautiful ; for beauty in 
 a virtuous woman is like a distant flame and a sharp 
 sword afar off^, which prove fatal to none but those who 
 approach too near them. Honour and virtue are the 
 ornaments of the soul ; without which the body, though 
 ever so handsome, ought to seem ugly ; if chastity, then, 
 be one of the virtues which chiefly adorns and beautifies 
 both body and soul, why should she that is beloved, lose 
 that jewel for which she is chiefly beloved, merely to 
 satisfy the appetite of one who, for his own selfish enjoy- 
 ment, employs his whole care and industry to destroy it ? 
 I was born free, and to enjoy that freedom have I chosen 
 the solitude of these fields. The trees on these moun- 
 tains are my companions; and I have no other mirror 
 than the limpid streams of these crystal brooks. With 
 the trees and the streams I share my contemplation and 
 my beauty : I am a distant flame and a sword afar off : 
 those whom my eyes have captivated, my tongue has 
 undeceived : and if hope be the food of desire, as I gave 
 none to Chrysostom or to any other person, so neither 
 can his death, nor that of any other of my admirers, be 
 justly imputed to my cruelty, but rather to their own 
 obstinate despair. To those who observe that his inten- 
 tions were honourable, and that, therefore, I was bound 
 to comply with them, I answer, when he declared the 
 honesty of his designs in that very spot where now his 
 grave is digging, I told him my purpose was to live in 
 perpetual solitude, and let the earth alone enjoy the fruits 
 of my retirement, and the spoils of my beauty. Where- 
 fore, if he, notwithstanding this my explanation, per- 
 severed without hope, and sailed against the wind, it is 
 no wonder that he was overwhelmed in the gulf of his 
 
THE STORY OF MARCELLA 107 
 
 rashness. Had I cajoled him, I should have been per- 
 fidious ; had I gratified his inclination, I should have 
 acted contrary to my own reason and resolution. But, 
 because he persisted after I had explained myself, and 
 despaired before he had cause to think I abhorred him, 
 I leave you to judge whether or not it be reasonable to 
 lay his misfortune at my door. Let him whom I have 
 deceived complain, and let him despair to whom I have 
 broke my promise : if I call upon any man, he may 
 depend upon me : if I admit of his .addresses, he may 
 rejoice in his success ; but why should I be styled a bar- 
 barous homicide by him whom I never soothed, deceived, 
 called, or admitted ? Hitherto Heaven has not thought 
 fit that I should love by destiny, and the world must 
 excuse me from loving by election. Let this general 
 declaration serve as an answer to all those who solicit 
 me in particular, and henceforward give them to under- 
 stand, that whosoever dies for me perishes not by jealousy 
 or disdain, for she who never gave her love, can never 
 give just cause of jealousy ; neither ought her plain-deal- 
 ing to be interpreted into disdain. Let him who terms 
 me a fierce basilisk, shun me as an evil being ; if any man 
 thinks me ungrateful, let him refuse his services when I 
 ask them. If I have disowned any one, let him renounce 
 me in his turn ; and let him who has found me cruel, 
 abandon me in distress : this fierce basilisk, this ungrate- 
 ful, cruel, supercilious wretch, will neither seek, serve, 
 own, nor follow you in any shape whatever. If Chry- 
 sostom perished by the impatience of his own extrava- 
 gant desire, why should my innocent reserve be inveighed 
 against ? If I have preserved my virginity in these deserts, 
 why should he that loves me, wish me to lose it among 
 
io8 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 mankind? I have riches of my own, as you all know, 
 and covet no man's wealth. I am free, and will not be 
 subjected : I neither love nor hate any man ; I do not 
 cajole this one, nor teaze that ; nor do I joke with one or 
 discourse with another, but amuse myself with the care 
 of my goats, and the innocent conversation of the shep- 
 herdesses belonging to the neighbouring villages. My 
 desires are bounded by these mountains ; or if my medi- 
 tation surpasses these bounds, it is only to contemplate 
 the beauty of the heavens, those steps by which the soul 
 ascends to its original mansion." So saying, without 
 waiting for any reply, she turned her back and vanished 
 into a thicket on a neighbouring mountain, leaving all 
 that were present equally surprised with her beauty and 
 discretion. 
 
 Some of the bystanders being wounded by the power- 
 ful shafts that were darted from her fair eyes, manifested 
 an inclination to follow her, without availing themselves 
 of the ingenious declaration they had heard, which, being 
 perceived by Don Quixote, who thought this a proper 
 occasion for exercising his chivalry in defence of dis- 
 tressed damsels, he laid his hand .upon the hilt of his 
 sword, and in a lofty and audible voice pronounced, 
 " Let no person, of whatsoever rank or degree, presume 
 to follow the beautiful Marcella, on pain of incurring 
 my most furious indignation. She has demonstrated, by 
 clear and undeniable arguments, how little, if at all, she 
 is to be blamed for the death of Chrysostom, and how 
 averse she is to comply with the desires of any of her 
 admirers ; for which reason, instead of being pursued 
 and persecuted, she ought to be honoured and esteemed 
 by all virtuous men, as the only person in the universe 
 
THE STORY OF MARCELLA 109 
 
 who lives in such a chaste and laudable intention." 
 Whether it was owing to these menaces of the knight, 
 or to the advice of Ambrosio, who desired them to per- 
 form the last office to their deceased friend, not one of 
 the shepherds attempted to stir from the spot, until the 
 grave being finished, and the papers burnt, the body of 
 poor Chrysostom was interred, not without abundance of 
 tears shed by his surviving companions. The grave was 
 secured by a large fragment of the rock which they rolled 
 upon it, till such time as a tombstone could be made, 
 under the direction of Ambrosio, who was resolved to 
 have the following epitaph engraved upon it — 
 
 " The body of a wretched swain, 
 Kill'd by a cruel maid's disdain. 
 In this cold bed neglected lies. 
 
 He liv'd, fond hapless youth ! to prove 
 The inhuman tyranny of love. 
 Exerted in Marcella's Eyes." 
 
 Having strewed the place with a profusion of flowers 
 and branches, everybody present condoled, and took leave 
 of the afflicted executor ; and Don Quixote bade farewell 
 to his kind landlords, as well as to the travellers. 
 
V 
 THE STORY OF LE FEVRE 
 
 From " Tristram Shandy " 
 
 It was some time in the summer of that year in which 
 Dendermond was taken by the Allies, which was about 
 seven years before my father came into the country, and 
 about as many after the time that my uncle Toby and 
 Trim had privately decamped from my father's house in 
 town, in order to lay some of the finest sieges to some of 
 the finest fortified cities in Europe, when my uncle Toby 
 was one evening getting his supper, with Trim sitting 
 behind him at a small sideboard. I say sitting, for, in 
 consideration of the Corporal's lame knee (which some- 
 times gave him exquisite pain), when my uncle Toby 
 dined or supped alone, he would never suffer the Cor- 
 poral to stand ; and the poor fellow's veneration for his 
 master was such that, with a proper artillery, my uncle 
 Toby could have taken Dendermond itself with less 
 trouble than he was able to gain this point over him ; 
 for many a time, when my uncle Toby supposed the 
 Corporal's leg was at rest, he would look back, and 
 detect him standing behind him with the most dutiful 
 respect. This bred more little squabbles betwixt them 
 than all other causes for five-and-twenty years together ; 
 
THE STORY OF LE FEVRE m 
 
 but this is neither here nor there. Why did I mention 
 it ? Ask my pen : it governs me ; — I govern not it. 
 
 He was one evening sitting thus at his supper, when 
 the landlord of a little inn in the village came into the 
 parlour, with an empty phial in his hand, to beg a glass or 
 two of sack. " 'Tis for a poor gentleman, I think of the 
 army," said the landlord, " who has been taken ill at my 
 house four days ago, and has never held up his head since, 
 or had a desire to taste anything, till just now, that he has 
 a fancy for a glass of sack and a thin toast. '/ think^ 
 says he, taking his hand from his forehead, ' it would 
 comfort me.^ 
 
 " If I could neither beg, borrow, nor buy such a 
 thing," added the landlord, " I would almost steal it for 
 the poor gentleman, he is so ill. I hope in God he will 
 still mend," continued he ; " we are all of us concerned 
 for him." 
 
 " Thou art a good-natured soul, I will answer for 
 thee," cried my uncle Toby; "and thou shalt drink the 
 poor gentleman's health in a glass of sack thyself, and 
 take a couple of bottles with my service, and tell him he 
 is heartily welcome to them, and to a dozen more, if they 
 will do him good. 
 
 "Though I am persuaded," said my uncle Toby, as 
 the landlord shut the door, " he is a very compassionate 
 fellow. Trim, yet I cannot help entertaining a high opinion 
 of his guest too. There must be something more than 
 common in him, that, in so short a time, should win so 
 much upon the affections of his host." " And of his 
 whole family," added the Corporal, " for they are all con- 
 cerned for him." " Step after him," said my uncle Toby ; 
 " do. Trim ; and ask if he knows his name." 
 
112 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 " I have quite forgot it truly," said the landlord, 
 coming back into the parlour with the Corporal ; " but 
 I can ask his son again," " Has he a son with him, 
 then?" said my uncle Toby. "A boy," replied the 
 landlord, " of about eleven or twelve years of age ; but 
 the poor creature has tasted almost as little as his father ; 
 he does nothing but mourn and lament for him night 
 and day. He has not stirred from the bed-side these two 
 days." 
 
 My uncle Toby laid down his knife and fork, and 
 thrust his plate from before him, as the landlord gave 
 him the account ; and Trim, without being ordered, took 
 away, without saying one word, and, in a few minutes 
 after, brought him his pipe and tobacco. 
 
 " Stay in the room a little," said my uncle Toby. 
 
 " Trim," said my uncle Toby, after he lighted his 
 pipe and smoked about a dozen whiffs. Trim came in 
 front of his master, and made his bow ; my uncle Toby 
 smoked on, and said no more. " Corporal ! " said my 
 uncle Toby. The Corporal made his bow. My uncle 
 Toby proceeded no farther, but finished his pipe. 
 
 " Trim ! " said my uncle Toby, " I have a project 
 in my head, as it is a bad night, of wrapping myself up 
 warm in my roqttelaure, and paying a visit to this poor 
 gentleman." " Your Honour's roqtielaure" replied the 
 Corporal, "has not once been had on since the night 
 before your Honour received your wound, when we 
 mounted guard in the trenches before the gate of St. 
 Nicholas; and, besides, it is so cold and rainy a night 
 that, what with the roquelaure, and what with the 
 weather, 'twill be enough to give your Honour your 
 death, and bring on your Honour's torment in your 
 
THE STORY OF LE FEVRE 113 
 
 groin." "I fear so," replied my uncle Toby, "but I 
 am not at rest in my mind, Trim, since the account the 
 landlord has given me. I wish I had not known so 
 much of this affair," added my uncle Toby, " or that 
 I had known more of it. How shall we manage it.?" 
 " Leave it, an' please your Honour, to me," quoth the 
 Corporal. "I'll take my hat and stick, and go to the 
 house and reconnoitre, and act accordingly; and I will 
 bring your Honour a full account in an hour." " Thou 
 shalt go, Trim," said my uncle Toby, "and here's a 
 shilling for thee to drink with his servant." " I shall 
 get it all out of him," said the Corporal, shutting the 
 door. 
 
 My uncle Toby filled his second pipe ; and had it 
 not been that he now and then wandered from the point, 
 with considering whether it was not full as well to have 
 the curtain of the Unaille a straight line as a crooked 
 one, — he might be said to have thought of nothing 
 else but poor Le Fevre and his boy the whole time he 
 smoked it. 
 
 It was not till my uncle Toby had knocked the ashes 
 out of his third pipe that Corporal Trim returned from 
 the inn, and gave him the following account : — 
 
 " I despaired at first," said the Corporal, " of being 
 able to bring back your Honour any kind of intelligence 
 concerning the poor sick Lieutenant." " Is he in the 
 army, then ? " said my uncle Toby. " He is," said the 
 Corporal. " And in what regiment ? " said my uncle 
 Toby. " I'll tell your Honour," replied the Corporal, 
 " everything straight forwards, as I learnt it." " Then, 
 Trim, I'll fill another pipe," said my uncle Toby, " and 
 not interrupt thee till thou hast done ; so sit down at thy 
 
114 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 ease, Trim, in the window-seat, and begin thy story 
 agaiii." The Corporal made his old bow, which gene- 
 rally spoke as plain as a bow could speak it, Vour 
 Honour is good: — and having done that, he sat down, 
 as he was ordered, and began the story to my uncle Toby 
 over again in pretty near the same words. 
 
 " I despaired at first," said the Corporal, " of being 
 able to bring back any intelligence to your Honour about 
 the Lieutenant and his son ; — for, when I asked where his 
 servant was, from whom I made myself sure of knowing 
 everything which was proper to be asked — " [" That's a 
 right distinction. Trim," said my uncle Toby.] " I was 
 answered, an' please your Honour, that he had no servant 
 with him ; that he had come to the inn with hired horses, 
 which, upon finding himself unable to proceed (to join, 
 I suppose, the regiment) he had dismissed the morning 
 after he came. ' If I get better, my dear,' said he, as he 
 gave his purse to his son to pay the man, ' we can hire' 
 horses thence.' ' But, alas ! the poor gentleman will 
 never go hence,' said the landlady to me, ' for I heard 
 the death-watch all night long ; and, when he dies, the 
 youth, his son, will certainly die with him, for he is 
 broken-hearted already.' 
 
 " I was hearing this account," continued the Corporal, 
 " when the youth came into the kitchen, to order the thin 
 toast the landlord spoke of. ' But I will do it for my 
 father myself,' said the youth. ' Pray let me save you 
 the trouble, young gentleman,' said I, taking up a fork 
 for the purpose, and offering him my chair to sit down 
 upon by the fire, whilst I did it. 'I believe, sir,' said 
 he, very modestly, ' I can please him best myself.' ' I 
 am sure,' said I, ' his Honour will not like the toast the 
 
THE STORY OF LE FEVRE 115 
 
 worse for being toasted by an old soldier.' The youth 
 took hold of my hand, and instantly burst into tears." 
 " Poor youth ! " said my uncle Toby, " he has been bred 
 up from an infant in the army; and the name of a 
 soldier, Trim, sounded in his ears like the name of a 
 friend ! I wish I had him here." 
 
 "I never, in the longest march," said the Corporal, 
 " had so great a mind for my dinner, as I had to cry with 
 him for company. What could be the matter with me, 
 an' please your Honour.?" "Nothing in the world, 
 Trim," said my uncle Toby, blowing his nose, " but that 
 thou art a good-natured fellow." 
 
 "When I gave him the toast," continued the Cor- 
 poral, " I thought it was proper to tell him I was Cap- 
 tain Shandy's servant, and that your Honour (though a 
 stranger) was extremely concerned for his father ; and 
 that if there was anything in your house or cellar " [" And 
 thou might'st have added my purse, too," said my uncle 
 Toby] " he was heartily welcome to it. He made a very 
 low bow (which was meant to your Honour) but no 
 answer, for his heart was full ; so he went upstairs with 
 the toast. ' I warrant you, my dear,' said I, as I opened 
 the kitchen door, ' your father will be well again.' Mr. 
 Yorick's curate was smoking a pipe by the kitchen fire, 
 but said not a word, good or bad, to comfort the youth. 
 I thought it wrong," added the Corporal. " I think so 
 too," said my uncle Toby. 
 
 " When the Lieutenant had taken his glass of sack 
 and toast, he felt himself a little revived, and sent down 
 into the kitchen to let me know that, in about ten 
 minutes, he should be glad if I would step upstairs. ' I 
 believe,' said the landlord, ' he is going to say his prayers; 
 
ii6 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 for there was a book laid upon the chair by his bed- 
 side, and, as I shut the door, I saw his son take up a 
 cushion.' 
 
 " ' I thought,' said the Curate, ' that you gentlemen of 
 the army, Mr. Trim, never said your prayers at all.' ' I 
 heard the poor gentleman say his prayers last night,' said 
 the landlady, * very devoutly, and with my own ears, or I 
 could not have believed it.' 'Are you sure of it ? ' replied 
 the Curate. ' A soldier, an' please your reverence,' said 
 I, ' prays as often (of his own accord) as a parson ; and 
 when he is fighting for his king, and for his own life, and 
 for his honour too, he has the most reason to pray to 
 God of any one in the whole world.' " " 'Twas well said 
 of thee, Trim," said my uncle Toby. " ' But when a 
 soldier,' said I, ' an' please your reverence, has been 
 standing for twelve hours together in the trenches, up to 
 his knees in cold water, or engaged,' said I, ' for months 
 together in long and dangerous marches ; harassed, per- 
 haps, in his rear to-day ; harassing others to-morrow ; 
 detached here, countermanded there; resting this night 
 out upon his arms, beat up in his shirt the next ; be- 
 numbed in his joints ; perhaps without straw in his tent 
 to kneel on ; must say his prayers how and when he 
 can — I believe,' said I, for I was piqued, quoth the 
 Corporal, for the reputation of the army — ' I believe, 
 an' please your reverence,' said I, ' that when a soldier 
 gets time to pray, he prays as heartily as a parson, though 
 not with all his fuss and hypocrisy.' " " Thou should'st 
 not have said that. Trim," said my uncle Toby, " for 
 God only knows who is a hypocrite, and who is not. At 
 the great and general review of us all. Corporal, at the 
 day of judgment (and not till then), it will be seen who 
 
THE STORY OF LE FEVRE 117 
 
 have done their duties in this world, and who have not ; 
 and we shall be advanced, Trim, accordingly." " I hope 
 we shall," said Trim. " It is in the Scripture," said my 
 uncle Toby; "and I will show it thee to-morrow. In 
 the meantime we may depend upon it. Trim, for our 
 comfort," said my uncle Toby, "that God Almighty is 
 so good and just a Governor of the world that, if we 
 have but done our duties in it, it will never be inquired 
 into whether we have done them in a red coat or a black 
 one." " I hope not," said the Corporal. , " But go on, 
 Trim," said my uncle Toby, " with thy story." 
 
 " When I went up," continued the Corporal, " into 
 the Lieutenant's room, which I did not do till the expira- 
 tion of the ten minutes, he was lying in his bed, with 
 his head raised upon his hand, with his elbow upon the 
 pillow, and a clean white cambric handkerchief beside it. 
 The youth was just stooping down to take up the cushion, 
 upon which I supposed he had been kneeling ; the book 
 was laid upon the bed, and, as he arose, in taking up the 
 cushion with one hand, he reached out his other to take 
 it away at the same time. ' Let it remain there, my 
 dear,' said the Lieutenant. 
 
 " He did not offer to speak to me till I had walked 
 up close to his bedside. ' If you are Captain Shandy's 
 servant,' said he, ' you must present my thanks to your 
 master, with my little boy's thanks along with them, for 
 his courtesy to me. If he was of Leven's,' said the Lieu- 
 tenant. I told him your Honour was. ' Then,' said 
 he, ' I served three campaigns with him in Flanders, and 
 remember him; but 'tis most likely, as I had not the 
 honour of any acquaintance with him, that he knows 
 nothing of me. You will tell him, however, that the 
 
ii8 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 person his good-nature has laid under obligations to him 
 is one Le Fevre, a lieutenant in Angus's ; — but he knows 
 me not,' said he, a second time, musing ; ' possibly he 
 may my story,' added he. ' Pray tell the Captain that I 
 was the ensign at Breda whose wife was most unfortu- 
 nately killed with a musket-shot, as she lay in my arms 
 in my tent.' 'I remember the story, an' please your 
 Honour,' said I, ' very well.' ' Do you so ? ' said he, 
 wiping his eyes with his handkerchief, ' then well may I.' 
 In saying this, he drew a little ring out of his bosom, 
 which seemed tied with a black riband about his neck, 
 and kissed it twice. ' Here, Billy,' said he. The boy 
 flew across the room to the bedside, and falling down 
 upon his knee, took the ring in his hand, and kissed it 
 too, then kissed his father, and sat down upon the bed 
 and wept." 
 
 " I wish," said my uncle Toby, with a deep sigh, " I 
 wish, Trim, I was asleep." 
 
 " Your Honour," replied the Corporal, " is too much 
 concerned. Shall I pour your Honour out a glass of sack 
 to your pipe ? " " Do, Trim," said my uncle Toby. 
 
 "I remember," said my uncle Toby, sighing again, 
 " the story of the ensign and his wife, with a circumstance 
 his modesty omitted ; and particularly well that he, as well 
 as she, upon some account or other (I forget what) was uni- 
 versally pitied by the whole regiment; but finish the story 
 thou art upon." " 'Tis finished already," said the Cor- 
 poral, " for I could stay no longer ; so wished his Honour 
 good night. Young Le Fevre rose from off the bed, and 
 saw me to the bottom of the stairs ; and, as we went down 
 together, told me that they had come from Ireland, and 
 were on their route to join the regiment in Flanders. 
 
THE STORY OF LE FEVRE 119 
 
 But, alas ! " said the Corporal, " the Lieutenant's last day's 
 march is over ! " " Then what is to become of his poor 
 boy ? " cried my uncle Toby. 
 
 It was to my uncle Toby's eternal honour — though 
 I tell it only for the sake of those who, when cooped in 
 betwixt a natural and a positive law, know not, for their 
 souls, which way in the world to turn themselves — that, 
 notwithstanding my uncle Toby was warmly engaged at 
 that time in carrying on the siege of Dendermond, parallel 
 with the Allies, who pressed theirs on so vigorously that 
 they scarce allowed him time to get his dinner, that 
 nevertheless he gave up Dendermond, though he had 
 already made a lodgment upon the counterscarp, and 
 bent his whole thoughts towards the private distresses at 
 the inn ; and, except that he ordered the garden gate to 
 be bolted up, by which he might be said to have turned 
 the siege of Dendermond into a blockade, he left Den- 
 dermond to itself, to be relieved or not by the French 
 king, as the French king thought good, and only con- 
 sidered how he himself should relieve the poor Lieutenant 
 and his son. 
 
 That kind Being, who is a friend to the friendless, 
 shall recompense thee for this. 
 
 "Thou hast left this matter short," said my uncle 
 Toby to the Corporal, as he was putting him to bed, — 
 " and I will tell thee in what. Trim. In the first place, 
 when thou madest an offer of my services to Le Fevre, — 
 as sickness and travelling are both expensive, and thou 
 knewest he was but a poor Lieutenant, with a son to 
 subsist as well as himself out of his pay, that thou didst 
 not make an offer to him of my purse ; because had he 
 stood in need, thou knowest. Trim, he had been as wel- 
 
I20 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 come to it as myself." " Your Honour knows," said the 
 Corporal, " I had no orders." " True," quoth my uncle 
 Toby, — " thou didst very right, Trim, as a soldier — but 
 certainly very wrong as a man. 
 
 " In the second place, for which, indeed, thou hast the 
 same excuse," continued my uncle Toby, "when thou 
 ofFeredst him whatever was in my house, thou shouldst 
 have offered him my house too. A sick brother officer 
 should have the best quarters. Trim ; and if we had him 
 with us, we could tend and look to him. Thou art an 
 excellent nurse thyself. Trim ; and what with thy care 
 of him, and the old woman's, and his boy's, and mine 
 together, we might recruit him again at once, and set 
 him upon his legs. 
 
 " In a fortnight or three weeks," added my uncle Toby, 
 smiling, " he might march." " He will never march, an' 
 please your Honour, in this world," said the Corporal. 
 " He will march," said my uncle Toby, rising up from 
 the side of the bed with one shoe off. " An' please your 
 Honour," said the Corporal, "he will never march but 
 to his grave." " He shall march," cried niy uncle Toby, 
 marching the foot which had a shoe on, though without 
 advancing an inch, "he shall march to his regiment." 
 " He cannot stand it," said the Corporal. " He shall 
 be supported," said my uncle Toby. " He'll drop 
 at last," said the Corporal, " and what will become 
 of his boy.?" "He shall not drop," said my uncle 
 Toby firmly. " A-well-a-day ! — do what we can for 
 him," said Trim, maintaining his point, "the poor 
 soul will die." " He shall not die, by G — ," cried my 
 uncle Toby. 
 
 The accusing spirit, which flew up to heaven's 
 
THE STORY OF LE FEVRE 121 
 
 chancery with the oath, blushed as he gave it in; — and 
 the recording angel, as he wrote it down, dropped a tear 
 upon the word, and blotted it out for ever. 
 
 My uncle Toby went to his bureau, put his purse 
 into his breeches pocket, and, having ordered the Corporal 
 to go early in the morning for a physician, he went to 
 bed and fell asleep. 
 
 The sun looked bright, the morning after, to every 
 eye in the village but Le Fevre's and his afflicted son's ; 
 the hand of death pressed heavy upon his eyelids; and 
 hardly could the wheel at the cistern turn round its 
 circle, when my uncle Toby, who had risen up an hour 
 before his wonted time, entered the Lieutenant's room, 
 and without preface or apology, sat himself down upon 
 the chair by the bedside, and, independently of all modes 
 and customs, opened the curtain in the manner an old 
 friend and brother officer would have done it, and asked 
 him how he did, how he had rested in the night, what 
 was his complaint, where was his pain, and what he 
 could do to help him ; and, without giving him time 
 to answer any one of these inquiries, went on, and told 
 him of the little plan which he had been concerting with 
 the Corporal the night before for him. 
 
 "You shall go home directly, Le Fevre," said my 
 uncle Toby, " to my house, and we'll send for a doctor 
 to see what's the matter ; and we'll have an apothecary ; 
 and the Corporal shall be your nurse ; and I'll be your 
 servant, Le Fevre." 
 
 There was a frankness in my uncle Toby, not the 
 effect of familiarity, but the cause of it, which let you 
 at once into his soul, and showed you the goodness of 
 his nature. To this there was something in his looks, and 
 
122 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 voice, and manner superadded which eternally beckoned 
 to the unfortunate to come and take shelter under him ; 
 so that, before my uncle Toby had half finished the kind 
 offers he was making to the father, had the son insensibly 
 pressed up close to his knees, and had taken hold of the 
 breast of his coat, and was pulling it towards him. The 
 blood and spirits of Le Fevre, which were waxing cold 
 and slow within him, and were retreating to their last 
 citadel, the heart, rallied back, the film forsook his 
 eyes for a moment ; he looked up wistfully in my uncle 
 Toby's face, then cast a look upon his boy; and that 
 ligament, fine as it was, was never broken ! 
 
 Nature instantly ebbed again ; — the film returned to 
 its place; — the pulse fluttered; — stopped; — went on, — 
 throbbed, — stopped again, — moved, stopped. Shall I go 
 on ? No ! 
 
 I am so impatient to return to my own story, that 
 what remains of young Le Fevre's, that is, from this turn 
 of his fortune to the time my uncle Toby recommended 
 him for my preceptor, shall be told in a very few words 
 in another page. All that is necessary to be added to 
 this is as follows : — 
 
 That my uncle Toby, with young Le Fevre in his 
 hand, attended the poor Lieutenant, as chief mourners, 
 to his grave. 
 
 That the governor of Dendermond paid his obsequies 
 all military honours, and that Yorick, not to be behind- 
 hand, paid him all ecclesiastic, for he buried him in his 
 chancel. And it appears, likewise, he preached a funeral 
 sermon over him. I say it appears, for it was Yorick's 
 custom, which I suppose a general one with those of his 
 profession, on the first leaf of every sermon which he 
 
THE STORY OF LE FEVRE 123 
 
 composed, to chronicle down the time, the place, and the 
 occasion of its being preached : to this he was ever wont 
 to add some short comment or stricture upon the sermon 
 itself, — seldom, indeed, much to its credit. For instance, 
 "This sermon upon the Jewish dispensation — I don't 
 like it at all ; though I own there is a world of water- 
 landish knowledge in it ; but 'tis all tritical, and most 
 tritically put together. This is but a flimsy kind of com- 
 position. What was in my head when I made it .'' 
 
 " N.B. The excellency of this text is that it will suit 
 any sermon ; and of this sermon, that it will suit any 
 text. 
 
 " For this sermon I shall be hanged, for I have stolen 
 the greatest part of it. Doctor Paidagunes found me 
 out. $0" Set a thief to catch a thief" 
 
 On the back of half-a-dozen I find written, So, so, 
 and no more ; and upon a couple moderate ; by which, 
 as far as one may gather, from Altieri's Italian Dictionary, 
 but mostly from the authority of a piece of green whip- 
 cord, which seemed to have been the unravelling of Yorick's 
 whip-lash, with which he has left us the two sermons 
 marked moderato and the half-dozen of So, so, tied fast 
 together in one bundle by themselves, one may safely 
 suppose he meant pretty nearly the same thing. 
 
 There is but one difficulty in the way of this conjec- 
 ture, which is this, that the moderatos are five times 
 better than the so, sds ; show ten times more knowledge 
 of the human heart ; have seventy times more wit and 
 spirit in them (and, to rise properly in my climax), dis- 
 cover a thousand times more genius ; and, to crown all, 
 are infinitely more entertaining than those tied up with 
 them ; for which reason, whenever Yorick's dramatic 
 
124 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 sermons are offered to the world, though I shall admit 
 but one out of the whole number of the so, so's, I shall, 
 nevertheless, adventure to print the two moderatos without 
 any sort of scruple. 
 
 What Yorick could mean by the words lentamenie, 
 tenute, grave, and sometimes adagio, as applied to 
 theological compositions, and with which he has charac- 
 terised some of these sermons, I dare not venture to guess. 
 I am more puzzled still upon finding a P octavo altal 
 upon one ; Con strepito upon the back of another ; Sci- 
 cilliana upon a third ; Alia capella upon a fourth ; Con 
 Parco upon this ; Senza I'arco upon that. All I know 
 is that they are musical terms, and have a meaning ; and, 
 as he was a musical man, I will make no doubt but that, 
 by some quaint application of such metaphors to the 
 compositions in hand, they impressed very distinct ideas 
 of their several characters upon his fancy, whatever they 
 may do upon that of others. 
 
 Amongst these there is that particular sermon which 
 has unaccountably led me into this digression, the funeral 
 sermon upon poor Le Fevre, wrote out very fairly, as if 
 from a hasty copy. I take notice of it the more because 
 it seems to have been his favourite composition. It is 
 upon mortality, and is tied lengthways and crossways 
 with a yarn thrum, and then rolled up and twisted 
 round with a half-sheet of dirty blue paper, which seems 
 to have been once the cast cover of a general review, 
 which to this day smells horribly of horse-drugs. Whether 
 these marks of humiliation were designed, I something 
 doubt, because at the end of the sermon (and not at the 
 beginning of it), very different from his way of treating 
 the rest, he had wrote — Bravo ! 
 
THE STORY OF LE FEVRE 125 
 
 Though not very offensively, for it was at two inches, 
 at least, and a half s distance from and below the con- 
 cluding line of the sermon, at the very extremity of the 
 page, and in that right hand corner of it which, you 
 know, is generally covered with your thumb ; and, to do 
 it justice, it is wrote besides with a crow's quill, so faintly, 
 in a small Italian hand, as scarcely to solicit the eye 
 towards the place, whether your thumb is there or not, 
 so that, from the manner of it, it stands half excused, 
 and being wrote moreover with very pale ink, diluted 
 almost to nothing — 'tis more like a ritratto of the 
 shadow of Vanity than of Vanity herself — of the two ; 
 resembling rather a faint thought of transient applause, 
 secretly stirring, up in the heart of the composer, than a 
 gross mark of it coarsely obtruded upon the world. 
 
 With all these extenuations, I am aware that, in pub- 
 lishing this, I do no service to Yorick's character as a 
 modest man ; but all men have their failings ! and what 
 lessens this still farther, and almost wipes it away, is this, 
 that the word was struck through some time afterwards 
 (as appears from a different tint of the ink) with a line 
 quite across it, in this manner, - Bravo .' ■ as if he had re- 
 tracted, or was ashamed of the opinion he had once 
 entertained of it. 
 
 These short characters of his sermons were always 
 written, excepting in this one instance, upon the first leaf 
 of his sermon, which served as a cover to it, and usually 
 upon the inside of it, which was turned towards the text ; 
 but at the end of his discourse, where, perhaps, he had 
 five or six pages, and sometimes, perhaps, a whole score 
 to turn himself in, he took a larger circuit, and indeed a 
 much more mettlesome one, as if he had snatched the 
 
126 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 occasion of unlacing himself with a few more frolicksome 
 strokes at vice than the straitness of the pulpit allowed. 
 These, though, hussar-like, they skirmish lightly, and 
 out of all order, are still auxiliaries on the side of 
 Virtue. Tell me then, Mynheer Vander Blonederdon- 
 dergewdenstronke, why they should not be printed to- 
 gether ? 
 
 When my uncle Toby had turned everything into 
 money, and settled all accounts betwixt the agent of the 
 regiment and Le Fevre, and betwixt Le Fevre and all 
 mankind, there remained nothing more in my uncle 
 Toby's hands than an old regimental coat and sword ; so 
 that my uncle Toby found little or no opposition from 
 the world in taking administration. The coat, my uncle 
 Toby gave the Corporal. "Wear it. Trim," said my 
 uncle Toby, "as long as it will hold together, for the 
 sake of the poor Lieutenant. And this," said my 
 uncle Toby, taking up the sword in his hand, and draw- 
 ing it out of the scabbard as he spoke, " and this, Le 
 Fevre, I'll save for thee ; 'tis all the fortune," continued 
 my uncle Toby, hanging it up upon a crook, and pointing 
 to it, " 'tis all the fortune, my dear Le Fevre, which God 
 has left thee ; but if He has given thee a heart to fight 
 thy way with it in the world, and thou dost it like a man 
 of honour, 'tis enough for us." 
 
 As soon as my uncle Toby had laid a foundation, 
 and taught him to inscribe a regular polygon in a circle, 
 he sent him to a public school, where, excepting Whit- 
 suntide and Christmas, at which times the Corporal was 
 punctually despatched for him, he remained to the spring 
 of the year Seventeen ; when the stories of the Emperor's 
 sending his army into Hungary against the Turks, kind- 
 
THE STORY OF LE FEVRE 127 
 
 ling a spark of fire in his bosom, he left his Greek and 
 Latin, without leave, and, throwing himself upon his 
 knees before my uncle Toby, begged his father's sword, 
 and my uncle Toby's leave along with it, to go and try 
 his fortune under Eugene. Twice did my uncle Toby 
 forget his wound and cry out, " Le Fevre, I will go with 
 thee, and thou shalt fight beside me ! " and twice he laid 
 his hand upon his groin, and hung down his head in 
 sorrow and disconsolation. 
 
 My uncle Toby took down the sword from the crook, 
 where it had hung untouched ever since the Lieutenant's 
 death, and delivered it to the Corporal to brighten up ; 
 and, having detained. Le Fevre a single fortnight to equip 
 him, and contract for his passage to Leghorn, he put the 
 sword into his hand. " If thou art brave, Le Fevre," said 
 my uncle Toby, " this will not fail thee ; but Fortune," 
 said he, musing a little, " Fortune may ; and if she does," 
 added my uncle Toby, embracing him, "come back 
 again to me, Le Fevre, and we will shape thee another 
 course." 
 
 The greatest injury could not have oppressed the heart 
 of Le Fevre more than my uncle Toby's paternal kind- 
 ness ; he parted from my uncle Toby as the best of sons 
 from the best of fathers : both dropped tears ; and, as my 
 uncle Toby gave him his last kiss, he slipped sixty guineas, 
 tied up in an old purse of his father's, in which was his 
 mother's ring, into his hand, and bid God bless him. 
 
VI 
 THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 
 
 By Sir Walter Scott ^ 
 
 About the end of the American war, when the officers 
 of Lord Cornwallis's army, which surrendered at York- 
 town, and others, who had been made prisoners during 
 the impolitic and ill-fated controversy, were returning to 
 their own country, to relate their adventures and repose 
 themselves after their fatigues, there was amongst them a 
 general officer, to whom Miss S. gave the name of Browne, 
 but merely, as I understood, to save the inconvenience of 
 introducing a nameless agent in the narrative. He was 
 an officer of merit, as well as a gentleman of high con- 
 sideration for family and attainments. 
 
 Some business had carried General Browne upon a 
 tour through the western counties, when, in the conclusion 
 
 1 The present writer heard the following events related, more than 
 twenty years since, by the celebrated Miss Seward of Litchfield, who to 
 her numerous accomplishments added, in a remarkable degree, the power 
 of narrative in private conversation. In its present form the tale must 
 necessarily lose all the interest which was attached to it by the flexible 
 voice and intelligent features of the gifted narrator. Yet still, read aloud 
 to an undoubting audience by the doubtful light of the closing evening, or 
 in silence by a decaying taper, and amidst the solitude of a half-lighted 
 apartment, it may redeem its character as a good ghost story. 
 
 123 
 
THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 129 
 
 of a morning stage, he found himself in the vicinity of a 
 small country town, which presented a scene of uncommon 
 beauty, and of a character peculiarly English. 
 
 The little town, with its stately old church, whose 
 tower bore testimony to the devotion of ages long past, 
 lay amidst pasture and corn-fields of small extent, but 
 bounded and divided with hedgerow timber of great age 
 and size. There were few marks of modern improve- 
 ment. The environs of the place intimated neither the 
 solitude of decay nor the bustle of novelty ; the houses 
 were old, but in good repair; and the beautiful little 
 river murmured freely on its way to the left of the town, 
 neither restrained by a dam nor bordered by a towing- 
 path. 
 
 Upon a gentle eminence nearly a mile to the south- 
 ward of the town were seen, amongst many venerable 
 oaks and tangled thickets, the turrets of a castle as old 
 as the wars of York and Lancaster, but which seemed to 
 have received important alterations during the age of 
 Elizabeth and her successors. It had not been a place 
 of great size ; but whatever accommodation it formerly 
 afforded was, it must be supposed, still to be obtained 
 within its walls ; at least such was the inference which 
 General Browne drew from observing the smoke arise 
 merrily from several of the ancient wreathed and carved 
 chimney-stalks. The wall of the park ran alongside of 
 the highway for two or three hundred yards; and, 
 through the different points by which the eye found 
 glimpses into the woodland scenery, it seemed to be 
 well stocked. Other points of view opened in succession, 
 now a full one of the front of the old castle, and now a 
 side glimpse at its particular towers ; the former rich in 
 
 1 
 
I30 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 all the bizarrerie of the Elizabethan school, while the 
 simple and solid strength of other parts of the building 
 seemed to show that they had been raised more for 
 defence than ostentation. 
 
 Delighted with the partial glimpses which he obtained 
 of the castle through the woods and glades by which this 
 ancient feudal fortress was surrounded, our military tra- 
 veller was determined to inquire whether it might not 
 deserve a nearer view, and whether it contained family 
 pictures or other subjects of curiosity worthy of a 
 stranger's visit ; when, leaving the vicinity of the park, 
 he rolled through a clean and well-paved street, and 
 stopped at the door of a well-frequented inn. 
 
 Before ordering horses to proceed on his journey. 
 General Browne made inquiries concerning the proprietor 
 of the chateau which had so attracted his admiration, 
 and was equally surprised and pleased at hearing in reply 
 a nobleman named whom we shall call Lord Woodville. 
 How fortunate ! Much of Browne's early recollections, 
 both at school and at college, had been connected with 
 young Woodville, whom, by a few questions, he now 
 ascertained to be the same with the owner of this fair 
 domain. He had been raised to the peerage by the 
 decease of his father a few months before, and, as the 
 General learned from the landlord, the term of mourning 
 being ended, was now taking possession of his paternal 
 estate in the jovial season of merry autumn, accompanied 
 by a select party of friends to enjoy the sports of a country 
 famous for game. 
 
 This was delightful news to our traveller. Frank 
 Woodville had been Richard Browne's fag at Eton, and 
 his chosen intimate at Christ Church ; their pleasures 
 
THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 131 
 
 and their tasks had been the same ; and the honest 
 soldier's heart warmed to find his early friend in pos- 
 session of so delightful a residence, and of an estate, as 
 the landlord assured him with a nod and a wink, fully 
 adequate to maintain and add to his dignity. Nothing 
 was more natural than that the traveller should suspend 
 a journey which there was nothing to render hurried, 
 to pay a visit to an old friend under such agreeable 
 circumstances. 
 
 The fresh horses, therefore, had only the brief task 
 of conveying the General's travelling carriage to Wood- 
 ville Castle. A porter admitted them at a modern 
 Gothic lodge, built in that style to correspond with the 
 castle itself, and at the same time rang a bell to give 
 warning of the approach of visitors. Apparently the 
 sound of the bell had suspended the separation of the 
 company bent on the various amusements of the morn- 
 ing ; for, on entering the court of the chiteau, several 
 young men were lounging about in their sporting dresses, 
 looking at and criticising the dogs which the keepers 
 held in readiness to attend their pastime. As General 
 Browne alighted, the young lord came to the gate of the 
 hall, and for an instant gazed, as at a stranger, upon the 
 countenance of his friend, on which war, with its fatigues 
 and its wounds, had made a great alteration. But the 
 uncertainty lasted no longer than till the visitor had 
 spoken, and the hearty greeting which followed was 
 such as can only be exchanged betwixt those who have 
 passed together the merry days of careless boyhood or 
 early youth. 
 
 " If I could have formed a wish, my dear Browne," 
 said Lord Woodville, "it would have been to have you 
 
132 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 here, of all men, upon this occasion, which my friends 
 are good enough to hold as a sort of holiday. Do not 
 think you have been unwatched during the years you 
 have been absent from us. I have traced you through 
 your dangers, your triumphs, your misfortunes, and was 
 delighted to see that, whether in victory or defeat, the 
 name of my old friend was always distinguished with 
 applause." 
 
 The General made a suitable reply, and congratulated 
 his friend on his new dignities, and the possession of a 
 place and domain so beautiful. 
 
 " Nay, you have seen nothing of it as yet," said Lord 
 Woodville, " and I trust you do not mean to leave us till 
 you are better acquainted with it. It is true, I confess, 
 that my present party is pretty large, and the old house, 
 like other places of the kind, does not possess so much 
 accommodation as the extent of the outward walls ap- 
 pears to promise. But we can give you a comfortable 
 old-fashioned room ; and I venture to suppose that 
 your campaigns have taught you to be glad of worse 
 quarters." 
 
 The General shrugged his shoulders and laughed. 
 "I presume," he said, "the worst apartment in your 
 chateau is considerably superior to the old tobacco-cask 
 in which I was fain to take up my night's lodging when 
 I was in the Bush, as the Virginians call it, with the light 
 corps. There I lay, like Diogenes himself, so delighted 
 with my covering from the elements that I made a vain 
 attempt to have it rolled on to my next quarters ; but 
 my commander for the time would give way to no such 
 luxurious provision, and I took farewell of my beloved 
 cask with tears in my eyes." 
 
THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 133 
 
 " Well, then, since you do not fear your quarters," 
 said Lord Woodviile, " you will stay with me a week at 
 least. Of guns, dogs, fishing-rods, flies, and means of 
 sport by sea and land we have enough and to spare ; you 
 cannot pitch on an amusement but we will pitch on the 
 means of pursuing it. But if you prefer the gun and 
 pointers, I will go with you myself, and see whether you 
 have mended your shooting since you have been amongst 
 the Indians of the back settlements." 
 
 The General gladly accepted his friendly host's pro- 
 posal in all its points. After a morning of manly exer- 
 cise, the company met at dinner, where it was the delight 
 of Lord Woodviile to conduce to the display of the high 
 properties of his recovered friend, so as to recommend 
 him to his guests, most of whom were persons of distinc- 
 tion. He led General Browne to speak of the scenes he 
 had witnessed ; and as every word marked alike the brave 
 officer and the sensible man, who retained possession of 
 his cool judgment under the most imminent dangers, the 
 company looked upon the soldier with general respect, 
 as on one who had proved himself possessed of an un- 
 common portion of personal courage, that attribute, of 
 all others, of which everybody desires to be thought 
 possessed. 
 
 The day at Woodviile Castle ended as usual in such 
 mansions. The hospitality stopped within the limits of 
 good order ; music, in which the young lord was a pro- 
 ficient, succeeded to the circulation of the bottle ; cards 
 and billiards, for those who preferred such amusements, 
 were in readiness ; but the exercise of the morning re- 
 quired early hours, and not long after eleven o'clock the 
 guests began to retire to their several apartments. 
 
134 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 The young lord himself conducted his friend, General 
 Browne, to the chamber destined for him, which answered 
 the description he had given of it, being comfortable, but 
 old-fashioned. The bed was of the massive form used 
 in the end of the seventeenth century, and the curtains of 
 faded silk, heavily trimmed with tarnished gold. But 
 then the sheets, pillows, and blankets looked delightful 
 to the campaigner, when he thought of his mansion, the 
 cask. There was an air of gloom in the tapestry hangings, 
 which, with their worn-out graces, curtained the walls of 
 the little chamber, and gently undulated as the autumnal 
 breeze found its way through the ancient lattice-window, 
 which pattered and whistled as the air gained entrance. 
 The toilet, too, with its mirror, turbaned after the manner 
 of the beginning of the century with a coiffure of murrey- 
 coloured silk, and its hundred strange-shaped boxes, pro- 
 viding for arrangements which had been obsolete for more 
 than fifty years, had an antique, and in so far a melancholy, 
 aspect. But nothing could blaze more brightly and 
 cheerfully than the two large wax candles ; or, if aught 
 could rival them, it was the flaming bickering faggots 
 in the chimney, that sent at once their gleam and their 
 warmth through the snug apartment; which, notwith- 
 standing the general antiquity of its appearance, was not 
 wanting in the least convenience that modern habits ren- 
 dered either necessary or desirable. 
 
 " This is an old-fashioned sleeping apartment. Gene- 
 ral," said the young lord; "but I hope you will find 
 nothing that makes you envy your old tobacco-cask." 
 
 " I am not particular respecting my lodgings," replied 
 the General ; " yet, were I to make any choice, I would 
 prefer this chamber by many degrees to the gayer and 
 
THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 135 
 
 more modern rooms of your family mansion. Believe 
 me, that when I unite its modern air of comfort with its 
 venerable antiquity, and recollect that it is your lordship's 
 property, I shall feel in better quarters here than if I 
 were in the best hotel London could afford." 
 
 " I trust — I have no doubt — that you will find your- 
 self as comfortable as I wish you, my dear General," said 
 the young nobleman; and once more bidding his guest 
 good-night, he shook him by the hand and withdrew. 
 
 The General again looked round him, and internally 
 congratulating himself on his return to peaceful life, the 
 comforts of which were endeared by the recollection 
 of the hardships and da;ngers he had lately sustained, 
 undressed himself, and prepared himself for a luxurious 
 night's rest. 
 
 Here, contrary to the custom of this species of tale, 
 we leave the General in possession of his apartment until 
 the next morning. 
 
 The company assembled for breakfast at an early 
 hour, but without the appearance of General Browne, 
 who seemed the guest that Lord Woodville was desirous 
 of honouring above all whom his hospitality had assem- 
 bled around him. He more than once expressed surprise 
 at the General's absence, and at length sent a servant to 
 make inquiry after him. The rtian brought back infor- 
 mation that General Browne had been walking abroad 
 since an early hour of the morning, in defiance of the 
 weather, which was misty and ungenial. 
 
 " The custom of a soldier," said the young nobleman 
 to his friends ; " many of them acquire habitual vigilance, 
 and cannot sleep after the early hour at which their duty 
 usually commands them to be alert." 
 
136 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 Yet the explanation which Lord Woodville thus 
 ofFered to the company seemed hardly satisfactory to his 
 own mind, and it was in a fit of silence and abstraction 
 that he awaited the return of the General. It took place 
 near an hour after the breakfast-bell had rung. He 
 looked fatigued and feverish. His hair, the powdering 
 and arrangement of which was at this time one of the 
 most important occupations of a man's whole day, and 
 marked his fashion as much as in the present time the 
 tying of a cravat or the want of one, was dishevelled, 
 uncurled, void of powder, and dank with dew. His 
 clothes were huddled on with a careless negligence, remark- 
 able in a military man, whose real or supposed duties are 
 usually held to include some attention to the toilet ; and 
 his looks were haggard and ghastly in a peculiar degree. 
 
 " So you have stolen a march upon us this morning, 
 my dear General," said Lord Woodville ; " or you have 
 not found your bed so much to your mind as I had 
 hoped and you seemed to expect. How did you rest 
 last night ? " 
 
 " Oh, excellently well ! remarkably well ! never better 
 in my life," said General Browne rapidly, and yet with an 
 air of embarrassment which was obvious to his friend. 
 He then hastily swallowed a cup of tea, and, neglecting 
 or refusing whatever else was ofFered, seemed to fall into 
 a fit of abstraction. 
 
 " You will take the gun to-day, General ? " said his 
 friend and host, but had to repeat the question twice 
 ere he received the abrupt answer, " No, my lord ; I am 
 sorry I cannot have the honour of spending another day 
 with your lordship ; my post-horses are ordered, and will 
 be here directly." 
 
THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 137 
 
 All who were present showed surprise, and Lord 
 Woodville immediately replied, " Post-horses, my good 
 friend ! what can you possibly want with them, when 
 you promised to stay with me quietly for at least a 
 week?" 
 
 " I believe," said the General, obviously much embar- 
 rassed, " that I might, in the pleasure of my first meeting 
 with your lordship, have said something aljout stopping 
 here a few days; but I have since found it altogether 
 impossible." 
 
 "That is very extraordinary," answered the young 
 nobleman. " You seemed quite disengaged yesterday, 
 and you cannot have had a summons to-day; for our 
 post has not come up from the town, and therefore you 
 cannot have received any letters." 
 
 General Browne, without giving any further explana- 
 tion, muttered something of indispensable business, and 
 insisted on the absolute necessity of his departure in a 
 manner which silenced all opposition on the part of his 
 host, who saw that his resolution was taken, and forbore 
 further importunity. 
 
 " At least, however," he said, " permit me, my dear 
 Browne, since go you will or must, to show you the view 
 from the terrace, which the mist, that is now rising, will 
 soon display." 
 
 He threw open a sash window, and stepped down 
 upon the terrace as he spoke. The General followed him 
 mechanically, but seemed little to attend to what his host 
 was saying, as, looking across an extended and rich pros- 
 pect, he pointed out the different objects worthy of 
 observation. Thus they moved on till Lord Woodville 
 had attained his purpose of drawing his guest entirely 
 
138 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 apart from the rest of the company, when, turning round 
 upon him with an air of great solemnity, he addressed 
 him thus : " Richard Browne, my old and very dear 
 friend, we are now alone. Let me conjure you to 
 answer me upon the word of a friend and the honour 
 of a soldier. How did you in reality rest during last 
 night ? " 
 
 " Most wretchedly indeed, my lord," answered the 
 General in the same tone of solemnity ; " so miserably, 
 that I would not run the risk of such a second night, 
 not only for all the lands belonging to this castle, but 
 for all the country which I see from this elevated point 
 of view." 
 
 "This is most extraordinary," said the young lord, 
 as if speaking to himself ; " then there must be some- 
 thing in the reports concerning that apartment." Again 
 turning to the General, he said, " For God's sake, my 
 dear friend, be candid with me, and let me know the 
 disagreeable particulars which have befallen you under a 
 roof where, with consent of the owner, you should have 
 met nothing save comfort." 
 
 The General seemed distressed by this appeal, and 
 paused a moment before he replied. " My dear lord," 
 he at length said, " what happened to me last night is of 
 a nature so peculiar and so unpleasant that I could hardly 
 bring myself to detail it even to your lordship, were it 
 not that, independent of my wish to gratify any request 
 of yours, I think that sincerity on my part may lead to 
 some explanation about a circumstance equally painful 
 and mysterious. To others the communication I am 
 about to make might place me in the light of a weak- 
 minded, superstitious fool, who suffered his own imagi- 
 
THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 139 
 
 nation to delude and bewilder him ; but you have known 
 me in childhood and youth, and will not suspect me of 
 having adopted in manhood the feelings and frailties from 
 which my early years were free." Here he paused, and 
 his friend replied, " Do not doubt my perfect confidence 
 in the truth of your communication, however strange it 
 may be," replied Lord Woodville ; " I know your firm- 
 ness of disposition too well to suspect you could be made 
 the object of imposition, and am aware that your honour 
 and your friendship will equally deter you from exagge- 
 rating whatever you may have witnessed." 
 
 " Well, then," said the General, " I will proceed with 
 my story as well as I can, relying upon your candour, and 
 yet distinctly feeling that I would rather face a battery 
 than recall to my mind the odious recollections of last 
 night." 
 
 He paused a second time, and then, perceiving that 
 Lord Woodville remained ^ilent and in an attitude of 
 attention, he commenced, though not without obvious 
 reluctance, the history of his night's adventures in the 
 Tapestried Chamber. 
 
 " I undressed and went to bed so soon as your lord- 
 ship left me yesterday evening; but the wood in the 
 chimney, which nearly fronted my bed, blazed brightly 
 and cheerfully, and, aided by a hundred exciting recol- 
 lections of my childhood and youth, which had been 
 recalled by the unexpected pleasure of meeting your lord- 
 ship, prevented me from falling immediately asleep. I 
 ought, however, to say that these reflections were all of a 
 pleasant and agreeable kind, grounded on a sense of having 
 for a time exchanged the labour, fatigues, and dangers of 
 my profession for the enjoyments of a peaceful life, and 
 
HO THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 the reunion of those friendly and affectionate ties which I 
 had torn asunder at the rude summons of war. 
 
 " While such pleasing reflections were stealing over 
 my mind, and gradually lulling me to slumber, I was 
 suddenly aroused by a sound like that of the rustling of 
 a silken gown and the tapping of a pair of high-heeled 
 shoes, as if a woman were walking in the apartment. Ere 
 I could draw the curtain to see what the matter was, the 
 figure of a little woman passed between the bed and the 
 fire. The back of this form was turned to me, and I 
 could observe from the shoulders and neck it was that of 
 an old woman, whose dress was an old-fashioned gown 
 which, I think, ladies call a sacque; that is, a sort 
 of robe completely loose in the body, but gathered 
 into broad plaits upon the neck and shoulders, which 
 fall down to the ground and terminate in a species of 
 train. 
 
 " I thought the intrusion singular enough, but never 
 harboured for a moment the idea that what I saw was 
 anything more than the mortal form of some old woman 
 about the establishment, who had a fancy to dress like 
 her grandmother, and who, having perhaps (as your lord- 
 ship mentioned that you were rather straitened for room) 
 been dislodged from her chamber for my accommodation, 
 had forgotten the circumstance, and returned by twelve 
 to her old haunt. Under this persuasion I moved myself 
 in bed and coughed a little, to make the intruder sensible 
 of my being in possession of the premises. She turned 
 slowly round, but, gracious Heaven ! my lord, what a 
 countenance did she display to me ! There was no longer 
 any question what she was, or any thought of her 
 being a living being. Upon a face which wore the fixed 
 
THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 141 
 
 features of a corpse were imprinted the traces of the 
 vilest and most hideous passions which had animated her 
 while she lived. The body of some atrocious criminal 
 seemed to have been given up from the grave and the 
 soul restored from the penal fire, in order to form for a 
 space a union with the ancient accomplice of its guilt. I 
 started up in bed, and sat upright, supporting myself on 
 my palms, as I gazed on this horrible spectre. The hag 
 madje, as it seemed, a single and swift stride to the bed 
 where I lay, and squatted herself down upon it, in pre- 
 cisely the same attitude which I had assumed in the 
 extremity of horror, advancing her diabolical countenance 
 within half a yard of mine, with a grin which seemed 
 to intimate the malice and the derision of an incarnate 
 fiend." 
 
 Here General Browne stopped, and wiped from his 
 brow the cold perspiration with which the recollection of 
 his horrible vision had covered it. 
 
 " My lord," he said, " I am no coward. I have been 
 in all the mortal dangers incidental to my profession, and 
 I may truly boast that no man ever knew Richard Browne 
 dishonour the sword he wears ; but in these horrible cir- 
 cumstances, under the eyes and, as it seemed, almost in 
 the grasp of an incarnation of an evil spirit, all firmness 
 forsook me, all manhood melted from me like wax in 
 the furnace, and I felt my hair individually bristle. The 
 current of my life-blood ceased to flow, and I sank back 
 in a swoon, as very a victim to panic terror as ever was a 
 village girl or a child of ten years old. How long I lay 
 in this condition I cannot pretend to guess. 
 
 " But I was roused by the castle clock striking one, 
 so loud that it seemed as if it were in the very room. 
 
142 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 It was some time before I dared open my eyes, lest they 
 should again encounter the horrible spectacle. When, 
 however, I summoned courage to look up, she was no 
 longer visible. My first idea was to pull my bell, wake 
 the servants, and remove to a garret or a hay-loft, to be 
 insured against a second visitation. Nay, I will confess 
 the truth, that my resolution was altered, not by the 
 shame of exposing myself, but by the fear that, as the 
 bell-cord hung by the chimney, I might, in making my 
 way to it, be again crossed by the fiendish hag, who, I 
 figured to myself, might be still lurking about some 
 corner of the apartment. 
 
 "I will not pretend to describe what hot and cold 
 fever-fits tormented me for the rest of the night, through 
 broken sleep, weary vigils, and that dubious state which 
 forms the neutral ground between them. A hundred 
 terrible objects appeared to haunt me ; but there was 
 the great diflPerence betwixt the vision which I have 
 described and those which followed, that I knew the 
 last to be deceptions of my own fancy and over-excited 
 nerves. 
 
 " Day at last appeared, and I rose from my bed ill in 
 health and humiliated in mind. I was ashamed of myself 
 as a man and a soldier, and still more so at feeling my 
 own extreme desire to escape from the haunted apart- 
 ment, which, however, conquered all other considerations ; 
 so that, huddling on my clothes with the most careless 
 haste, I made my escape from your lordship's mansion, 
 to seek in the open air some relief to my nervous system, 
 shaken as it was by this horrible rencontre with a visitant 
 — for such I must believe her — from the other world. 
 Your lordship has now heard the cause of my discom- 
 
THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 143 
 
 posure, and of my sudden desire to leave your hospitable 
 castle. In other places I trust we may often meet ; but 
 God protect me from ever spending a second night under 
 that roof!" 
 
 Strange as the General's tale was, he spoke with such 
 a deep air of conviction that it cut short all the usual 
 commentaries which are made on such stories. Lord 
 Woodville never once asked him if he was sure he did 
 not dream of the apparition, or suggested any of the 
 possibilities by which it is fashionable to explain super- 
 natural appearances, as wild vagaries of the fancy or 
 deceptions of the optic nerves. On the contrary, he 
 seemed deeply impressed with the truth and reality of 
 what he had heard, and after a considerable pause re- 
 gretted, with much appearance of sincerity, that his early 
 friend should in his house have suffered so severely. 
 
 " I am the more sorry for your pain, my dear Browne," 
 he continued, " that it is the unhappy, though most un- 
 expected, result of an experiment of my own ! You 
 must know that, for my father and grandfather's time 
 at least, the apartment which was assigned to you last 
 night had been shut on account of reports that it was 
 disturbed by supernatural sights and noises. When I 
 came, a few weeks since, into possession of the estate, I 
 thought the accommodation which the castle afforded 
 for my friends was not extensive enough to permit the 
 inhabitants of the invisible world to retain possession of 
 a comfortable sleeping apartment. I therefore caused 
 the Tapestried Chamber, as we call it, to be opened ; 
 and, without destroying its air of antiquity, I had such 
 new articles of furniture placed in it as became the 
 modern times. Yet, as the opinion that the room was 
 
144 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 haunted very strongly prevailed among the domestics, 
 and was also known in the neighbourhood and to many 
 of my friends, I feared some prejudice might be enter- 
 tained by the first occupant of the Tapestried Chamber, 
 which might tend to revive the evil report which it had 
 laboured under, and so disappoint my purpose of render- 
 ing it a useful part of the house. I must confess, my 
 dear Browne, that your arrival yesterday, agreeable to me 
 for a thousand reasons besides, seemed the most favour- 
 able opportunity of removing the unpleasant rumours 
 which attached to the room, since your courage was 
 indubitable, and your mind free of any preoccupation 
 on the subject. I could not, therefore,^ have chosen a 
 more fitting subject for my experiment." 
 
 "Upon my life," said General Browne somewhat 
 hastily, " I am infinitely obliged to your lordship — very 
 particularly indebted indeed. I am likely to remember 
 for some time the consequences of the experiment, as 
 your lordship is pleased to call it." 
 
 " Nay, now you are unjust, my dear friend," said 
 Lord Woodville. " You have only to reflect for a single 
 moment, in order to be convinced that I could not augur 
 the possibility of the pain to which you have been so 
 unhappily exposed. I was yesterday morning a complete 
 sceptic on the subject of supernatural appearances. Nay, 
 I am sure that, had I told you what was said about that 
 room, those very reports would have induced you, by 
 your own choice, to select it for your accommodation. 
 It was my misfortune, perhaps my error, but really can- 
 not be termed my fault, that you have been afflicted so 
 strangely." 
 
 " Strangely indeed ! " said the General, resuming his 
 
THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 145 
 
 good temper ; " and I acknowledge that I have no right 
 to be offended with your lordship for treating me like 
 what I used to think myself — a man of some firmness 
 and courage. But I see my post-horses are arrived, 
 and I must not detain your lordship from your amuse- 
 ment." 
 
 " Nay, my old friend," said Lord Woodville, *' since 
 you cannot stay with us another day, which, indeed, I 
 can no longer urge, give me at least half-an-hour more. 
 You used to love pictures, and I have a gallery of por- 
 traits, some of them by Vandyke, representing ancestry 
 to whom this property and castle formerly belonged. I 
 think that several of them will strike you as possessing 
 merit." 
 
 General Browne accepted the invitation, though some- 
 what unwillingly. It was evident he was not to breathe 
 freely or at ease till he left Woodville Castle far behind 
 him. He could not refuse his friend's invitation, how- 
 ever ; and the less so that he was a little ashamed of the 
 peevishness which he had displayed towards his well- 
 meaning entertainer. 
 
 The General, therefore, followed Lord Woodville 
 through several rooms into a long gallery hung with 
 pictures, which the latter pointed out to his guest, telling 
 the names and giving some account of the personages 
 whose portraits presented themselves in progression. 
 General Browne was but little interested in the details 
 which these accounts conveyed to him. They were, 
 indeed, of the kind which are usually found in an old 
 family gallery. Here was a Cavalier who had ruined 
 the estate in the royal cause ; there a fine lady who had 
 reinstated it by contracting a match with a wealthy 
 
 K 
 
146 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 Roundhead. There hung a gallant who had been in 
 danger for corresponding with the exiled court at 
 Saint Germains; here one who had taken arms for 
 William at the Revolution ; and there a third that had 
 thrown his weight alternately into the scale of Whig 
 and Tory. 
 
 While Lord Woodville was cramming these words 
 into his guest's ear " against the stomach of his sense," 
 they gained the middle of the gallery, when he beheld 
 General Browne suddenly start, and assume an attitude 
 of the utmost surprise, not unmixed with fear, as his 
 eyes were caught and suddenly riveted by a portrait of 
 an old lady in a sacque, the fashionable dress of the end 
 of the seventeenth century. 
 
 " There she is ! " he exclaimed ; " there she is, in form 
 and features, though inferior in demoniac expression to 
 the accursed hag who visited me last night ! " 
 
 " If that be the case," said the young nobleman, 
 " there can rertiain no longer any doubt of the horrible 
 reality of your apparition. That is the picture of a 
 wretched ancestress of mine, of whose crimes a black and 
 fearful catalogue is recorded in a family history in my 
 charter-chest. The recital of them would be too horrible ; 
 it is enough to say that in yon fatal apartment incest and 
 unnatural murder were committed. I will restore it to 
 the solitude to which the better judgment of those who 
 preceded me had consigned it ; and never shall any one, 
 so long as I can prevent it, be exposed to a repetition of 
 the supernatural horrors which could shake such courage 
 as yours." 
 
 Thus the friends, who had met with such glee, parted 
 in a very different mood. Lord Woodville to command 
 
THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER 147 
 
 the Tapestried Chamber to be unmantled and the door 
 built up, and General Browne to seek in some less 
 beautiful country, and with some less dignified friend, 
 forgetfulness of the painful night which he had passed 
 in Woodville Castle. 
 
VII 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE 
 
 [a posthumous writing of diedrich 
 Knickerbocker] 
 
 By Washington Irving 
 
 " By Woden, God of Saxons, 
 From whence comes Wensday, that is Wodensday, 
 Truth is a thing that ever I will keep 
 Unto thylke day in which I can creep into 
 My sepulchre " — Cartwright. 
 
 Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must 
 remember the Kaatskill Mountains. They are a dis- 
 membered branch of the great Appalachian family, and 
 are seen away to the west of the river, swelling up to a 
 noble height, and lording it over the surrounding country. 
 Every change of season, every change of weather, indeed, 
 every hour of the day, produces some change in the 
 magical hues and shapes of these mountains, and they 
 are regarded by all the good wives, far and near, as per- 
 fect barometers. When the weather is fair and settled, 
 they are clothed in blue and purple, and print their bold 
 outlines on the clear evening sky ; but sometimes, when 
 
 the rest of the landscape is cloudless, they will gather a 
 
 148 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE 149 
 
 hood of grey vapours about their summits, which, in the 
 last rays of the setting sun, will glow and light up like a 
 crown of glory. 
 
 At the foot of these fairy mountains, the voyager may 
 have descried the light smoke curling up from a village, 
 whose shingle-roofs gleam among the trees, just where 
 the blue tints of the upland melt away into the fresh 
 green of the nearer landscape. It is a little village, of 
 great antiquity, having been founded by some of the 
 Dutch colonists, in the early times of the province, just 
 about the beginning of the government of the good Peter 
 Stuyvesant (may he rest in peace !), and there were some 
 of the houses of the original settlers standing within a 
 few years, built of small yellow bricks brought from 
 Holland, having latticed windows and gable fronts, sur- 
 mounted with weathercocks. 
 
 In that same village, and in one of these very houses 
 (which, to tell the precise truth, was sadly time-worn and 
 weather-beaten), there lived many years since, while the 
 country was yet a province of Great Britain, a simple, 
 good-natured fellow, of the name of Rip Van Winkle, 
 He was a descendant of the Van Winkles who figured so 
 gallantly in the chivalrous days of Peter Stuyvesant, and 
 accompanied him to the siege of Fort Christina. He 
 inherited, however, but little of the martial character of 
 his ancestors. I have observed that he was a simple, 
 good-natured man ; he was, moreover, a kind neighbour, 
 and an obedient, henpecked husband. Indeed, to the 
 latter circumstance might be owing that meekness of 
 spirit which gained him such universal popularity; for 
 those men are most apt to be obsequious and conciliating 
 abroad, who are under the discipline of shrews at home. 
 
ISO THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 Their tempers, doubtless, are rendered pliant and malle- 
 able in the fiery furnace of domestic tribulation, and a 
 curtain lecture is worth all the sermons in the world for 
 teaching the virtues of patience and long-suffering. A 
 termagant wife may, therefore, in some respects, be con- 
 sidered a tolerable blessing ; and if so, Rip Van Winkle 
 was thrice blessed. 
 
 Certain it is that he was a great favourite among all 
 the good wives of the village, who, as usual with the 
 amiable sex, took his part in all fattiily squabbles, and 
 never failed, whenever they talked those matters over in 
 their evening gossipings, to lay all the blame on Dame 
 Van Winkle. The children of the village, too, would 
 shout with joy whenever he approached. He assisted at 
 their sports, made their playthings, taught them to fly 
 kites and shoot marbles, and told them long stories of 
 ghosts, witches, and Indians. Whenever he went dodging 
 about the village, he was surrounded by a troop of them, 
 hanging on his skirts, clambering on his back, and playing 
 a thousand tricks on him with impunity ; and not a dog 
 would bark at him throughout the neighbourhood. 
 
 The great error in Rip's composition was an insuper- 
 able aversion to all kinds of profitable labour. It could 
 not be from the want of assiduity or perseverance, for he 
 would sit on a wet rock, with a rod as long and heavy as 
 a Tartar's lance, and fish all day without a rriurmur, even 
 though he should not be encouraged by a single nibble. 
 He would carry a fowling-piece on his shoulder for hours 
 together, trudging through woods and swamps, and up 
 hill and down dale, to shoot a few squirrels or wild 
 pigeons. He would never refuse to assist a neighbour 
 even in the roughest toil, and was a foremost man at all 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE 151 
 
 country frolics, for husking Indian corn, or building stone 
 fences; the women of the village, too, used to employ 
 him to run their errands, and to do such little odd jobs 
 as their less obliging husbands would not do for them. 
 In a word. Rip was ready to attend to anybody's business 
 but his own ; but as to doing family duty, and keeping 
 his farm in order, he found it impossible. 
 
 In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on his 
 farm ; it was the most pestilent little piece of ground in 
 the whole country ; everything about it went wrong, and 
 would go wrong, in spite of him. His fences were con- 
 tinually falling to pieces ; his cow would either go astray, 
 or get among the cabbages ; weeds were sure to grow 
 quicker in his fields than anywhere else ; the rain always 
 made a point of setting in just as he had some outdoor 
 work to do ; so that, though his patrimonial estate had 
 dwindled away under his management, acre by acre, until 
 there was little more left than a mere patch of Indian corn 
 and potatoes, yet it was the worst-conditioned farm in the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they 
 belonged to nobody. His son Rip, an urchin begotten 
 in his own likeness, promised to inherit the habits, with 
 the old clothes of his father. He was generally seen 
 trooping like a colt at his mother's heels, equipped in 
 a pair of his father's cast-ofF galligaskins, which he had 
 much ado to hold up with one hand, as a fine lady does 
 her train in bad weather. 
 
 Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy 
 mortals, of foolish, well-oiled dispositions, who take the 
 world easy, eat white bread or brown, whichever can be 
 got with least thought or trouble, and would rather 
 
152 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 starve on a penny than work for a pound. If left to 
 himself, he would have whistled life away in perfect 
 contentment; but his wife kept continually dinning in 
 his ears about his idleness, his carelessness, and the ruin 
 he was bringing on his family. Morning, noon, and 
 night, her tongue was incessantly going, and everything 
 he said or did was sure to produce a torrent of house- 
 hold eloquence. Rip had but one way of replying to all 
 lectures of the kind, and that, by frequent use, had grown 
 into a habit. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, 
 cast up his eyes, but said nothing. This, however, always 
 provoked a fresh volley from his wife; so that he was 
 fain to draw off his forces, and take to the outside of the 
 house — the only side which, in truth, belongs to a hen- 
 pecked husband. 
 
 Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who 
 was as much henpecked as his master; for Dame Van 
 Winkle regarded them as companions in idleness, and 
 even looked upon Wolf with an evil eye, as the cause of 
 his master's going so often astray. True it is, in all 
 points of spirit befitting an honourable dog he was as 
 courageous an animal as ever scoured the woods— ^but 
 what courage can withstand the ever-during and all- 
 besetting terrors of a woman's tongue.? The moment 
 Wolf entered the house his crest fell, his tail drooped 
 to the ground, or curled between his legs ; he sneaked 
 about with a gallows air, casting many a sidelong glance 
 at "Dame Van Winkle, and at the least flourish of a 
 broomstick or ladle, he would fly to the door with 
 yelping precipitation. 
 
 Times grew worse and worse with Rip Van Winkle 
 as years of matrimony rolled on; a tart temper never 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE 153 
 
 mellows with age, and a sharp tongue is the only edged 
 tool that grows keener with constant use. For a long 
 while he used to console himself, when driven from home, 
 by frequenting a kind of perpetual club of the sages, 
 philosophers, and other idle personages of the village, 
 which held its sessions on a bench before a small inn, 
 designated by a rubicund portrait of his Majesty George 
 the Third. Here they used to sit in the shade through 
 a long lazy summer's day, talking listlessly over village 
 gossip, or telling endless sleepy stories about nothing. 
 But it would have been worth any statesman's money to 
 have heard the profound discussions that sometimes took 
 place, when by chance an old newspaper fell into their 
 hands from some passing traveller. How solemnly they 
 would listen to the contents, as drawled out by Derrick 
 Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, a dapper learned little 
 man, who was not to be daunted by the most gigantic 
 word in the 4ictionary ; and how sagely they would deli- 
 berate upon public events some months after they had 
 taken place. 
 
 The opinions of this junto were completely controlled 
 by Nicholas Vedder, a patriarch of the village, and land- 
 lord of the inn, at the door of which he took his seat 
 from morning till night, just moving sufficiently to avoid 
 the sun and keep in the shade of a large tree, so that 
 the neighbours could tell the hour by his movements as 
 accurately as by a sundial. It is true he was rarely heard 
 to speak, but smoked his pipe incessantly. His adherents, 
 however (for every great man has his adherents), perfectly 
 understood him, and knew how to gather his opinions. 
 When anything that was read or related displeased him, 
 he was observed to smoke his pipe vehemently, and to 
 
154 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 send forth short, frequent, and angry puffs, but when 
 pleased he would inhale the smoke slowly and tranquilly, 
 and emit it in light and placid clouds; and sometimes, 
 taking the pipe from his mouth, and letting the fragrant 
 vapour curl about his nose, would gravely nod his head 
 in token of perfect approbation. 
 
 From even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at 
 length routed by his termagant wife, who would suddenly 
 break in upon the tranquillity of the assemblage and call 
 the members all to naught; nor was that august per- 
 sonage, Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred from the daring 
 tongue of this terrible virago, who charged him outright 
 with encouraging her husband in habits of idleness. 
 
 Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair, and 
 his only alternative, to escape from the labour of the farm 
 and clamour of his wife, was to take gun in hand and 
 stroll away into the woods. Here he would sometimes 
 seat himself at the foot of a tree, and share the contents 
 of his wallet with "Wolf, with whom he sympathised as a 
 fellow-suiFerer in persecution. " Poor Wolf," he would 
 say, "thy mistress leads thee a dog's life of it; but never 
 mind, my lad, whilst I live thou shalt never want a friend 
 to stand by thee ! " Wolf would wag his tail, look wist- 
 fully in his master's face, and if dogs can feel pity, I verily 
 believe he reciprocated the sentiment with all his heart. 
 
 In a long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day. 
 Rip had unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest 
 parts of the Kaatskill Mountains. He was after his 
 favourite sport of squirrel-shooting, and the still soli- 
 tudes had echoed and re-echoed with the reports of his 
 gun. Panting and fatigued, he threw himself, late in 
 the afternoon, on a green knoll, covered with mountain 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE 155 
 
 herbage, that crowned the brow of a precipice. From an 
 opening between the trees he coul'd overlook all the lower 
 country for many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at a 
 distance the lordly Hudson, far, far below him, moving 
 on its silent but majestic course, with the reflection of a 
 purple cloud, or the sail of a lagging bark, here and there 
 sleeping on its glassy bosom, and at last losing itself in 
 the blue highlands. 
 
 On the other side he looked down into a deep moun- 
 tain glen, wild, lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled 
 with fragments from the impending cliffs, and scarcely 
 lighted by the reflected rays of the setting sun. For 
 some time Rip lay musing on this scene ; evening was 
 gradually advancing ; the mountains began to throw their 
 long blue shadows over the valleys ; he saw that it would 
 be dark long before he could reach the village, and he 
 heaved a heavy sigh when he thought of encountering 
 the terrors of Dame Van Winkle. 
 
 As he was about to descend, he heard a voice from a 
 distance, hallooing, " Rip Van Winkle ! Rip Van Winkle ! " 
 He looked round, but could see nothing but a crow 
 winging its solitary flight across the mountain. He 
 thought his fancy must have deceived him, and turned 
 again to descend, when he heard the same cry ring 
 through the still evening air, " Rip Van Winkle ! Rip 
 Van Winkle ! " — at the same time Wolf bristled up his 
 back, and, giving a loud growl, skulked to his master's 
 side, looking fearfully down into the glen. Rip now 
 felt a vague apprehension stealing over him ; he looked 
 anxiously in the same direction, and perceived a strange 
 figure slowly toiling up the rocks, and bending under 
 the weight of something he carried on his back. He 
 
156 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 was surprised to see any human being In this lonely and 
 unfrequented place ; but supposing it to be some one of 
 the neighbourhood in need of his assistance, he hastened 
 down to yield it. 
 
 On nearer approach he was still more surprised at the 
 singularity of the stranger's appearance. He was a short, 
 square-built old fellow, with thick bushy hair and a 
 grizzled beard. His dress was of the antique Dutch fashion 
 — a cloth jerkin, strapped round the waist, several pairs of 
 breeches, the outer one of ample volume, decorated with 
 rows of buttons down the sides, and bunches at the knees. 
 He bore on his shoulder a stout keg, that seemed full of 
 liquor, and made signs for Rip to approach and assist him 
 with the load. Though rather shy and distrustful of 
 this new acquaintance. Rip complied with his usual alac- 
 rity; and, mutually relieving each other, they clambered 
 up a narrow gully, apparently the dry bed of a mountain 
 torrent. As they ascended. Rip every now and then heard 
 long rolling peals, like distant thunder, that seemed to 
 issue out of a deep ravine, or rather cleft, between lofty 
 rocks, toward which their rugged path conducted. He 
 paused for an instant, but supposing it to be the muttering 
 of one of those transient thunder-showers which often 
 take place in mountain heights, he proceeded. Passing 
 through the ravine they came to a hollow, like a small 
 amphitheatre, surrounded by perpendicular precipices, 
 over the brinks of which impending trees shot their 
 branches, so that you only caught glimpses of the azure 
 sky and the bright evening cloud. During the whole 
 time Rip and his companion had laboured on in silence, 
 for though the former marvelled greatly what could be 
 the object of carrying a keg of liquor up this wild 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE 157 
 
 mountain, yet there was something strange and incom- 
 prehensible about the unknown that inspired awe and 
 checked familiarity. 
 
 On entering the amphitheatre, new objects of wonder 
 presented themselves. On a level spot in the centre was 
 a company of odd-looking personages playing at nine- 
 pins. They were dressed in a quaint outlandish fashion; 
 some wore short doublets, others jerkins, with long knives 
 in their belts, and most of them had enormous breeches, 
 of similar style with that of the guide's. Their visages, 
 too, were peculiar : one had a large head, broad face, and 
 small piggish eyes ; the face of another seemed to consist 
 entirely of nose, and was surmounted by a white sugar- 
 loaf hat, set off with a little red cock's tail. They all 
 had beards, of various shapes and colours. There was 
 one who seemed to be the commander. He was a stout 
 old gentleman, with a weather-beaten countenance ; he 
 wore a laced doublet, broad belt and hanger, high-crowned 
 hat and feather, red stockings, and high-heeled shoes, 
 with roses in them. The whole group reminded Rip of 
 the figures in an old Flemish painting, in the parlour of 
 Dominie Van Shaick, the village parson, and which had 
 been brought over from Holland at the time of the 
 settlement. 
 
 What seemed particularly odd to Rip was that, though 
 these folks were evidently amusing themselves, yet they 
 maintained the gravest faces, the most mysterious silence, 
 and were, withal, the most melancholy party of pleasure 
 he had ever witnessed. Nothing interrupted the still- 
 ness of the scene but the noise of the balls, which, when- 
 ever they were rolled, echoed along the mountains like 
 rumbling peals of thunder. 
 
158 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 As Rip and his companion approached them, they 
 suddenly desisted from their play, and stared at him with 
 such fixed, statue-like gaze, and such strange, uncouth, 
 lustre-like countenances, that his heart turned within 
 him, and his knees smote together. His companion now 
 emptied the contents of the keg into large flagons, and 
 made signs to him to wait upon the company. He 
 obeyed with fear and trembling ; they quaffed the liquor 
 in profound silence, and then returned to their game. 
 
 By degrees Rip's awe and apprehension subsided. 
 He even ventured, when no eye was fixed upon him, to 
 taste the beverage, which, he found, had much of the 
 flavour of excellent Hollands. He was naturally a 
 thirsty soul, and was soon tempted to repeat the draught. 
 One taste provoked another ; and he reiterated his visits 
 to the flagon so often, that at length his senses were 
 overpowered, his eyes swam in his head, his head gradu- 
 ally declined, and he fell into a deep sleep. 
 
 On waking, he found himself on the green knoll 
 whence he had first seen the old man of the glen. He 
 rubbed his eyes — it was a bright sunny morning. The 
 birds were hopping and twittering among the bushes, 
 and the eagle was wheeling aloft and breasting the pure 
 mountain breeze. " Surely," thought Rip, " I have not 
 slept here all night." He recalled the occurrences before 
 he fell asleep. The strange man with the keg of liquor 
 —the mountain ravine — the wild retreat among the rocks 
 — the woe-begone party at ninepins — the flagon — " oh ! 
 that flagon ! that wicked flagon ! " thought Rip ; " what 
 excuse shall I make to Dame Van Winkle ? " 
 
 He looked round for his gun, but in place of the 
 clean, well-oiled fowling-piece, he found an old firelock 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE 159 
 
 lying by him, the barrel incrusted with rust, the lock 
 falling off, and the stock worm-eaten. He now sus- 
 pected that the grave roysterers of the mountain had put 
 a trick upon him, and, having dosed him with liquor, had 
 robbed him of his gun. Wolf, too, had disappeared, but 
 he might have strayed away after a squirrel or partridge. 
 He whistled after him, and shouted his name, but all in 
 vain ; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but no 
 dog was to be seen. 
 
 He determined to revisit the scene of the last even- 
 ing's gambol, and, if he met with any of the party, to 
 demand his dog and gun. As he rose to walk, he found 
 himself stiff in the joints, and wanting in his usual activity. 
 " These mountain beds do not agree with me," thought 
 Rip ; " and if this frolic should lay me up with a fit of 
 rheumatism, I shall have a blessed time with Dame Van 
 Winkle." With some difficulty he got down into the 
 glen ; he found the gully up which he and his companion 
 had ascended the preceding evening ; but, to his astonish- 
 ment, a mountain stream was now foaming down it — 
 leaping from rock to rock, and filling the glen with 
 babbling murmurs. He, however, made shift to scramble 
 up its sides, working his toilsome way through thickets 
 of birch, sassafras, and wild-hazel, and sometimes tripped 
 up or entangled by the wild grape-vines that twisted their 
 coils or tendrils from tree to tree, and spread a kind of 
 network in his path. 
 
 At length he reached where the ravine had opened 
 through the cliffs to the amphitheatre, but no traces of 
 such opening remained. The rocks presented a high 
 impenetrable wall, over which the torrent came tumbling 
 in a sheet of feathery foam, and fell into a broad deep 
 
i6o THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 basin, black from the shadows of the surrounding forest. 
 Here, then, poor Rip was brought to a stand. He again 
 called and whistled after his dog ; he was only answered 
 by the cawing of a flock of idle crows, sporting high in 
 air about a dry tree that overhung a sunny precipice; 
 and who, secure in their elevation, seemed to look down 
 and scoff at the poor man's perplexities. What was to 
 be done ? — the morning was passing away, and Rip felt 
 famished for want of his breakfast. He grieved to give 
 up his dog and his gun ; he dreaded to meet his wife ; 
 but it would not do to starve among the mountains. He 
 shook his head, shouldered the rusty firelock, and, with 
 a heart full of trouble and anxiety, turned his steps, 
 homeward. 
 
 As he approached the village he met a number of 
 people, but none whom he knew, which somewhat sur- 
 prised him, for he had thought himself acquainted with 
 every one in the country round. Their dress, too, was 
 of a different fashion from that to which he was accus- 
 tomed. They all stared at him with equal marks of 
 surprise, and, whenever they cast their eyes upon him, 
 invariably stroked their chins. The constant recurrence 
 of this gesture induced Rip, involuntarily, to do the same 
 — when, to his astonishment, he found his beard had 
 grown a foot long ! 
 
 He had now entered the skirts of the village. A 
 troop of strange children ran at his heels, hooting after 
 him, and pointing at his grey beard. The dogs, too, not 
 one of whom he recognised for an old acquaintance, 
 barked at him as he passed ; the very village was altered 
 — it was larger and more populous. There were rows 
 of houses which he had never seen before, and those 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE i6i 
 
 which had been his familiar haunts had disappeared. 
 Strange names were over the doors — strange faces at the 
 windows — everything was strange. His mind now mis- 
 gave him ; he began to doubt whether both he and the 
 world around him were not bewitched. Surely this was 
 his native village, which he had left but the day before. 
 There stood the Kaatskill Mountains — there ran the 
 silver Hudson at a distance — there was every hill and 
 dale precisely as it had always been. Rip was sorely 
 perplexed. " That flagon last night," thought he, " has 
 addled my poor head sadly ! " 
 
 It was with some difficulty that he found his way to 
 his own house, which he approached with silent awe, 
 expecting every moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame 
 Van Winkle. He found the house gone to decay — the 
 roof fallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors off 
 the hinges. A half-starved dog that looked like "Wolf 
 was skulking about it. Rip called him by his name, but 
 the cur snarled, showed his teeth, and passed on. This 
 was an unkind cut indeed. " My very dog," sighed poor 
 Rip, " has forgotten me ! " 
 
 He entered the house, which, to tell the truth. Dame 
 Winkle had always kept in neat order. It was empty, 
 forlorn, and apparently abandoned. The desolateness 
 overcame all his connubial fears; he called loudly for 
 his wife and children ; the lonely chambers rang for a 
 moment with his voice, and then all again was silence. 
 
 He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, 
 the village inn — but it too was gone. A large rickety 
 wooden building stood in its place, with great gaping 
 windows, some of them broken and mended with old 
 hats and petticoats, and over the door was painted, "The 
 
i62 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 Union Hotel, by Jonathan Doolittle." Instead of the 
 great tree that used to shelter the quiet little Dutch inn 
 of yore, there was now reared a tall naked pole, with 
 something on the top that looked like a red nightcap, 
 and from it was fluttering a flag, on which was a singular 
 assemblage of stars and stripes — all this was strange and 
 incomprehensible. He recognised on the sign, however, 
 the ruby face of King George, under which he had 
 smoked so many a peaceful pipe; but even this was 
 singularly metamorphosed. The red coat was changed 
 for one of blue and buff, a sword was held in the hand 
 instead of a sceptre, the head was decorated with a cocked 
 hat, and underneath was painted, in large characters, 
 General Washington. 
 
 There was, as usual, a crowd of folks about the door, 
 but none that Rip recollected. The very character of 
 the people seemed changed. There was a busy, bustling, 
 disputatious tone about it, instead of the accustomed 
 phlegm and drowsy tranquillity. He looked in vain for 
 the sage Nicholas Vedder, with his broad face, double 
 chin, and fair long pipe, uttering clouds of tobacco smoke 
 instead of idle speeches; or Van Bummel, the school- 
 master, doling forth the contents of an ancient news- 
 paper. In place of these, a lean, bilious - looking 
 fellow, with his pockets full of handbills, was haranguing 
 vehemently about rights of citizens — elections — members 
 of Congress — liberty — Bunker's Hill — heroes of seventy- 
 six — and other words, which were a perfect Babylonish 
 jargon to the bewildered Van Winkle, 
 
 The appearance of Rip, with his long grizzled beard, 
 his rusty fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and an army 
 of women and children at his heels, soon attracted the 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE 163 
 
 attention of the tavern politicians. They crowded round 
 him, eyeing him from head to foot with great curiosity. 
 The orator bustled up to him, and, drawing him partly 
 aside, inquired " On which side he voted ? " Rip stared 
 in vacant stupidity. Another short but busy little fellow 
 pulled him by the arm, and, rising on tiptoe, inquired in 
 his ear, " Whether he was a Federal or a Democrat ? " 
 Rip was equally at a loss to comprehend the question ; 
 when a knowing, self-important old gentleman, in a sharp 
 cocked hat, made his way through the crowd, putting 
 them to the right and left with his elbows as he passed, 
 and planting himself before Van Winkle, with one arm 
 akimbo, the other resting on his cane, his keen eyes and 
 sharp hat penetrating, as it were, into his very soul, 
 demanded in an austere tone, " What brought him to 
 the election with a gun on his shoulder and a mob at 
 his heels ; and whether he meant to breed a riot in the 
 village?" — "Alas! gentlemen," cried Rip, somewhat 
 dismayed, "I am a poor quiet man, a native of the 
 place, and a loyal subject of the king, God bless 
 him ! " 
 
 Here a general shout burst from the bystanders — 
 "A Tory! a Tory! a spy! a refugee! hustle him! 
 away with him ! " It was with great difficulty that the 
 self-important man in the cocked hat restored order; 
 and, Irving assumed a tenfold austerity of brow, de- 
 manded', again of the unknown culprit what he came 
 there for, and whom he was seeking ? The poor man 
 humbly^sured him that he meant no harm, but merely 
 came then^jn search of some of his neighbours, who used 
 to keep about the tavern. 
 
 " Well, who are they ? Name them." 
 
i64 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 Rip bethought himself a moment and inquired, 
 "Where's Nicholas Vedder?" 
 
 There was a silence for a little while, when an old 
 man replied in a thin piping voice, " Nicholas Vedder ! 
 why, he is dead and gone these eighteen years ! There 
 was a wooden tombstone in the churchyard that used to 
 tell all about him, but that's rotten and gone too." 
 
 "Where's Brom Butcher?" 
 
 " Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the 
 war; some say he was killed at the storming of Stony 
 Point, others say he was drowned in a squall at the foot 
 of Antony's Nose. I don't know ; he never came back 
 again." 
 
 " Where's Van Bummel, the schoolmaster ? " 
 
 "He went off to the wars too, was a great militia 
 general, and is now in Congress." 
 
 Rip's heart died away at hearing of these sad changes 
 in his home and friends, and finding himself thus alone 
 in the world. Every answer puzzled him too, by treating 
 of such enormous lapses of time, and of matters which 
 he could not understand : war — Congress — Stony Point ; 
 he had no courage to ask after any more friends, but 
 cried out in despair, " Does nobody here know Rip Van 
 Winkle ? " 
 
 " Oh, Rip Van Winkle ! " exclaimed two or three. 
 " Oh, to be sure ! that's Rip Van Winkle yonder, leaning 
 against the tree." 
 
 Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of him- 
 self as he went up the mountain : apparently as lazy, and 
 certainly as ragged. The poor fellow was now completely 
 confounded. He doubted his own identity, and whether 
 he was himself or another man. In the midst of his 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE 165 
 
 bewilderment, the man in the cocked hat demanded who 
 he was, and what was his name ? 
 
 "God knows," exclaimed he, at his wit's end; "I'm 
 not myself — I'm somebody else — that's me yonder — no 
 — that's somebody else got into my shoes — I was myself 
 last night, but I fell asleep on the mountain, and they've 
 changed my gun, and everything's changed, and I am 
 changed, and I can't tell what's my name, or who I am 1 " 
 
 The bystanders began now to look at each other, nod, 
 wink significantly, and tap their fingers against their fore- 
 heads. There was a whisper also about securing the gun, 
 and keeping the old fellow from doing mischief, at the 
 very suggestion of which the self-important man in the 
 cocked hat retired with some precipitation. At this 
 critical moment a fresh comely woman pressed through 
 the throng to get a peep at the grey-bearded man. She 
 had a chubby child in her arms, which, frightened at his 
 looks, began to cry. " Hush, Rip," cried she, " hush, 
 you little fool, the old man won't hurt you." The name 
 of the child, the tone of her voice, all awakened a train 
 of recollections in his mind. 
 
 " What is your name, my good woman ? " asked he. 
 
 "Judith Gardenier." 
 
 " And your father's name ? " 
 
 "Ah, poor man. Rip Van Winkle was his name, but 
 it's twenty years since he went away from home with his 
 gun, and never has been heard of since; his dog came 
 home without him, but whether he shot himself, or was 
 carried away by the Indians, nobody can tell. I was then 
 but a little girl." 
 
 Rip had but one question more, but he put it with a 
 faltering voice — 
 
i66 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 " Where's your mother ? " 
 
 " Oh, she too had died but a short time since ; she 
 broke a blood-vessel in a fit of passion at a New England 
 pedlar." 
 
 There was a drop of comfort, at least, in this intelli- 
 gence. The honest man could contain himself no longer. 
 He caught his daughter and her child in his arms. " I 
 am your father ! " cried he. " Young Rip Van Winkle 
 once, old Rip Van Winkle now! Does nobody know 
 poor Rip Van Winkle ? " 
 
 All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out 
 from among the crowd, put her hand to her brow, and 
 peering under it into his face for a moment, exclaimed, 
 "Sure enough! it is Rip Van Winkle; it is himself! 
 Welcome home again, old neighbour. Why, where have 
 you been these twenty long years ? " 
 
 Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years 
 had been to him but as one night. The neighbours stared 
 when they heard it ; some were seen to wink at each other, 
 and put their tongues in their cheeks; and the self- 
 important man in the cocked hat, who, when the alarm 
 was over, had returned to the field, screwed down the 
 corners of his mouth, and shook his head — upon which 
 there was a general shaking of the head throughout the 
 assemblage. 
 
 It was determined, however, to take the opinion of 
 old Peter Vanderdonk, who was seen slowly advancing 
 up the road. He was a descendant of the historian of 
 that name, who wrote one of the earliest accounts of the 
 province. Peter was the most ancient inhabitant of the 
 village, and well versed in all the wonderful events and 
 traditions of the neighbourhood. He recollected Rip at 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE 167 
 
 once, and corroborated his story in the most satisfactory 
 manner. He assured the company that it was a fact, 
 handed down from his ancestor the historian, that the 
 Kaatskill Mountains had always been haunted by strange 
 beings. That it was affirmed that the great Hendrick 
 Hudson, the first discoverer of the river and country, 
 kept a kind of idgil there every twenty years with his 
 crew of the Half-moon ; being permitted in this way to 
 revisit the scenes of his enterprise, and keep a guardian 
 eye upon the river and the great city called by his name. 
 That his father had once seen them in their old Dutch 
 dresses playing at ninepins in a hollow of the mountain ; 
 and that he himself had heard, one summer afternoon, 
 the sound of their balls like distant peals of thunder. 
 
 To make a long story short, the company broke up, 
 and returned to the more important concerns of the elec- 
 tion. Rip's daughter took him home to live with her ; 
 she had a snug, well-furnished house, and a stout, cheery 
 farmer for her husband, whom Rip recollected for one of 
 the urchins that used to climb upon his back. As to 
 Rip's son and heir, who was the ditto of himself, seen 
 leaning against the tree, he was employed to work on the 
 farm ; but evinced an hereditary disposition to attend to 
 anything else but his business. 
 
 Rip now resumed his old walks and habits ; he soon 
 found many of his former cronies, though all rather the 
 worse for the wear and tear of time, and preferred making 
 friends among the rising generation, with whom he soon 
 grew into great favour. 
 
 Having nothing to do at home, and being arrived at 
 that happy age when a man can be idle with impunity, 
 he took his place once more on the bench at the inn door, 
 
i68 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 and was reverenced as one of the patriarchs of the village, 
 and a chronicle of the old times "before the war." It 
 was some time before he could get into the regular track 
 of gossip, or could be made to comprehend the strange 
 events that had taken place during his torpor. How 
 that there had been a revolutionary war — that the country 
 had thrown off the yoke of old England — and that, 
 instead of being a subject of his Majesty George the 
 Third, he was now a free citizen of the United States. 
 Rip, in fact, was no politician ; the changes of states and 
 empires made but little impression on him ; but there 
 was one species of despotism under which he had long 
 groaned, and that was — petticoat government. Happily 
 that was at an end ; he had got his neck out of the yoke 
 of matrimony, and could go in and out whenever he 
 pleased without dreading the tyranny of Dame Van 
 Winkle. Whenever her name was mentioned, however, 
 he shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, and cast up 
 his eyes, which might pass either for an expression of 
 resignation to his fate or joy at his deliverance. 
 
 He used to tell his story to every stranger that arrived 
 at Mr. Doolittle's hotel. He was at first observed to 
 vary on some points every time he told it, which was, 
 doubtless, owing to his having so recently awaked. It at 
 last settled down to precisely the tale I have related, and 
 not a man, woman, or child in the neighbourhood but 
 knew it by heart. Some always pretended to doubt the 
 reality of it, and insisted that Rip had been out of his 
 head, and that this was one point on which he always 
 remained flighty. The old Dutch inhabitants, however, 
 almost universally gave it full credit. Even to this day 
 they never hear a thunderstorm of a summer afternoon 
 
RIP VAN WINKLE 169 
 
 about the Kaatskill, but they say Hendrick Hudson and 
 his crew are at their game of ninepins; and it is a 
 common wish of all henpecked husbands in the neigh- 
 bourhood, when life hangs heavy on their hands, that 
 they might have a quieting draught out of Rip Van 
 Winkle's flagon. 
 
VIII 
 MY KINSMAN, MAJOR MOLINEUX 
 
 By Nathaniel Hawthorne 
 
 After the kings of Great Britain had assumed the right 
 of appointing the colonial governors, the measures of the 
 latter seldom met with the ready and general approba- 
 tion which had been paid to those of their predecessors 
 under the original charters. The people looked with 
 most jealous scrutiny to the exercise of power which did 
 not emanate from themselves, and they usually rewarded 
 their rulers with slender gratitude for the compliances by 
 which, in softening their instructions from beyond the 
 sea, they had incurred the reprehension of those who gave 
 them. The annals of Massachusetts Bay will inform us 
 that of six governors in the space of about forty years 
 from the surrender of the old charter, under James II., 
 two were imprisoned by a popular insurrection ; a third, 
 as Hutchinson inclines to believe, was driven from the 
 province by the whizzing of a musket-ball ; a fourth, in 
 the opinion of the same historian, was hastened to his 
 grave by continual bickerings with the House of Re- 
 presentatives ; and the remaining two, as well as their 
 successors, till the Revolution, were favoured with few and 
 
 brief intervals of peaceful sway. The inferior members 
 
 170 
 
MAJOR MOLINEUX 171 
 
 of the court party, in times of high political excitement, 
 led scarcely a more desirable life. These remarks may 
 serve as a preface to the following adventures, which 
 chanced upon a summer night, not far from a hundred 
 years ago. The reader, in order to avoid a long and dry 
 detail of colonial affairs, is requested to dispense with an 
 account of the train of circumstances that had caused 
 much temporary inflammation of the popular mind. 
 
 It was near nine o'clock of a moonlight evening, when 
 a boat crossed the ferry with a single passenger, who had 
 obtained his conveyance at that unusual hour by the pro- 
 mise of an extra fare. While he stood on the landing 
 place, searching in either pocket for the means of ful- 
 filling his agreement, the ferryman lifted a lantern, by the 
 aid of which, and the newly-risen moon, he took a very 
 accurate survey of the stranger's figure. He was a youth 
 of barely eighteen years, evidently country-bred, and now, 
 as it should seem, upon his first visit to town. He was 
 clad in a coarse grey coat, well-worn, but in excellent 
 repair ; his under-garments were durably constructed of 
 leather, and fitted tight to a pair of serviceable and well- 
 shaped limbs ■ his stockings of blue yarn were the incon- 
 trovertible work of a mother or a sister ; and on his head 
 was a three-cornered hat, which in its better days had 
 perhaps sheltered the graver brow of the lad's father. 
 Under his left arm was a heavy cudgel, formed of an oak 
 sapling, and retaining a part of the hardened root ; and 
 his equipment was completed by a wallet, not so abun- 
 dantly stocked as to incommode the vigorous shoulders on 
 which it hung. Brown, curly hair, well-shaped features, 
 and bright, cheerful eyes were Nature's gifts, and worth 
 all that art could have done for his adornment. 
 
172 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 The youth, one of whose names was Robin, finally 
 drew from his pocket the half of a little province bill of 
 five shillings, which, in the depreciation of that sort of 
 currency, did but satisfy the ferryman's demand, with the 
 surplus of a sexangular piece of parchment, valued at 
 threepence. He then walked forward into the town, with 
 as light a step as if his day's journey had not already 
 exceeded thirty miles, and with as eager an eye as if he 
 were entering London city, instead of the little metro- 
 polis of a New England colony. Before Robin had pro- 
 ceeded far, however, it occurred to him that he knew not 
 whither to direct his steps ; so he paused, and looked up 
 and down the narrow street, scrutinising the small and 
 mean wooden buildings that were scattered on either 
 side. 
 
 " This low hovel cannot be my kinsman's dwelling," 
 thought he, " nor yonder old house, where the moon- 
 light enters at the broken casement ; and truly I see none 
 hereabouts that might be worthy of him. It would have 
 been wise to inquire my way of the ferryman, and doubt- 
 less he would have gone with me, and earned a shilling 
 from the major for his pains. But the next man I meet 
 will do as well." 
 
 He resumed his walk, and was glad to perceive that 
 the street now became wider, and the houses more 
 respectable in their appearance. He soon discerned a 
 figure moving on moderately in advance, and hastened 
 his steps to overtake it. As Robin drew nigh, he saw 
 that the passenger was a man in years, with a full peri- 
 wig of grey hair, a wide-skirted coat of dark cloth, and 
 silk stockings rolled above his knees. He carried a long 
 and polished cane, which he struck down perpendicularly 
 
MAJOR MOLINEUX 173 
 
 before him at every step ; and at regular intervals he 
 uttered two successive hems, of a peculiarly solemn and 
 sepulchral intonation. Having made these observations, 
 Robin laid hold of the skirt of the old man's coat, just 
 when the light from the open door and windows of a 
 barber's shop fell upon both their figures. 
 
 " Good evening to you, honoured sir," said he, making 
 a low bow, and still retaining his hold of the skirt. " I 
 pray you tell me whereabouts is the dwelling of my kins- 
 man. Major Molineux." 
 
 The youth's question was uttered very loudly; and 
 one of the barbers, whose razor was descending on a well- 
 soaped chin, and another who was dressing a Ramillies 
 wig, left their occupations and came to the door. The 
 citizen, in the meantime, turned a long-favoured coun- 
 tenance upon Robin, and answered him in a tone of 
 excessive anger and annoyance. His two sepulchral 
 hems, however, broke into the very centre of his rebuke 
 with most singular effect, like a thought of the cold 
 grave obtruding among wrathful passions. 
 
 " Let go my garment, fellow ! I tell you I know 
 not the man you speak of. What ! I have authority, I 
 have — hem, hem — authority ; and if this be the respect 
 you show for your betters, your feet shall be brought 
 acquainted with the stocks by daylight to-morrow 
 morning ! " 
 
 Robin released the old man's skirt, and hastened 
 away, pursued by an ill-mannered roar of laughter from 
 the barber's shop. He was at first considerably surprised 
 by the result of his question, but, being a shrewd youth, 
 soon thought himself able to account for the mystery. 
 
 " This is some country representative," was his con- 
 
174 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 elusion, " who has never seen the inside of my kinsman's 
 door, and lacks the breeding to answer a stranger civilly. 
 The man is old, or verily I might be tempted to turn 
 back and smite him on the nose. Ah, Robin, Robin ! 
 even the barber's boys laugh at you for choosing such a 
 guide ! You will be wiser in time, friend Robin." 
 
 He now became entangled in a succession of crooked 
 and narrow streets, which crossed each other, and mean- 
 dered at no great distance from the water-side. The 
 smell of tar was obvious to his nostrils, the masts of 
 vessels pierced the moonlight above the tops of the 
 buildings, and the numerous signs, which Robin paused 
 to read, informed him that he was near the centre of 
 business. But the streets were empty, the shops, were 
 closed, and lights were visible only in the second storeys 
 of a few dwelling-houses. At length, on the corner of 
 a narrow lane, through which he was passing, he beheld 
 the broad countenance of a British hero swinging before 
 the door of an inn, whence proceeded the voices of many 
 guests. The casement of one of the lower windows was 
 thrown back, and a very thin curtain permitted Robin 
 to distinguish a party at supper, round a well-furnished 
 table. The fragrance of the good cheer steamed forth 
 into the outer air, and the youth could not fail to 
 recollect that the last remnant of his travelling stock 
 of provision had yielded to his morning appetite, and 
 that noon had found and left him dinnerless. 
 
 " Oh, that a parchment threepenny might give me a 
 right to sit down at yonder table ! " said Robin with a 
 sigh. "But the major will make me welcome to the 
 best of his victuals ; so I will even step boldly in, and 
 inquire my way to his dwelling." 
 
MAJOR MOLINEUX 175 
 
 He entered the tavern, and was guided by the murmur 
 of voices and the fumes of tobacco to the public room. 
 It was a long and low apartment, with oaken walls, 
 grown dark in the continual smoke, and a floor which 
 was thickly sanded, but of no immaculate purity. A 
 number of persons — the larger part of whom appeared 
 to be mariners, or in some way connected with the sea 
 — occupied the wooden benches or leather-bottomed 
 chairs, conversing on various matters, and occasionally 
 lending their attention to some topic of general interest. 
 Three or four little groups were draining as many bowls 
 of punch, which the West India trade had long since 
 made a familiar drink in the colony. Others, who had 
 the appearance of men who lived by regular and laborious 
 handicraft, preferred the insulated bliss of an unshared 
 potation, and became more taciturn under its influence. 
 Nearly all, in short, evinced a predilection for the Good 
 Creature in some of its various shapes, for this is a vice 
 to which, as Fast-day sermons of a hundred years ago 
 will testify, we have a long hereditary claim. The only 
 guests to whom Robin's sympathies inclined him were 
 two or three sheepish countrymen, who were using the 
 inn something after the fashion of a Turkish caravansary ; 
 they had gotten themselves into the darkest corner of the 
 room, and, heedless of the nicotian atmosphere, were 
 supping on the bread of their own ovens, and the bacon 
 cured in their own chimney-smoke. But though Robin 
 felt a sort of brotherhood with these strangers, his eyes 
 were attracted from them to a person who stood near the 
 door, holding whispered conversation with a group of ill- 
 dressed associates. His features were separately striking 
 almost to grotesqueness, and the whole face left a deep 
 
176 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 impression on the memory. The forehead bulged out 
 into a double prominence, with a vale between ; the nose 
 came boldly forth in an irregular curve, and its bridge 
 was of more than a finger's breadth ; the eyebrows were 
 deep and shaggy, and the eyes glowed beneath them like 
 fire in a cave. 
 
 While Robin deliberated of whom to inquire respect- 
 ing his kinsman's dwelling, he was accosted by the inn- 
 keeper, a little man in a stained white apron, who had 
 come to pay his professional welcome to the stranger. 
 Being in the second generation from a French Protestant, 
 he seemed to have inherited the courtesy of his parent 
 nation ; but no variety of circumstances was ever known 
 to change his voice from the one shrill note in which he 
 now addressed Robin. 
 
 " From the country, I presume, sir ? " said he, with a 
 profound bow. " Beg leave to congratulate you on your 
 arrival, and trust you intend a long stay with us. Fine 
 town here, sir, beautiful buildings, and much that may 
 interest a stranger. May I hope for the honour of your 
 commands in respect to supper ? " 
 
 " The man sees a family likeness ! the rogue has 
 guessed that I am related to the major ! " thought Robin, 
 who had hitherto experienced little superfluous civility. 
 
 All eyes were now turned on the country lad, standing 
 at the door, in his worn three-cornered hat, grey coat, 
 leather breeches, and blue yarn stockings, leaning on an 
 oaken cudgel, and bearing a wallet on his back. 
 
 Robin replied to the courteous innkeeper, with such 
 an assumption of confidence as befitted the major's rela- 
 tive. " My honest friend," he said, " I shall make it a 
 point to patronise your house on some occasion, when " — 
 
MAJOR MOLINEUX 177 
 
 here he could not help lowering his voice — " when I may 
 have more than a parchment threepence in my pocket. 
 My present business," continued he, speaking with lofty 
 confidence, " is merely to inquire my way to the dwell- 
 ing of my kinsman. Major Molineux." 
 
 There was a sudden and general movement in the 
 room, which Robin interpreted as expressing the eager- 
 ness of each Individual to become his guide. But the 
 innkeeper turned his eyes to a written paper on the wall, 
 which he read, or seemed to read, with occasional recur- 
 rences to the young man's figure. 
 
 " What have we here ? " said he, breaking his speech 
 into little dry fragments. " ' Left the house of the sub- 
 scriber, bounden servant, Hezekiah Mudge; — had on, 
 when he went away, grey coat, leather breeches, master's 
 third-best hat. One pound currency reward to whoso- 
 ever shall lodge him in any jail of the province.' Better 
 trudge, boy, better trudge ! " 
 
 Robin had begun to draw his hand towards the lighter 
 end of the oak cudgel, but a strange hostility in every 
 countenance induced him to relinquish his purpose of 
 breaking the courteous innkeeper's head. As he turned 
 to leave the room, he encountered a sneering glance 
 from the bold-featured personage whom he had before 
 noticed ; and no sooner was he beyond the door, than 
 he heard a general laugh, in which the innkeeper's voice 
 might be distinguished, like the dropping of small stones 
 into a kettle. 
 
 " Now, is it not strange," thought Robin, with his 
 usual shrewdness, " is it not strange that the confession 
 of an empty pocket should outweigh the name of my 
 kinsman. Major Molineux ? Oh, if I had one of those 
 
 M 
 
178 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 grinning rascals in the woods, where I and my oak sap- 
 ling grew up together, I would teach him that my arm 
 is heavy, though my purse be light ! " 
 
 On turning the corner of the narrow lane, Robin found 
 himself in a spacious street, with an unbroken line of 
 lofty houses on each side, and a steepled building at the 
 upper end, whence the ringing of a bell announced the 
 hour of nine. The light of the moon, and the lamps 
 from the numerous shop-windows, discovered people pro- 
 menading on the pavement, and amongst them Robin 
 hoped to recognise his hitherto inscrutable relative. The 
 result of his former inquiries made him unwilling to 
 hazard another in a scene of such publicity, and he 
 determined to walk slowly and silently up the street, 
 thrusting his face close to that of every elderly gentle- 
 man, in search of the major's lineaments. In his progress 
 Robin encountered many gay and gallant figures. Em- 
 broidered garments of showy colours, enormous periwigs, 
 gold-laced hats, and silver-hilted swords, glided past him, 
 and dazzled his optics. Travelled youths, imitators of 
 the European fine gentleman of the period, trod jauntily 
 along, half-dancing to the fashionable tunes which they 
 hummed, and making poor Robin ashamed of his quiet 
 and natural gait. At length, after many pauses to exa- 
 mine the gorgeous display of goods in the shop- windows, 
 and after suffering some rebukes for the impertinence of 
 his scrutiny into people's faces, the major's kinsman found 
 himself near the steepled building, still unsuccessful in 
 his search. As yet, however, he had seen only one side of 
 the thronged street ; so Robin crossed, and continued the 
 same sort of inquisition down the opposite pavement, 
 with stronger hopes than the philosopher seeking an 
 
MAJOR MOLINEUX 179 
 
 honest man, but with no better fortune. He had arrived 
 about midway towards the lower end, from which his 
 course began, when he overheard the approach of some 
 one, who struck down a cane on the flag-stones at every 
 step, uttering, at regular intervals, two sepulchral hems. 
 
 " Mercy on us ! " quoth Robin, recognising the 
 sound. 
 
 Turning a corner, which chanced to be close at his 
 right hand, he hastened to pursue his researches in some 
 other part of the town. His patience now was wearing 
 low, and he seemed to feel more fatigue from his rambles 
 since he crossed the ferry, than from his journey of 
 several days on the other side. Hunger also pleaded 
 loudly within him, and Robin began to balance the pro- 
 priety of demanding, violently, and with lifted cudgel, 
 the necessary guidance from the first solitary passenger 
 whom he should meet. While a resolution to this effect 
 was gaining strength, he entered a street of mean appear- 
 ance, on either side of which a row of ill-built houses 
 was straggling towards the harbour. The moonlight fell 
 upon no passenger along the whole extent, but in the 
 third domicile which Robin passed there was a half- 
 opened door, and his keen glance detected a woman's 
 garment within. 
 
 " My luck may be better here," said he to himself. 
 
 Accordingly, he approached the door, and beheld it 
 shut closer as he did so ; yet an open space remained, 
 sufficing for the fair occupant to observe the stranger, 
 without a corresponding display on her part. All that 
 Robin could discern was a strip of scarlet petticoat, and 
 the occasional sparkle of an eye, as if the moonbeams 
 were trembling on some bright thing. 
 
i8o THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 " Pretty mistress," for I may call her so with a good 
 conscience, thought the shrewd youth, since I know 
 nothing to the contrary, — " my sweet pretty mistress, 
 will you be kind enough to tell me whereabouts I 
 must seek the dwelling of my kinsman, Major Moli- 
 neux ? " 
 
 Robin's voice was plaintive and winning, and the 
 female, seeing nothing to be shunned in the handsome 
 country youth, thrust open the door and came forth into 
 the moonlight. She was a dainty little figure, with a 
 white neck, round arms, and a slender waist, at the 
 extremity of which her scarlet petticoat jutted out over 
 a hoop, as if she were standing in a balloon. Moreover, 
 her face was oval and pretty, her hair dark beneath the 
 little cap, and her bright eyes possessed a sly freedom 
 which triumphed over those of Robin. 
 
 " Major Molineux dwells here," said this fair woman. 
 
 Now, her voice was the sweetest Robin had heard 
 that night, the airy counterpart of a stream of melted 
 silver; yet he could not help doubting whether that 
 sweet voice spoke Gospel truth. He looked up and 
 down the mean street, and then surveyed the house 
 before which they stood. It was a small, dark edifice 
 of two storeys, the second of which projected over the 
 lower floor, and the front apartment had the aspect of a 
 shop for petty commodities. 
 
 " Now truly I am in luck," replied Robin cunningly, 
 " and so indeed is my kinsman, the major, in having so 
 pretty a housekeeper. But I prithee trouble him to 
 step to the door ; I will deliver him a message from his 
 friends in the country, and then go back to my lodgings 
 at the inn." 
 
MAJOR MOLINEUX i8i 
 
 " Nay, the major has been abed this hour or more," 
 said the lady of the scarlet petticoat ; " and it would be 
 to little purpose to disturb him to-night, seeing his 
 evening draught was of the strongest. But he is a 
 kind-hearted man, and it would be as much as my life's 
 worth to let a kinsman of his turn away from the door. 
 You are the good old gentleman's very picture, and I 
 could swear that was his rainy-weather hat. Also he 
 has garments very much resembling those leather small- 
 clothes. But come in, I pray, for I bid you hearty 
 welcome in his name." 
 
 So saying, the fair and hospitable dame took our 
 hero by the hand; and the touch was light, and the 
 force was gentleness, and though Robin read in her eyes 
 what he did not hear in her words, yet the slender- 
 waisted woman in the scarlet petticoat proved stronger 
 than the athletic country youth. She had drawn his 
 half-willing footsteps nearly to the threshold, when the 
 opening of a door in the neighbourhood startled the 
 major's housekeeper, and, leaving the major's kinsman, 
 she vanished speedily into her own domicile. A heavy 
 yawn preceded the appearance of a man, who, like the 
 Moonshine of Pyramus and Thisbe, carried a lantern, 
 needlessly aiding his sister luminary in the heavens. As 
 he walked sleepily up the street, he turned his broad, 
 dull face on Robin, and displayed a long staff, spiked at 
 the end. 
 
 " Home, vagabond, home ! " said the watchman, in 
 accents that seemed to fall asleep as soon as they were 
 uttered. " Home, or we'll set you in the stocks by peep 
 of day!" 
 
 " This is the second hint of the kind," thought Robin. 
 
i82 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 "I wish they would end my difficulties by setting me 
 there to-night." 
 
 Nevertheless, the youth felt an instinctive antipathy 
 towards the guardian of midnight order, which at first 
 prevented him from asking his usual question. But just 
 when the man was about to vanish behind the corner, 
 Robin resolved not to lose the opportunity, and shouted 
 lustily after him — 
 
 " I say, friend ! will you guid^ me to the house of my 
 kinsman, Major Molineux ? " 
 
 The watchman made no reply, but turned the corner 
 and was gone ; yet Robin seemed to hear the sound of 
 drowsy laughter stealing along the solitary street. At 
 that moment, also, a pleasant titter saluted him from 
 the open window above his head; he looked up, and 
 caught the sparkle of a saucy eye ; a round arm beckoned 
 to him, and next he heard light footsteps descending the 
 staircase within. But Robin, being of the household of 
 a New England clergyman, was a good youth, as well as 
 a shrewd one ; so he resisted temptation, and fled away. 
 
 He now roamed desperately and at random through 
 the town, almost ready to believe that a spell was on 
 him, like that by which a wizard of his country had 
 once kept three pursuers wandering, a whole winter 
 night, within twenty paces of the cottage which they 
 sought. The streets lay before him, strange and deso- 
 late, and the lights were extinguished in almost every 
 house. Twice, however, little parties of men, among 
 whom Robin distinguished individuals in outlandish 
 attire, came hurrying along ; but though on both occa- 
 sions they paused to address him, such intercourse did 
 not at all enlighten his perplexity. They did but utter 
 
MAJOR MOLINEUX 183 
 
 a few words in some language of which Robin knew 
 nothing, and perceiving his inability to answer, bestowed 
 a curse upon him in plain English and hastened away. 
 Finally, the lad determined to knock at the door of every 
 mansion that might appear worthy to be occupied by his 
 kinsman, trusting that perseverance would overcome the 
 fatality that had hitherto thwarted him. Firm in this 
 resolve, he was passing beneath the walls of a church, 
 which formed the corner of two streets, when, as he 
 turned into the shade of its steeple, he encountered a 
 bulky stranger, muffled in a cloak. The man was pro- 
 ceeding with the speed of earnest business, but Robin 
 planted himself full before him, holding the oak cudgel 
 with both hands across his body, as a bar to further 
 passage. 
 
 "Halt, honest man, and answer me a question," 
 said he, very resolutely. "Tell me, this instant, 
 whereabouts is the dwelling of my kinsman. Major 
 Molineux ? " 
 
 " Keep your tongue between your teeth, fool, and 
 let me pass ! " said a deep, gruff voice, which Robin 
 partly remembered. " Let me pass, I say, or I'll strike 
 you to the earth ! " 
 
 " No, no, neighbour ! " cried Robin, flourishing his 
 cudgel, and then thrusting its larger end close to the 
 man's muffled face. "No, no, I'm not the fool you 
 take me for, nor do you pass till I have an answer to 
 my question. Whereabouts is the dwelling of my kins- 
 man, Major Molineux ? " 
 
 The stranger, instead of attempting to force his 
 passage, stepped back into the moonlight, unmuffled his 
 face, and stared full into that of Robin. 
 
i84 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 "Watch here an hour, and Major Molineux will 
 pass by," said he, 
 
 Robin gazed with dismay and astonishment on the 
 unprecedented physiognomy of the speaker. The fore- 
 head with its double prominence, the broad hooked nose, 
 the shaggy eyebrows, and fiery eyes, were those which 
 he had noticed at the inn, but the man's complexion 
 had undergone a singular, or, more properly, a twofold 
 change. One side of the face blazed an intense red, 
 while the other was black as midnight, the division line 
 being in the broad bridge of the nose; and a mouth 
 which seemed to extend from ear to ear was black or red, 
 in contrast to the colour of the cheek. The effect was 
 as if two individual devils, a fiend of fire and a fiend of 
 darkness, had united themselves to form this infernal 
 visage. The stranger grinned in Robin's face, muffled 
 his parti-coloured features, and was out of sight in a 
 moment. 
 
 "Strange things we travellers see ! " ejaculated Robin. 
 
 He seated himself, however, upon the steps of the 
 church door, resolving to wait the appointed time for his 
 kinsman. A few moments were consumed in philoso- 
 phical speculations upon the species of man who had just 
 left him ; but having settled this point, shrewdly, ration- 
 ally, and satisfactorily, he was compelled to look elsewhere 
 for his amusement. And first he threw his eyes along 
 the street. It was of more respectable appearance than 
 most of those into which he had wandered, and the 
 moon, creating, like the imaginative power, a beautiful 
 strangeness in familiar objects, gave something of romance 
 to a scene that might not have possessed it in the light 
 of day. The irregular and often quaint architecture of 
 
MAJOR MOLINEUX 185 
 
 the houses, some of whose roofs were broken into nume- 
 rous little peaks, while others ascended, steep and narrow, 
 into a single point, and others again were square; the 
 pure snow-white of some of their complexions, the aged 
 darkness of others, and the thousand sparklings, reflected 
 from bright, substances in the walls of many ; these mat- 
 ters engaged Robin's attention for a while, and then 
 began to grow wearisome. Next he endeavoured to 
 define the forms of distant objects, starting away, with 
 almost ghostly indistinctness, just as his eye appeared to 
 grasp them ; and finally, he took a minute survey of an 
 edifice which stood on the opposite side of the street, 
 directly in front of the church door where he was sta- 
 tioned. It was a large, square mansion, distinguished 
 from its neighbours by a balcony, which rested on tall 
 pillars, and by an elaborate Gothic window communi- 
 cating therewith. 
 
 " Perhaps this is the very house I have been seeking," 
 thought Robin. 
 
 Then he strove to speed away the time by listening 
 to a murmur which swept continually along the street, 
 yet was scarcely audible, except to an unaccustomed ear 
 like his ; it was a low, dull, dreamy sound, compounded 
 of many noises, each of which was at too great .a distance 
 to be separately heard. Robin marvelled at this snore 
 of a sleeping town, and marvelled more whenever its 
 continuity was broken by now and then a. distant shout, 
 apparently loud where it originated. But altogether it 
 was a sleep-inspiring sound, and to shake off its drowsy 
 influence Robin arose >and climbed a window-frame that 
 he might view the interior of the church. There the 
 moonbeams came trembling in, and fell down upon the 
 
i86 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 deserted pews, and extended along the quiet aisles. A 
 fainter yet more awful radiance was hovering around the 
 pulpit, and one solitary ray had dared to rest upon the 
 opened page of the great Bible. Had nature, in that 
 deep hour, become a worshipper in the house which man 
 had builded ? Or was that heavenly light the visible 
 sanctity of the place — ^visible because no earthly and 
 impure feet were within the walls.? The scene made 
 Robin's heart shiver with a sensation of loneliness 
 stronger than he had ever felt in the remotest depths 
 of his native woods ; so he turned away, and sat down 
 again before the door. There were graves around the 
 church, and now an uneasy thought obtruded into Robin's 
 breast. What if the object of his search, which had been 
 so often and so strangely thwarted, were all the time 
 mouldering in his shroud ? What if his kinsman should 
 glide through yonder gate, and nod and smile to him in 
 dimly passing by ? 
 
 " Oh, that any breathing thing were here with me ! " 
 said Robin. 
 
 Recalling his thoughts from this uncomfortable track, 
 he sent them over forest, hill, and stream, and attempted 
 to imagine how that evening of ambiguity and weariness 
 had been spent by his father's household. He pictured 
 them assembled at the door, beneath the tree, the great 
 old tree, which had been spared for its huge twisted 
 trunk and venerable shade, when a thousand leafy 
 brethren fell. There, at the going down of the summer 
 sun, it was his father's custom to perform domestic wor- 
 ship, that the neighbours might come and join with him 
 like brothers of the family, and that the wayfaring man 
 might pause to drink at that fountain, and keep his heart 
 
MAJOR MOLINEUX 187 
 
 pure by freshening the memory of home. Robin dis- 
 tinguished the seat of every individual of the little 
 audience ; he saw the good man in the midst, holding 
 the Scriptures in the golden light that fell from the 
 western clouds; he beheld him close the book, and all 
 rise up to pray. He heard the old thanksgivings for 
 daily mercies, the old supplications for their continuance, 
 to which he had so often listened in weariness, but which 
 were now among his dear remembrances. He perceived 
 the slight inequality of his father's voice when he came 
 to speak of the absent one ; he noted how his mother 
 turned her face to the broad and knotted trunk ; how his 
 elder brother scorned, because the beard was rough upon 
 his upper lip, to permit his features to be moved ; how 
 the younger sister drew down a low-hanging branch 
 before her eyes; and how the little one of all, whose 
 sports had hitherto broken the decorum of the scene, 
 understood the prayer for her playmate, and burst into 
 clamorous grief. Then he saw them go in at the door ; 
 and when Robin would have entered also, the. latch 
 tinkled into its place, and he was excluded from his 
 home. ^ 
 
 " Am I here or there ? " cried Robin, starting ; for 
 all at once, when his thoughts had become visible and 
 audible in a dream, the long, wide solitary street shone 
 out before him. 
 
 He aroused himself, and endeavoured to fix his atten- 
 tion steadily upon the large edifice which he had surveyed 
 before. But still his mind kept vibrating between fancy 
 and reality ; by turns, the pillars of the balcony length- 
 ened into the tall, bare stems of pines, dwindled down to 
 human figures, settled again into their true shape and 
 
i88 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 size, and then commenced a new succession of changes. 
 For a single moment, when he deemed himself awake, he 
 could have sworn that a visage — one which he seemed to 
 remember, yet could not absolutely name as his kinsman's 
 — ^was looking towards him from the Gothic window. 
 A deeper sleep wrestled with and nearly overcame him, 
 but fled at the sound of footsteps along the opposite 
 pavement. Robin rubbed his eyes, discerned a man 
 passing at the foot of the balcony, and addressed him in 
 a loud, peevish, and lamentable cry. 
 
 "Hallo, friend! must I wait here all night for my 
 kinsman. Major Molineux ? " 
 
 The sleeping echoes awoke, and answered the voice ; 
 and the passenger, barely able to discern a figure sitting 
 in the oblique shade of the steeple, traversed the street 
 to obtain a nearer view. He was himself a gentleman 
 in his prime, of open, intelligent, cheerful, and altogether 
 prepossessing countenance. Perceiving a country youth, 
 apparently homeless and without friends, he. accosted him 
 in a tone of real kindness, which had become strange to 
 Robin's ears. 
 
 " Well, my good lad, why are you sitting here ? " in- 
 quired he. " Can I be of service to you in any way ? " 
 
 " I am afraid not, sir," replied Robin despondingly ; 
 " yet I shall take it kindly, if you'll answer me a single 
 question. I've been searching half the night for one 
 Major Molineux ; now, sir, is there really such a person 
 in these parts, or am I dreaming ? " 
 
 " Major Molineux ! The name is not altogether 
 strange to me," said the gentleman, smiling. " Have 
 you any objection to telling me the nature of your 
 business with him.?" 
 
MAJOR MOLINEUX 189 
 
 Then Robin briefly related that his father was a 
 clergyman, settled on a small salary, at a long distance 
 back in the country, and that he and Major Molineux 
 were brothers' children. The major, having inherited 
 riches and acquired civil and military rank, had visited 
 his cousin, in great pomp,, a year or two before ; had 
 manifested much interest in Robin and an elder brother, 
 and, being childless himself, had thrown out hints respect- 
 ing the future establishment of one of them in life. The 
 elder brother was destined to succeed to the farm which 
 his father cultivated in the interval of sacred duties ; it 
 was therefore determined that Robin should profit by his 
 kinsman's generous intentions, especially as he seemed 
 to be rather the favourite, and was thought to possess 
 other necessary endowments. 
 
 "For I have the name of being a shrewd youth," 
 observed Robin, in this part of his story. 
 
 " I doubt not you deserve it," replied his new friend 
 good-naturedly ; " but pray proceed." 
 
 " Well, sir, being nearly eighteen years old, and well- 
 grown, as you see," continued Robin, drawing himself 
 up to his full height, " I thought it high time to begin 
 the world. So my mother and sister put me in hand- 
 some trim, and my father gave me half the remnant of 
 his last year's salary, and five days ago I started for 
 this place to pay the major a visit. But, would you 
 believe it, sir ! I crossed the ferry a little after dark, 
 and have yet found nobody that would show me the 
 way to his dwelling ; — only, an hour or two since, I was 
 told to wait here, and Major Molineux would pass by," 
 
 " Can you describe the man who told you this ? " 
 inquired the gentleman. 
 
I90 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 " Oh, he was a very ill-favoured fellow, sir," replied 
 Robin, " with two great bumps on his forehead, a hook 
 nose, fiery eyes, — and, what struck me as the strangest, 
 his face was of two different colours. Do you happen 
 to know such a man, sir?" 
 
 "Not intimately," answered the stranger, "but I 
 chanced to meet him a little time previous to your 
 stopping me. I believe you may trust his word, and 
 that the major will very shortly pass through this street. 
 In the meantime, as I have a singular curiosity to witness 
 your meeting, I will sit down here upon the steps and 
 bear you company." 
 
 He seated himself accordingly, and soon engaged his 
 companion in animated discourse. It was but of brief 
 continuance, however, for a noise of shouting, which 
 had long been remotely audible, drew so much nearer 
 that Robin inquired its cause. 
 
 " What may be the meaning of this uproar ? " asked 
 he. "Truly, if your town be always as noisy, I shall 
 find little sleep while I am an inhabitant." 
 
 " Why, indeed, friend Robin, there do appear to be 
 three or four riotous fellows abroad to-night," replied 
 the gentleman. " You must not expect all the stillness 
 of your native woods here in our street. But the watch 
 will shortly be at the heels of these lads, and " 
 
 " Ay, and set them in the stocks by peep of day," 
 interrupted Robin, recollecting his own encounter with 
 the drowsy lantern-bearer. " But, dear sir, if I may 
 trust my ears, an army of watchmen could never make 
 head against such a multitude of rioters. There were 
 at least a thousand voices went up to make that one 
 shout." 
 
MAJOR MOLINEUX 191 
 
 " May not a man have several voices, Robin, as well 
 as two complexions ? " said his friend. 
 
 " Perhaps a man may ; but heaven forbid that a 
 woman should ! " responded the shrewd youth, thinking 
 of the seductive tones of the major's housekeeper. 
 
 The sounds of a trumpet in some neighbouring 
 street now became so evident and continual that Robin's 
 curiosity was strongly excited. In addition to the shouts, 
 he heard frequent bursts from many instruments of dis- 
 cord, and a wild and confused laughter filled up the 
 intervals, Robin rose from the steps, and looked wist- 
 fully towards a point whither several people seemed to 
 be hastening. 
 
 " Surely some prodigious merry-making is going on," 
 exclaimed he. "I have laughed very little since I left 
 home, sir, and should be sorry to lose an opportunity. 
 Shall we step round the corner by that darkish house 
 and take our share of the fun ? " 
 
 " Sit down again, sit down, good Robin," replied the 
 gentleman, laying his hand on the skirt of the grey coat. 
 " You forget that we must wait here for your kinsman ; 
 and there is reason to believe that he will pass by in the 
 course of a very few moments." 
 
 The near approach of the uproar had now disturbed 
 the neighbourhood ; windows flew open on all sides ; and 
 many heads, in the attire of the pillow, and confused 
 by sleep suddenly broken, were protruded to the gaze 
 of whoever had leisure to observe them. Eager voices 
 hailed each other from house to house, all demanding 
 the explanation which not a soul could give. Half- 
 dressed men hurried towards the unknown commotion, 
 stumbling as they went over the stone steps, that 
 
192 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 thrust themselves into the narrow foot -walk. The 
 shouts, the laughter, and the tuneless bray, the antipodes 
 of music, came onwards with increasing din, till scattered 
 individuals, and then denser bodies, began to appear 
 round a corner at the distance of a hundred yards. 
 
 " Will you recognise your kinsman if' he passes in 
 this crowd ? " inquired the gentleman. 
 
 " Indeed, I cannot warrant it, sir ; but I'll take my 
 stand here, and keep a bright look-out," answered Robin, 
 descending to the outer edge of the pavement. 
 
 A mighty stream of people now emptied into the 
 street, and came rolling slowly towards the church. A 
 single horseman wheeled the corner in the midst of them, 
 and close behind him came a band of fearful wind instru- 
 ments, sending forth a fresher discord, now that no inter- 
 vening buildings kept it from the ear. Then a redder 
 light disturbed the moonbeams, and a dense multitude 
 of torches shone along the street, concealing, by their 
 glare, whatever object they illuminated. The single 
 horseman, clad in a military dress, and bearing a drawn 
 sword, rode onward as the leader, and, by his fierce 
 and variegated countenance, appeared like war personi- 
 fied : the red of one cheek was an emblem of fire and 
 sword ; the blackness of the other betokened the mourn- 
 ing that attends them. In his train were wild figures in 
 the Indian dress, and many fantastic shapes without a 
 model, giving the whole march a visionary air, as if a 
 dream had broken forth from some feverish brain, and 
 were sweeping visibly through the midnight streets. A 
 mass of people, inactive, except as applauding spec- 
 tators, hemmed the procession in ; and several women 
 ran along the side -walk, piercing the confusion of 
 
MAJOR MOLINEUX 193 
 
 heavier sounds with their shrill voices of mirth or 
 terror. 
 
 "The double-faced fellow has his eye upon me," 
 muttered Robin, with an indefinite but an uncomfort- 
 able idea that he was himself to bear a part in the 
 pageantry. 
 
 The leader turned himself in the saddle, and fixed his 
 glance full upon the country youth, as the steed went 
 slowly by. When Robin had freed his eyes from those 
 fiery ones, the musicians were passing before him, and the 
 torches were close at hand ; but the unsteady brightness 
 of the latter formed a veil which he could not penetrate. 
 The rattling of wheels over the stones sometimes found 
 its way to his ear, and confused traces of a human form 
 appeared at intervals, and then melted into the vivid light. 
 A moment more, and the leader thundered a command 
 to halt ; the trumpets vomited a horrid breath, and then 
 held their peace ; the shouts and laughter of the people 
 died away, and there remained only a universal hum, 
 allied to silence. Right before Robin's eyes was an 
 uncovered cart. There the torches blazed the brightest, 
 there the moon shone out like day, and there, in tar-and- 
 feathery dignity, sat his kinsman, Major Molineux ! 
 
 He was an elderly man, of large and majestic person, 
 and strong, square features, betokening a steady soul ; 
 but steady as it was, his enemies had found means to 
 shake it. His face was pale as death, and far more 
 ghastly ; the broad forehead was contracted in his agony, 
 so that his eyebrows formed one grizzled line ; his eyes 
 were red and wild, and the foam hung white upon his 
 quivering lip. His whole frame was agitated by a quick 
 and continued tremor, which his pride strove to quell, 
 
 N 
 
194 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 even in those circumstances of overwhelming humilia- 
 tion. But perhaps the bitterest pang of all was when 
 his eyes met those of Robin ; for he evidently knew him 
 on the instant, as the youth stood witnessing the foul 
 disgrace of a head grown grey with honour. They 
 stared at each other in silence, and Robin's knees shook, 
 and his hair bristled, with a mixture of pity and terror. 
 Soon, however, a bewildering excitement began to seize 
 upon his mind; the preceding adventures of the night, 
 the unexpected appearance of the crowd, the torches, 
 the confused din, and the hush that followed, the spectre 
 of his kinsman reviled by that great multitude, — all this, 
 and, more than all, a perception of tremendous ridicule 
 in the whole scene, affected him with a sort of mental 
 inebriety. At that moment a voice of sluggish merri- 
 ment saluted ^Robin's ears; he turned instinctively, and 
 just behind the corner of the church stood the lantern- 
 bearer, rubbing his eyes, and drowsily enjoying the lad's 
 amazement. Then he heard a peal of laughter like the 
 ringing of silvery bells; a woman twitched his arm, a 
 saucy eye met his, and he saw the lady of the scarlet 
 petticoat. A sharp, dry cachinnation appealed to his 
 memory, and, standing on tiptoe in the crowd, with 
 his white apron over his head, he beheld the courteous 
 little innkeeper. And lastly, there sailed over the heads 
 of the multitude a great, broad laugh, broken in the 
 midst by two sepulchral hems ; thus, " Haw, haw, haw, — 
 hem, hem, — haw, haw, haw, haw ! " 
 
 The sound proceeded from the balcony of the oppo- 
 site edifice, and thither Robin turned his eyes. In front 
 of the Gothic window stood the old citizen, wrapped 
 in a wide gown, his grey periwig exchanged for a night- 
 
MAJOR MOLINEUX 195 
 
 cap, which was thrust back from his forehead, and his 
 silk stockings hanging about his legs. He supported 
 himself on his polished cane in a fit of convulsive merri- 
 ment, which manifested itself on his solemn old features 
 like a funny inscription on a tombstone. Then Robin 
 seemed to hear the voices of the barbers, of the guests 
 of the inn, and of all that had made sport of him that 
 night. The contagion was spreading among the mul- 
 titude, when, all at once, it seized upon Robin, and he 
 sent forth a shout of laughter that echoed through the 
 streets; every man shook his sides, every man emptied 
 his lungs, but Robin's shout was the loudest there. The 
 cloud-spirits peeped from their silvery islands, as the 
 congregated mirth went roaring up the sky ! The Man 
 in the Moon heard the far bellow ; " Oho," quoth he, 
 " the old earth is frolicsome to-night ! " 
 
 When there was a momentary calm in that tempes- 
 tuous sea of sound, the leader gave the sign, the pro- 
 cession resumed its march. On they went, like fiends 
 that throng in mockery around some dead potentate, 
 mighty no more, but majestic still in his agony. On 
 they went, in counterfeited pomp, in senseless uproar, in 
 frenzied merriment, trampling all on an old man's heart. 
 On swept the tumult, and left a silent street behind. 
 
 " Well, Robin, are you dreaming ? " inquired the 
 gentleman, laying his hand on the youth's shoulder. 
 
 Robin started, and withdrew his arm from the stone 
 post to which he had instinctively clung, as the living 
 stream rolled by him. His cheek was somewhat pale, 
 and his eye not quite as lively as in the earlier part of the 
 evening. 
 
196 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 *' Will you be kind enough to show me the way to 
 the ferry ? " said he, after a moment's pause. 
 
 " You have, then, adopted a new subject of inquiry ? " 
 observed his companion, with a smile, 
 
 " Why, yes, sir," replied Robin, rather dryly. "Thanks 
 to you, and to my other friends, I have at last met my 
 kinsman, and he will scarce desire to see my face again. 
 I begin to grow weary of a town life, sir. Will you show 
 me the way to the ferry ? " 
 
 " No, my good friend, Robin — not to-night at least," 
 said the gentleman. " Some few days hence, if you wish 
 it, I will speed you on your journey. Or, if you prefer 
 to remain with us, perhaps, as you are a shrewd youth, 
 you may rise in the world without the help of your 
 kinsman. Major Molineux." 
 
IX 
 THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 
 
 By Edgar Allan Poe 
 
 " Son coeur est un luth suspendu ; 
 Sit6t qu'on le touche il resonne." 
 
 — De Beranger. 
 
 During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in 
 the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively 
 low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horse- 
 back, through a singularly dreary tract of country, and at 
 length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew 
 on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. I 
 know not how it was, but, with the first glimpse of the 
 building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my 
 spirit. I say insufferable, for the feeling was unrelieved 
 by any of that half-pleasurable, because poetic, sentiment 
 with which the mind usually receives even the sternest 
 natural images of the desolate or terrible. I looked 
 upon the scene before me — upon the mere house, and 
 the simple landscape features of the domain — upon the 
 bleak walls — upon the vacant eye-like windows — upon 
 a few rank sedges — and upon a few white trunks of 
 
 decayed trees — with an utter depression of soul which I 
 
 197 
 
198 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 can compare to no earthly sensation more properly than 
 to the after-dream of the reveller upon opium — the bitter 
 lapse into everyday life — the hideous dropping oiF of the 
 veil. There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of 
 the heart — an unredeemed dreariness of thought which 
 no goading of the imagination could torture into aught 
 of the sublime. What was it — I paused to think — what 
 was it that so unnerved me in the contemplation of the 
 House of Usher ? It was a mystery all insoluble ; nor 
 coiold I grapple with the shadowy fancies that crowded 
 upon me as I pondered. I was forced to fall back upon 
 the unsatisfactory conclusion, that while, beyond doubt, 
 there are combinations of very simple natural objects 
 which have the power of thus affecting us, still the 
 analysis of this power lies among considerations beyond 
 our depth. It was possible, I reflected, that a mere 
 different arrangement of the particulars of the scene, of 
 the details of the picture, would be sufficient to modify, 
 or perhaps to annihilate its capacity for sorrowful impres- 
 sion; and, acting upon this idea, I reined my horse to 
 the precipitous brink of a black and lurid tarn that lay 
 in unruffled lustre by the dwelling, and gazed down — 
 but with a shudder even more thrilling than before — 
 upon the remodelled and inverted images of the grey 
 sedge, and the ghastly tree-stems, and the vacant and 
 eye-like windows. 
 
 Nevertheless, in this mansion of gloom I now pro- 
 posed to myself a sojourn of some weeks. Its proprietor, 
 Roderick Usher, had been one of my boon companions 
 in boyhood; but many years had elapsed since our last 
 meeting. A letter, however, had lately reached me in 
 a distant part of the country — a letter from him — which. 
 
THE HOUSE OF USHER 199 
 
 in its wildly importunate nature, had admitted of no 
 other than a personal reply. The MS. gave evidence of 
 nervous agitation. The writer spoke of acute bodily 
 illness — of a mental disorder which oppressed him — and 
 of an earnest desire to see me, as his best and indeed his 
 only personal friend, with a view of attempting, by the 
 cheerfulness of my society, some alleviation of his malady. 
 It was the manner in which all this, and much more, was 
 said — it was the apparent heart that went with his request 
 — which allowed me no room for hesitation, and I accord- 
 ingly obeyed forthwith what I still considered a very 
 singular summons. 
 
 Although, as boys, we had been even intimate asso- 
 ciates, yet I really knew little of my friend. His reserve 
 had been always excessive and habitual. I was aware, 
 however, that his very ancient family had been noted, 
 time out of mind, for a peculiar sensibility of tempera- 
 ment, displaying itself, through long ages, in many works 
 of exalted art, and manifested, of late, in repeated deeds 
 of munificent, yet unobtrusive charity, as well as in a 
 passionate devotion to the intricacies, perhaps even more 
 than to the orthodox and easily recognisable beauties of 
 musical science. I had learned, too, the very remarkable 
 fact, that the stem of the Usher race, all time-honoured 
 as it was, had put forth, at no period, any enduring 
 branch ; in other words, that the entire family lay in the 
 direct line of descent, and had always, with very trifling 
 and very temporary variation, so lain. It was this defi- 
 ciency, I considered, while running over in thought the 
 perfect keeping of the character of the premises with the 
 accredited character of the people, and while speculating 
 upon the possible influence which the one, in the long 
 
200 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 lapse of centuries, might have exercised upon the other — 
 it was this deficiency, perhaps, of collateral issue, and 
 the consequent undeviating transmission, from sire to 
 son, of the patrimony with the name, which had, at 
 length, so identified the two as to merge the original 
 title of the estate in the quaint and equivocal appellation 
 of the " House of Usher " — an appellation which seemed 
 to include, in the minds of the peasantry who used it, 
 both the family and the family mansion. 
 
 I have said that the sole effect of my somewhat 
 childish experiment — that of looking down within the 
 tarn — ^had been to deepen the first singular impression. 
 There can be no doubt that the consciousness of the 
 rapid increase of my, superstition — for why should I not 
 so term it? — served mainly to accelerate the increase 
 itself. Such, I have long known, is the paradoxical law 
 of all sentiments having terror as a basis. And it might 
 have been for this reason only, that, when I again uplifted 
 my eyes to the house itself, from its image in the pool, 
 there grew in my mind a strange fancy — a fancy so ridicu- 
 lous, indeed, that I but mention it to show the vivid 
 force of the sensations which oppressed me. I had so 
 worked upon my imagination as really to believe that 
 about the whole mansion and domain there hung an 
 atmosphere peculiar to themselves and their immediate 
 vicinity — an atmosphere which had not affinity with the 
 air of heaven, but which had reeked up from the decayed 
 trees, and the grey wall, and the silent tarn — a pestilent 
 and mystic vapour, dull, sluggish, faintly discernible, and 
 leaden-hued. 
 
 Shaking off from my spirit what must have been a 
 dream, I scanned more narrowly the real aspect of the 
 
THE HOUSE OF USHER 201 
 
 building. Its principal feature seemed to be that of an 
 excessive antiquity. The discoloration of ages had been 
 great. Minute fungi overspread the whole exterior, 
 hanging in a fine tangled web-work from the eaves. Yet 
 all this was apart from any extraordinary dilapidation. 
 No portion of the masonry had fallen ; and there ap- 
 peared to be a wild inconsistency between its still perfect 
 adaptation of parts, and the crumbling condition of the 
 individual stones. In this there was much that reminded 
 me of the specious totality of old woodwork which has 
 rotted for long years in some neglected vault, with no 
 disturbance from the breath of the external air. Beyond 
 this indication of extensive decay, however, the fabric 
 gave little token of instability. Perhaps the eye of a 
 scrutinising observer might have discovered a barely per- 
 ceptible fissure, which, extending from the roof of the 
 building in front, made its way down the wall in a zig- 
 zag direction, until it became lost in the sullen waters of 
 the tarn. 
 
 Noticing these things, I rode over a short causeway 
 to the house. A servant in waiting took my horse, and 
 I entered the Gothic archway of the hall. A valet, of 
 stealthy step, thence conducted me, in silence, through 
 many dark and intricate passages in my progress to the 
 studio of his master. Much that I encountered on the 
 way contributed, I know not how, to heighten the vague 
 sentiments of which I have already spoken. While the 
 objects around me — while the carvings of the ceilings, 
 the sombre tapestries of the walls, the ebon blackness 
 of the floors, and the phantasmagoric armorial trophies 
 which rattled as I strode, were but matters to which, or 
 to such as which, I had been accustomed from my infancy 
 
202 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 — while I hesitated not to acknowledge how familiar was 
 all this — I still wondered to find how unfamiliar were 
 the fancies which ordinary images were stirring up. On 
 one of the staircases I met the physician of the family. 
 His countenance, I thought, wore a mingled expression 
 of low cunning and perplexity. He accosted me with 
 trepidation and passed on. The valet now threw open a 
 door and ushered me into the presence of his master. 
 
 The room in which I found myself was very large 
 and lofty. The windows were long, narrow, and pointed^ 
 and at so vast a distance from the black oaken floor as to 
 be altogether inaccessible from within. Feeble gleams of 
 encrimsoned light made their way through the trellised 
 panes, and served to render sufficiently distinct the more 
 prominent objects around; the eye, however, struggled 
 in vain to reach the remoter angles of the chamber, or 
 the recesses of the vaulted and fretted ceiling. Dark 
 draperies hung upon the walls. The general furniture 
 was profuse, comfortless, antique, and tattered. Many 
 books and musical instruments lay scattered about, but 
 failed to give any vitality to the scene. I felt that I 
 breathed an atmosphere of sorrow. An air of stern, 
 deep, and irredeemable gloom hung over and per- 
 vaded all. 
 
 Upon my entrance. Usher arose from a sofa on which 
 he had been lying at full length, and greeted me with a 
 vivacious warmth which had much in it, I at first thought, 
 of an overdone cordiality — of the constrained efi^ort of 
 the ennuyd man of the world. A glance, however, at 
 his countenance convinced me of his perfect sincerity. 
 We sat down ; and for some moments, while he spoke 
 not, I gazed upon him with a feeling half of pity, half of 
 
THE HOUSE OF USHER 203 
 
 awe. Surely, man had never before so terribly altered, 
 in so brief a period, as had Roderick Usher ! It was 
 with difficulty that I could bring myself to admit the 
 identity of the wan being before me with the companion 
 of my early boyhood. Yet the character of his face had 
 been at all times remarkable. A cadaverousness of com- 
 plexion ; an eye large, liquid, and luminous beyond 
 comparison ; lips somewhat thin and very pallid, but of 
 a surpassingly beautiful curve ; a nose of a delicate 
 Hebrew model, but with a breadth of nostril unusual in 
 similar formations ; a finely moulded chin, speaking, in 
 its want of prominence, of a want of moral energy ; hair 
 of a more than web-like softness and tenuity; — these 
 features, with an inordinate expansion above the regions 
 of the temple, made up altogether a countenance not 
 easily to be forgotten. And now in the mere exaggera- 
 tion of the prevailing character of these features, and of 
 the expression they were wont to convey, lay so much 
 of change that I doubted to whom I spoke. The now 
 ghastly pallor of the skin, and the now miraculous lustre 
 of the eye, above all things startled and even awed me. 
 The silken hair, too, had been suffered to grow all un- 
 heeded, and as, in its wild gossamer texture, it floated 
 rather than fell about the face, I could not, even with 
 effort, connect its Arabesque expression with any idea of 
 simple humanity. 
 
 In the manner of my friend I was at once struck With 
 an incoherence — an inconsistency; and I soon found this 
 to arise from a series of feeble and futile struggles to 
 overcome an habitual trepidancy — an excess of nervous 
 agitation. For something of this nature I had indeed 
 been prepared, no less by his letter than by reminiscences 
 
204 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 of certain boyish traits, and by conclusions deduced from 
 his peculiar physical conformation and temperament. His 
 action was alternately vivacious and sullen. His voice 
 varied rapidly from a tremulous indecision (when the 
 animal spirits seemed utterly in abeyance) to that species 
 of energetic concision — that abrupt, weighty, unhurried, 
 and hollow-sounding enunciation — that leaden, self- 
 balanced, and perfectly modulated guttural utterance, 
 which may be observed in the lost drunkard, or the 
 irreclaimable eater of opium during the periods of his 
 most intense excitement. 
 
 It was thus that he spoke of the object of my visit, 
 of his earnest desire to see me, and of the solace he 
 expected me to afford him. He entered at some length 
 into what he conceived to be the nature of his malady. 
 " It was," he said, " a constitutional and a family evil, and 
 one for which he despaired to find a remedy — a mere 
 nervous aflFection," he immediately added, " Which would 
 undoubtedly soon pass off." It displayed itself in a host 
 of unnatural sensations. Some of these, as he detailed 
 them, interested and bewildered me; although, perhaps, 
 the terms and the general manner of their narration had 
 their weight. He suffered much from a morbid acute- 
 ness of the senses; the most insipid food was alone 
 endurable; he could wear only garments of certain 
 texture ; the odours of all flowers were oppressive ; his 
 eyes were tortured by even a faint light ; and there were 
 but peculiar sounds, and these from stringed instruments, 
 which did not inspire him with horror. 
 
 To an anomalous species of terror I found him a 
 bounden slave. " I shall perish," said he, " I must perish 
 in this deplorable folly. Thus, thus, and not otherwise, 
 
THE HOUSE OF USHER 205 
 
 shall I be lost. I dread the events of the future, not in 
 themselves but in their results. I shudder at the thought 
 of any, even the most trivial, incident, which may operate 
 upon this intolerable agitation of soul. I have, indeed, 
 no abhorrence of danger, except in its absolute effect — in 
 terror: In this unnerved, in this pitiable, condition I 
 feel that the period will sooner or later arrive when I 
 must abandon life and reason together, in some struggle 
 with the grim phantasm — Fear." 
 
 I learned, moreover, at intervals, and through broken 
 and equivocal hints, another singular feature of his mental 
 condition. He was enchained by certain superstitious 
 impressions in regard to the dwelling which he tenanted, 
 and whence, for many years, he had never ventured forth 
 — in regard to an influence whose supposititious force was 
 conveyed in terms too shadowy here to be re-stated — an 
 influence which some peculiarities in the mere form and 
 substance of his family mansion had, by dint of long 
 sufferance, he said, obtained over his spirit — an effect 
 which \}a& physique of the grey walls and turrets, and of 
 the dim tarn into which they all looked down, had, at 
 length, brought about upon the morale of his existence. 
 
 He admitted, however, although with hesitation, that 
 much of the peculiar gloom which thus afflicted him 
 could be traced to a more natural and far more palpable 
 origin — to the severe and long -continued illness — in- 
 deed to the evidently approaching dissolution — of a 
 tenderly beloved sister, his sole companion for long 
 years, his last and only relative on earth. " Her decease," 
 he said, with a bitterness which I can never forget, 
 "would leave him (him, the hopeless and the frail) the 
 last of the ancient race of the Ushers." While he spoke. 
 
2o6 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 the Lady Madeline (for so was she called) passed through 
 a remote portion of the apartment, and, without having 
 noticed my presence, disappeared. I regarded her with 
 an utter astonishment, not unmingled with dread; and 
 yet I found it impossible to account for such feelings. 
 A sensation of stupor oppressed me as my eyes followed 
 her retreating steps. When a door, at length, closed 
 upon her, my glance sought instinctively and eagerly the 
 countenance of the brother, but he had buried his face in 
 his hands, and I could only perceive that a far more than 
 ordinary wanness had overspread the emaciated fingers 
 through which trickled many passionate tears. 
 
 The disease of the Lady Madeline had long bafHed 
 the skill of her physicians. A settled apathy, a gradual 
 wasting away of the person, and frequent although tran- 
 sient affections of a partially cataleptical character were the 
 unusual diagnosis. Hitherto she had steadily borne up 
 against the pressure of her malady, and had not betaken 
 herself finally to bed ; but on the closing in of the even- 
 ing of my arrival at the house, she succumbed (as her 
 brother told me at night with inexpressible agitation) to 
 the prostrating power of the destroyer; and I learned 
 that the glimpse I had obtained of her person would thus 
 probably be the last I should obtain — that the lady, at 
 least while living, would be seen by me no more. 
 
 For several days ensuing, her name was unmentioned 
 by either Usher or myself; and during this period I was 
 busied in earnest endeavours to alleviate the melancholy 
 of my friend. We painted and read together, or I 
 listened, as if in a dream, to the wild improvisations of 
 his speaking guitar. And thus, as a closer and still closer 
 intimacy admitted me more unreservedly into the recesses 
 
THE HOUSE OF USHER 207 
 
 of his spirit, the more bitterly did I perceive the futility 
 of all attempt at cheering a mind from which darkness, 
 as if an inherent positive quality, poured forth upon all 
 objects of the moral and physical universe in one un- 
 ceasing radiation of gloom. 
 
 I shall ever bear about me a memory of the many 
 solemn hours I thus spent alone with the master of the 
 House of Usher. Yet I should fail in any attempt to 
 convey an idea of the exact character of the studies, or of 
 the occupations, in which he involved me, or led me the 
 way. An excited and highly distempered ideality threw 
 a sulphureous lustre over all. His long improvised dirges 
 will ring for ever in my ears. Among other things, I 
 hold painfully in mind a certain singular perversion and 
 amplification of the wild air of the last waltz of Von 
 Weber. From the paintings over which his elaborate 
 fancy brooded, and which grew, touch by touch, into 
 vaguenesses at which I shuddered the more thrillingly, 
 because I shuddered knowing not why — from these paint- 
 ings (vivid as their images now are before me) I would 
 in vain endeavour to educe more than a small portion 
 which should lie within the compass of merely written 
 words. By the utter simplicity, by the nakedness of his 
 designs, he arrested and overawed attention. If ever 
 mortal painted an idea, that mortal was Roderick Usher. 
 For me, at least, in the circumstances then surrounding 
 me, there arose out of the pure abstractions which the 
 hypochondriac contrived to throw upon his canvas, an 
 intensity of intolerable awe, no shadow of which felt I 
 ever yet in the contemplation of the certainly glowing 
 yet too concrete reveries of Fuseli. 
 
 One of the phantasmagoric conceptions of my friend, 
 
2o8 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 partaking not so rigidly of the spirit of abstraction, may 
 be shadowed forth, although feebly, in words. A small 
 picture presented the interior of an immensely long and 
 rectangular vault or tunnel, with low walls, smooth, white, 
 and without interruption or device. Certain accessory 
 points of the design served well to convey the idea that 
 this excavation lay at an exceeding depth below the 
 surface of the earth. No outlet was observed in any 
 portion of its vast extent, and no torch or other artificial 
 source of light was discernible; yet a flood of intense 
 rays rolled throughout, and bathed the whole in a ghastly 
 and inappropriate splendour. 
 
 I have just spoken of that morbid condition of the 
 auditory nerve which rendered all music intolerable to 
 the sufferer, with the exception of certain effects of 
 stringed instruments. It was, perhaps, the narrow limits 
 to which he thus confined himself upon the guitar which 
 gave birth, in great measure, to the fantastic character 
 of his performances. But the fervid facility of his 
 impromptus could not be so accounted for. They must 
 have been, and were, in the notes, as well as in the words 
 of his wild fantasias (for he not unfrequently accom- 
 panied himself with rhymed verbal improvisations), the 
 result of that intense mental coUectedness and concentra- 
 tion to which I have previously alluded as observable 
 only in particular moments of the highest artificial 
 excitement. The words of one of these rhapsodies I 
 have easily remembered. I was, perhaps, the more 
 forcibly impressed with it as he gave it, because in the 
 under or mystic current of its meaning, I fancied that I 
 perceived, and for the first time, a full consciousness on 
 the part of Usher of the tottering of his lofty reason 
 
THE HOUSE OF USHER 209 
 
 upon her throne. The verses, which were entitled 
 "The Haunted Palace," ran very nearly, if not accu- 
 rately, thus — 
 
 I. 
 
 " In the greenest of our valleys, 
 
 By good angels tenanted, 
 Once a fair and stately palace — 
 
 Radiant palace — ^reared its head. 
 In the monarch Thought's dominion — 
 
 It stood there ! 
 Never seraph spread a pinion 
 
 Over fabric half so fair. 
 
 Banners yellow, glorious, golden. 
 
 On its roof did float and flow 
 (This — all this — was in the olden 
 
 Time long ago) ; 
 And every gentle air that dallied. 
 
 In that sweet day. 
 Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, 
 
 A winged odour went away. 
 
 Wanderers in that happy valley 
 
 Through two luminous windows saw 
 Spirits moving musically 
 
 To a lute's well-tunid law ; 
 Round about a throne, where sitting 
 
 (Porphyrogene ! ) 
 In state his glory well befitting, 
 
 The ruler of the realm was seen. 
 
 And ail with pearl and ruby glowing 
 
 Was the fair palSce door. 
 Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing. 
 
 And sparkling evermore, 
 
 O 
 
2IO THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 A troop of Echoes whose sweet duty- 
 Was but to sing, 
 
 In voices of surpassing beauty, 
 
 The wit and wisdom of their king. 
 
 But evil things, in robes of sorrow, 
 
 Assailed the monarch's high estate ; 
 (Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow 
 
 Shall dawn upon him, desolate ! ) 
 And, round about his home, the glory 
 
 That blushed and bloomed 
 Is but a dim-remembered story 
 
 Of the old time entombed. 
 
 And travellers now within that valley. 
 
 Through the red-litten windows see 
 Vast forms that move fantastically 
 
 To a discordant melody ; 
 While, like a rapid ghastly river, 
 
 Through the pale door, 
 A hideous throng rush out for ever. 
 
 And laugh — ^but smile no more." 
 
 I well remember that suggestions arising from this 
 ballad led us into a train of thought wherein there 
 became manifest an opinion of Usher's, which I mention 
 not so much on account of its novelty (for other men ^ 
 have thought thus), as on account of the pertinacity with 
 which he maintained it. This opinion, in its general 
 form, was that of the sentience of all vegetable things. 
 But, in his disordered fancy, the idea had assumed a 
 more daring character, and trespassed, under certain con- 
 
 1 Watson, Dr. Percival, Spallanzani, and especially the Bishop of 
 LlandaE — See " Chemical Essays," vol. v. 
 
THE HOUSE OF USHER 211 
 
 ditions, upon the kingdom of inorganisation. I lack 
 words to express the full extent, or the earnest abandon 
 of his persuasion. The belief, however, was connected 
 (as I have previously hinted) with the grey stones of the 
 home of his forefathers. The conditions of the sentence 
 had been here, he imagined, fulfilled in the method of 
 collocation of these stones — in the order of their arrange- 
 ment, as well as in that of the many fungi which over- 
 spread them, and of the decayed trees which stood around 
 — above all, in the long undisturbed endurance of this 
 arrangement, and in its reduplication in the still waters 
 of the tarn. Its evidence — the evidence of the sentience 
 — was to be seen, he said (and I here started as he spoke), 
 in the gradual yet certain condensation of an atmosphere 
 of their own about the waters and the walls. The 
 result was discoverable, he added, in that silent yet 
 importunate and terrible influence which for centuries 
 had moulded the destinies of his family, and which made 
 him what I now saw him — ^what he was. Such opinions 
 need no comment, and I will make none. 
 
 Our books — the books which for years had formed 
 no small portion of the mental existence of the invalid — 
 were, as might be supposed, in strict keeping with this 
 character of phantasm. We pored together over such 
 works as the "Ververt et Chartreuse" of Cresset; the 
 " Belphegor " of Machiavelli ; the " Heaven and Hell " 
 of Swedenborg ; the " Subterranean Voyage of Nicholas 
 Klimm " by Holberg ; the " Chiromancy " of Robert 
 Fludd, of Jean D'Indagin6, and of De la Chambre ; the 
 " Journey into the ^lue Distance " of Tieck ; and the 
 " City of the Sun " of Campanella. One favourite 
 volume was a small octavo edition of the " Directorium 
 
212 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 Inquisitorium," by the Dominican Eymeric de Gironne ; 
 and there were passages in Pomponius Mela about the 
 old African Satyrs and CEgipans, over which Usher would 
 sit dreaming for hours. His chief delight, however, was 
 found in the perusal of an exceedingly rare and curious 
 book in quarto Gothic — the manual of a forgotten church 
 — the VirgilicB Mortuorum secundum Chorum Ecclesice 
 Maguntince. 
 
 I could not help thinking of the wild ritual of this 
 work, and of its probable influence upon the hypochon- 
 driac, when, one evening, having informed me abruptly that 
 the Lady Madeline was no more, he stated his intention 
 of preserving her corpse for a fortnight (previously to 
 its final interment) in one of the numerous vaults within 
 the main walls of the building. The worldly reason, how- 
 ever, assigned for this singular proceeding was one which 
 I did not feel at liberty to dispute. The brother had 
 been led to his resolution (so he told me) hj conside- 
 ration of the unusual character of the malady of the 
 deceased, of certain obtrusive and eager inquiries on the 
 part of her medical men, and of the remote and exposed 
 situation of the burial-ground of the family. I will not 
 deny that when I called to mind the sinister countenance 
 of the person whom I met upon the staircase, on the day 
 of my arrival at the house, I had no desire to oppose 
 what I regarded as at best but a harmless, and by no 
 means an unnatural, precaution. 
 
 At the request of Usher, I personally aided him in 
 the arrangements for the temporary entombment. The 
 body having been encoffined, we two alone bore it to 
 its rest. The vault in which we placed it (and which had 
 been so long unopened that our torches, half-smothered 
 
THE HOUSE OF USHER 213 
 
 in its oppressive atmosphere, gave us little opportunity 
 for investigation) was small, damp, and entirely without 
 means of admission for light; lying, at great depth, 
 immediately beneath that portion of the building in 
 which was my own sleeping apartment. It had been 
 used, apparently, in remote feudal times, for the worst 
 purposes of a donjon-keep, and, in later days, as a place 
 of deposit for powder, or some other highly combustible 
 substance, as a portion of its floor, and the whole interior 
 of a long archway through which we reached it, were 
 carefully sheathed with copper. The door, of massive 
 iron, had been also similarly protected. Its immense 
 weight caused an unusually sharp, grating sound, as it 
 moved upon its hinges. 
 
 Having deposited our mournful burden upon tressels 
 within this region of horror, we partially turned aside 
 the yet unscrewed lid of the coffin, and looked upon the 
 face of the tenant. A striking similitude between the 
 brother and sister now first arrested my attention; and 
 Usher, divining, perhaps, my thoughts, murmured out 
 some few words from which I learned that the deceased 
 and himself had been twins, and that sympathies of a 
 scarcely intelligible nature had always existed between 
 them. Our glances, however, rested not long upon the 
 dead — for we could not regard her unawed. The disease 
 which had thus entombed the lady in the maturity of 
 youth, had left, as usual in all maladies of a strictly 
 cataleptical character, the mockery of a faint blush upon 
 the bosom and the face, and that suspiciously lingering 
 smile upon the lip which is so terrible in death. We 
 replaced and screwed down the lid, and, having secured 
 the door of iron, made our way, with toil, into the 
 
214 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 scarcely less gloomy apartments of the upper portion 
 of the house. 
 
 And now, some days of bitter grief having elapsed, 
 an observable change came over the features of the mental 
 disorder of my friend. His ordinary manner had vanished. 
 His ordinary occupatibns were neglected or forgotten. 
 He roamed from chamber to chamber with hurried, 
 unequal, and objectless step. The pallor of his coun- 
 tenance had assumed, if possible, a more ghastly hue — 
 but the luminousness of his eye had utterly gone out. 
 The once occasional huskiness of his tone was heard no 
 more ; and a tremulous quaver, as if of extreme terror, 
 habitually characterised his utterance. There were times, 
 indeed, when I thought his unceasingly agitated mind 
 was labouring with some oppressive secret, to divulge 
 which -he struggled for the necessary courage. At times, 
 again, I was obliged to resolve all into the mere inexplic- 
 able vagaries of madness, for I beheld him gazing upon 
 vacancy for long hours, in an attitude of the profoundest 
 attention, as if listening to some imaginary sound. It 
 was no wonder that his condition terrified — that it 
 affected me. I felt creeping upon me, by slow yet 
 certain degrees, the wild influences of his own fantastic 
 yet impressive superstitions. 
 
 It was, especially, upon retiring to bed late in the 
 night of the seventh or eighth day after the placing of 
 the Lady Madeline within the donjon, that I experienced 
 the full power of such feelings. Sleep came not near 
 my couch — while the hours waned and waned away. I 
 struggled to reason off the nervousness which had domi- 
 nion over me. I endeavoured to believe that much, if 
 not all of what I felt, was due to the bewildering influ- 
 
THE HOUSE OF USHER 215 
 
 ence of the gloomy furniture of the room — of the dark 
 and tattered draperies, which, tortured into motion by 
 the breath of a rising tempest, swayed fitfully to and 
 fro upon the walls, and rustled uneasily about the deco- 
 rations of the bed. But my efforts were fruitless. An 
 irrepressible tremor gradually pervaded my frame; and, 
 at length, there sat upon my very heart an incubus of 
 utterly causeless alarm. Shaking this off with a gasp and 
 a struggle, I uplifted myself upon the pillows, and, 
 peering earnestly within the intense darkness of the 
 chamber, hearkened — I know not why, except that an 
 instinctive spirit prompted me — to certain low and in- 
 definite sounds which came, through the pauses of the 
 storm, at long intervals, I knew not whence. Over- 
 powered by an intense sentiment of horror, unaccountable 
 yet unendurable, I threw on my clothes with haste (for I 
 felt that I should sleep no more during the night), and 
 endeavoured to arouse myself from the pitiable condition 
 into which I had fallen, by pacing rapidly to and fro 
 through the apartment. 
 
 I had taken but few turns in this manner, when a 
 light step on an adjoining staircase arrested my atten- 
 tion. I presently recognised it as that of Usher. In an 
 instant afterwards he rapped, with a gentle touch, at my 
 door, and entered, bearing a lamp. His countenance was, 
 as usual, cadaverously wan — but, moreover, there was a 
 species of mad hilarity in his eyes — an evidently restrained 
 hysteria in his whole demeanour. His air appalled me — 
 but anything was preferable to the solitude which I had 
 so long endured, and I even welcomed his presence as a 
 relief. 
 
 " And you have not seen it ? " he said abruptly, after 
 
2i6 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 having stared about him for some moments in silence — 
 " you have not then seen it ? — but stay ! you shall." 
 Thus speaking, and having carefully shaded his lamp, 
 he hurried to one of the casements, and threw it freely 
 open to the storm. 
 
 The impetuous fury of the entering gust nearly lifted 
 us from our feet. It was, indeed, a tempestuous yet 
 sternly beautiful night, and one wildly singular in its 
 terror and its beauty. A whirlwind had apparently 
 collected its force in our vicinity; for there were fre- 
 quent and violent alterations in the direction of the 
 wind; and the exceeding density of the clouds (which 
 hung so low as to press upon the turrets of the house) 
 did not prevent our perceiving the lifelike velocity with 
 which they flew careering from all points against each 
 other, without passing away into the distance. I say 
 that even their exceeding density did not prevent our 
 perceiving this — yet we had no glimpse of the moon or 
 stars, nor was there any flashing forth of the lightning. 
 But the under surfaces of the huge masses of agitated 
 vapour, as well as all terrestrial objects immediately 
 around us, were glowing in the unnatural light of a 
 faintly luminous and distinctly visible gaseous exhalation 
 which hung about and enshrouded the mansion. 
 
 " You must not — you shall not behold this ! " said 
 I, shuddering, to Usher, as I led him, with a gentle 
 violence, from the window to a seat. "These appear- 
 ances, which bewilder you, are merely electrical pheno- 
 mena, not uncommon — or it may be that they have 
 their ghastly origin in the rank miasma of the tarn. 
 Let us close this casement ; the air is chilling and dan- 
 gerous to your frame. Here is one of your favourite 
 
THE HOUSE OF USHER 217 
 
 romances. I will read and you shall listen; and so we 
 will pass away this terrible night together." 
 
 The antique volume which I had taken up was the 
 "Mad Trist" of Sir Launcelot Canning; but I had called it 
 a favourite of Usher's more in sad jest than in earnest ; for, 
 in truth, there is little in its uncouth and unimaginative 
 prolixity which could have had interest for the lofty and 
 spiritual ideality of my friend. It was, however, the only 
 book immediately at hand, and I indulged a vague hope 
 that the excitement which now agitated the hypochondriac 
 might find relief (for the history of mental disorder is 
 full of similar anomalies) even in the extremeness of the 
 folly which I should read. Could I have judged, indeed, 
 by the wild overstrained air of vivacity with which he 
 hearkened, or apparently hearkened, to the words of the 
 tale, I might well have congratulated myself upon the 
 success of my design. 
 
 I had arrived at that well-known portion of the story 
 where Ethelred, the hero of the Trist, having sought in 
 vain for peaceable admission into the dwelling of the 
 hermit, proceeds to make good an entrance by force. 
 Here, it will be remembered, the words of the narrative 
 run thus : — 
 
 "And Ethelred, who was by nature of a doughty 
 heart, and who was now mighty withal, on account of 
 the powerfulness of the wine which he had drunken, 
 waited no longer to hold parley with the hermit, who, 
 in sooth, was of an obstinate and maliceful turn, but, 
 feeling the rain upon his shoulders, and fearing the rising 
 of the tempest, uplifted his mace outright, and, with 
 blows, made quickly room in the plankings of the door 
 for his gauntleted hand ; and now pulling therewith stur- 
 
2i8 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 dily, he so cracked, and ripped, and tore all asunder, that 
 the noise of the dry and hollow-sounding wood alarmed 
 and reverberated throughout the forest." 
 
 At the termination of this sentence I started and, for 
 a moment, paused ; for it appeared to me (although I at 
 once concluded that my excited fancy had deceived me) 
 — it appeared to me that, from some very remote portion 
 of the mansion, there came, indistinctly to my ears, what 
 might have been, in its exact similarity of character, the 
 echo (but a stifled and dull one certainly) of the very 
 cracking and ripping sound which Sir Launcelot had so 
 particularly described. It was, beyond doubt, the coinci- 
 dence alone which had arrested my attention ; for, amid 
 the rattling of the sashes of the casements, and the ordi- 
 nary commingled noises of the still increasing storm, the 
 sound, in itself, had nothing, surely, which should have 
 interested or disturbed me. I continued the story : — 
 
 " But the good champion Ethelred, now entering 
 within the door, was sore enraged and amazed to perceive 
 no signal of the maliceful hermit ; but, in the stead thereof, 
 a dragon of a scaly and prodigious demeanour, and of fiery 
 tongue, which sate in guard before a palace of gold, with 
 a floor of silver : and upon the wall there hung a shield 
 of shining brass with this legend enwritten — 
 
 Who entereth herein, a conqueror hath bin ; 
 Who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win. 
 
 And Ethelred uplifted his mace, and struck upon the head 
 of the dragon, which fell before him, and gave up his pesty 
 breath, with a shriek so horrid and harsh, and withal so 
 piercing, that Ethelred had fain to close his ears with his 
 
THE HOUSE OF USHER 219 
 
 hands against the dreadful noise of it, the like whereof 
 was never heard before." 
 
 , Here again I paused abruptly, and now with a feeling 
 of wild amazement, for there could be no doubt what- 
 ever that, in this instance, I did actually hear (although 
 from what direction it proceeded I found it impossible to 
 say) a low and apparently distant but harsh, protracted, 
 and most unusual screaming or grating sound, the exact 
 counterpart of what my fancy had already conjured up 
 for the dragon's unnatural shriek as described by the 
 romancer. 
 
 Oppressed, as I certainly was, upon the occurrence 
 of this second and most extraordinary coincidence, by a 
 thousand conflicting sensations, in which wonder and 
 extreme terror were predominant, I still retained suffi- 
 cient presence of mind to avoid exciting, by any observa- 
 tion, the sensitive nervousness of my companion. I was 
 by no means certain that he had noticed the sounds in 
 question; although, assuredly, a strange alteration had, 
 during the last few minutes, taken place in his demeanour. 
 From a position fronting my own, he had gradually 
 brought round his chair, so as to sit with his face to the 
 door of the chamber; and thus I could but partially 
 perceive his features, although I saw that his lips trembled 
 as if he were murmuring inaudibly. His head had 
 dropped upon his breast, yet I knew that he was not 
 asleep, from the wide and rigid opening of the eye as I 
 caught a glance of it in profile. The motion of his 
 body, too, was at variance with this idea, for he rocked 
 from side to side with a gentle yet constant and uniform 
 sway. Having rapidly taken notice of all this, I resumed 
 the narrative of Sir Launcelot, which thus proceeded : 
 
220 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 " And now, the champion, having escaped from the 
 terrible fury of the dragon, bethinking himself of the 
 brazen shield, and of the breaking up of the enchantment 
 which was upon it, removed the carcass from out of the 
 way before him, and approached valorously over the 
 silver pavement of the castle to where the shield was 
 upon the wall; which in sooth tarried not for his full 
 coming, but fell down at his feet upon the silver floor, 
 with a mighty great and terrible ringing sound." 
 
 No sooner had these syllables passed my lips than — 
 as if a shield of brass had indeed, at the moment, fallen 
 heavily upon a floor of silver — I became aware of a dis- 
 tinct, hollow, metallic, and clangorous, yet apparently 
 muffled reverberation. Completely unnerved, I leaped to 
 my feet ; but the measured rocking movement of Usher 
 was undisturbed. I rushed to the chair in which he sat. 
 His eyes were bent fixedly before him, and throughout 
 his whole countenance there reigned a stony rigidity. 
 But, as I placed my hand upon his shoulder, there came 
 a strong shudder over his whole person; a sickly smile 
 quivered about his lips; and I saw that he spoke in a 
 low, hurried, and gibbering murmur, as if unconscious 
 of my presence. Bending closely over him, I at length 
 drank in the hideous import of his words. 
 
 " Not hear it ? — yes, I hear it, and Mve heard 
 it. Long — long — long — many minutes, many hours, 
 many days, have I heard it — yet I dared not — oh, pity 
 me, miserable wretch that I am ! — I dared not — I dared 
 not speak ! We have put her living in the tomb ! Said 
 I not that my senses were acute } I now tell you that I 
 heard her first feeble movements in the hollow coffin. I 
 heard them — many, many days ago — yet I dared not — 
 
THE HOUSE OF USHER 221 
 
 / dared not speak I And now — to-night — Ethelred — 
 ha ! ha ! — the breaking of the hermit's door, and the 
 death-cry of the dragon, and the clangour of the shield — 
 say, rather, the rending bf her coffin, and the grating of 
 the iron hinges of her prison, and her struggles within 
 the coppered archway of the vault ! Oh ! whither shall 
 I fly ? Will she not be here anon ? Is she not hurrying 
 to upbraid me for my haste? Have I not heard her 
 footstep on the stair ? Do I not distinguish that heavy and 
 horrible beating of her heart ? Madman ! " — here he 
 sprang furiously to his feet, and shrieked out his syllables, 
 as if in the efibrt he were giving up his soul — "Madman ! 
 I tell you that she now stands without the door ! " 
 
 As if in the superhuman energy of his utterance there 
 had been found the potency of a spell, the huge antique 
 panels to which the speaker pointed threw slowly back, 
 upon the instant, their ponderous and ebony jaws. It 
 was the work of the rushing gust — but then without 
 those doors there did stand the lofty and enshrouded 
 figure of the Lady Madeline of Usher. There was blood 
 upon her white robes, and the evidence of some bitter 
 struggle upon every portion of her emaciated frame. For 
 a moment she remained trembling and reeling to and fro 
 upon the threshold — then, with a low moaning cry, fell 
 heavily inward upon the person of her brother, and in 
 her violent and now final death-agonies, bore him to 
 the floor a corpse, and a victim to the terrors he had 
 anticipated. 
 
 From that chamber, and from that mansion, I fled 
 aghast. The storm was still abroad in all its wrath as 
 I found myself crossing the old causeway. Suddenly 
 there §hot along the path a wild light, and I turned tg 
 
222 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 see whence a gleam so unusual could have issued ; for the 
 vast house and its shadows were alone behind me. The 
 radiance was that of the full, setting, and blood-red moon, 
 which now shone vividly through that once barely dis- 
 cernible fissure, of which I have before spoken as extend- 
 ing from the roof of the building, in a zigzag direction, 
 to the base. While I gazed, this fissure rapidly widened 
 — there came a fierce breath of the whirlwind — the entire 
 orb of the satellite burst at once upon my sight — my 
 brain reeled as I saw the mighty walls rushing asunder — 
 there was a long tumultuous shouting sound like the 
 voice of a thousand waters — and the deep and dank tarn 
 at my feet closed sullenly and silently over the fragments 
 of the House of Usher. 
 
X 
 
 THE "OLD BACHELOR'S" NIGHTCAP 
 
 Br Hans Christian Andersen 
 
 There is a street in Copenhagen which is known by the 
 curious name of Hysken Street. But why is it called 
 so ? and what can Hysken mean ? It is really a German 
 word, though one would not think so. "Hauschen" 
 the street ought to be called, and that means "small 
 houses." For in this street, for many years, the houses 
 were just like the wooden booths you may still see in 
 the market-places ; a little bigger they were, indeed, and 
 they had windows, but then these windows were only 
 made of horn or bladder-skin, for at that time glass 
 windows were too dear for them to be seen in every 
 house. Those days are so long gone by, that my grand- 
 father's grandfather, whenever he spoke of them, always 
 called them "the old, old days;" it was hundreds of 
 years ago. 
 
 The rich merchants of Bremen and Liibeck used to 
 trade with Copenhagen; not going thither themselves, 
 but sending their clerks, who lived in the wooden booths 
 in the " Street of Small Houses," and sold their ale and 
 spices ; many kinds of good German ale, and all sorts of 
 
 spices, saffron, anise, ginger, and above all, pepper. It 
 
 223 
 
224 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 was this that they chiefly sold, so that the German clerk 
 in Denmark was called a " pepper dealer." Before they 
 left home they had to promise that they would not marry 
 while they were away ; many of them, too, were very old, 
 and they had to look after themselves, find for them- 
 selves, and light their own fires, if they had any ; so it 
 was that some of them grew such queer old fellows, with 
 their own peculiar thoughts and ways ; and it is because 
 of them that men who grow old without having married 
 are called " Pebersvend," or " Pepper-dealers." All this 
 can be seen and understood in this story. 
 
 People make fun of the pepper-dealers, bidding them 
 go put their nightcaps on, pull them down over their 
 eyes, and go to bed — 
 
 " Oh fie ! you pepper-seller ! 
 Put up your green umbrella ! 
 Go to bed with your nightcap on, 
 Put out your light, and you'll have none ! " 
 
 Yes, that is what they sing about them ! They laugh 
 at the pepper-dealer and his nightcap, just because they 
 know nothing about either one or the other. Alas ! it 
 is a nightcap no one need wish for ! And why so ? 
 Well, listen, and you shall hear. 
 
 In the "Street of Small Houses," in the old times, 
 there was no pavement ; people stumbled out of one hole 
 into another, as though it were a dirty cart-track, and it 
 was very narrow. The booths stood close beside each 
 other, and with so little distance between the two rows, 
 that in the summer time they stretched a sail from one 
 side of the street to the other, and then the air was more 
 full than ever of the spicy smells of pepper and saffron 
 and ginger. 
 
THE NIGHTCAP 225 
 
 Behind the counters there stood no brisk young 
 clerks ; no, they were mostly old fellows, who did not 
 go dressed, as you would think, in a wig or nightcap, 
 with knee-breeches and waistcoat, or a coat buttoned up 
 to the chin, just as we have seen our great-grandfathers 
 painted; no, the pepper-dealers had no money to get 
 themselves painted, but all the same they would have 
 made a picture well worth the having, as they stood 
 behind their counters, or as they went to church on holy- 
 days. They wore high-crowned hats, with wide brims, 
 and often the youngest clerks stuck a feather in as well ; 
 the woollen shirt was hidden under a falling linen collar, 
 the coat was closely buttoned up, and the cloak hung 
 loosely over it ; the trousers were tucked into the square- 
 toed shoes, for they wore no stockings. In their belts 
 they carried a table-knife and spoon, and a big knife as 
 well for protection, as was very needful in those times. 
 
 Just in this way old Anthony, the oldest clerk in the 
 whole street, went clad on feast days, only he wore no 
 high-crowned hat, but a kind of bonnet, under which he 
 drew on a nightcap — a regular nightcap, which he was so 
 used to wearing, that he actually had two of the same kind. 
 
 He made just the figure to paint, he was so thin, so 
 wrinkled about the mouth and eyes ; he had long knotted 
 fingers and bushy grey eyebrows, while over his left eye 
 there hung a great tuft of hair. It was not handsome, 
 but it made him the more remarkable. People knew of 
 him that he had come from Bremen, where his employer 
 lived, but that he had not been born there. His home 
 had been in Thuringia, in the town of Eisenach, under 
 the Wartburg. Old Anthony did not speak much of all 
 this, but he thought the more. 
 
 P 
 
226 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 The old clerks in the street did not often meet to- 
 gether ; each one lived in his little house, that was closed 
 early in the evening, when all looked very dismal. Only 
 a dull faint light shone through the little horn window 
 in the roof, while within sat the old fellow often on his 
 bed, with his old German song-book, and sang his even- 
 ing hymn, or else trotted about down below, putting all 
 to rights among his wares. It was certainly not very 
 pleasant ; to be a stranger in a strange land is a bitter 
 lot ; no one takes much account of you, unless you happen 
 to get in their way. 
 
 Sometimes on a very dark night, when there was rain 
 or mist, it was very dreary and deserted. There were no 
 lights to be seen, except one very little one, right at the 
 top of the street, before a picture of the Blessed Virgin, 
 that was painted on the wall. You could hear the sound 
 of the waves ceaselessly splashing and beating against the 
 wooden piles, out at Slotsholm, past the turn at the far 
 end of the street. Such evenings would be long and 
 lonely if there was nothing to do. Packing and unpack- 
 ing, making paper bags and polishing scales — these things 
 were not to be done every day ; something else must be 
 found, and this old Anthony did ; he himself mended his 
 clothes and patched his shoes. When at last he went to 
 bed, still with his nightcap on, he had only to pull it a 
 little farther down ; but in a minute he was sure to push 
 it up again, to see if the light was properly put out ; then 
 he would feel for it, pinch the wick, and then turn round 
 to the other side, pulling his nightcap down. Then 
 something else would be sure to occur to him ; whether 
 every coal was quite burned out and quenched in the 
 little fire-pan downstairs, and whether some tiny spark 
 
THE NIGHTCAP 227 
 
 might not remain, and, by setting light to something, 
 work him great mischief. At that thought he would 
 get out of bed and creep to the ladder, for it could not 
 be called a stair, and when he reached the fire-pan there 
 would not be a spark to be seen, so that he must just 
 go back again. But as soon as he had got half way he 
 would begin to wonder if the doors were all fast and the 
 shutters bolted; so his poor thin legs must carry him 
 back to see, and, as he crept back to bed, he froze, and 
 his teeth chattered, for the last nip the cold gives one is 
 always the sharpest. 
 
 Then he would pull the bedclothes higher up, arid his 
 nightcap farther down over his eyes, and turn away his 
 thoughts from the day's work and business. But small 
 comfort he would get, for then came old memories and 
 hung their curtains up, and sometimes they brought pins 
 as well, which pricked sadly. " Oh, oh ! " cry the poor 
 souls who lie awake, when the pins are driven sharply in, 
 and tears fall from their eyes. All these things came to 
 poor old Anthony, and he wept hot tears like the clearest 
 pearls; they fell down over the coverlet and on to the 
 floor, with a sound as if pain were breaking the strings 
 of the heart. When the tear vanished, then a flame 
 sprang in its place, and lit up a picture of life that had 
 never faded from his heart. If he wiped his eyes with 
 his nightcap the tear and the picture would be crushed, 
 but the source of them remained, for it lay in his heart. 
 The- pictures did not come in the same order as in the 
 life whose reflection they were; the most painful ones 
 came oftenest, but the happy ones were the saddest to 
 him, for they cast the deepest shadow. 
 
 " How beautiful are the beech-woods of Denmark ! " 
 
228 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 they say; but more beautiful seemed to Anthony the 
 beech-woods around the Wartburg ; mightier and more 
 venerable seemed to him the old oaks round the great 
 castle, where the climbing plants hung in festoons on the 
 granite rocks of the cliffs. Sweeter to him its apple- 
 blossoms than any in the Danish land ; he could still 
 distinctly smell their pure fragrance. Then a tear rose 
 and fell, and the light shone ; he saw plainly two little 
 children, a boy and a girl, playing. The boy had rosy 
 cheeks, yellow curling hair, and honest blue eyes^t was 
 the rich merchant's son, little Anthony himself. The 
 little girl had brown eyes and black hair; bright and 
 clever she looked ; it was the Burgomaster's daughter, 
 Molly. The two children were playing with an apple ; 
 they shook it and listened to the pips rattling inside. 
 Then they cut it in two, and each of them had half; 
 they ate it up and the pips as well, all but one, which 
 they must put into the earth, said the little girl. 
 
 " Then you will see that something will come up, 
 something you would never expect; a whole apple-tree 
 will come up, only not at once." 
 
 And they planted the pip in a flower-pot ; both of 
 them were very busy over it ; the boy made a hole in the 
 earth with his finger, the little girl put in the pip, and 
 they both pushed the earth back over it. 
 
 " Now you must not take it out in the morning to 
 see if it has a root," she said ; " one must never do that ! 
 I did it with my flowers, only twice, just to see if they were 
 growing, for then I knew no better, and the flowers died." 
 
 Anthony kept the flow.er-pot, and every morning, 
 all through the winter, he looked at it ; but there was 
 nothing to be seen but the brown earth. Soon, however, 
 
THE NIGHTCAP 229 
 
 came the spring, and the sun shone as warm as could be, 
 and then there peeped out of the flower-pot two small 
 green leaves. 
 
 "That is me and Molly!" said Anthony. "That 
 is wonderful ! that is beautiful ! " 
 
 Soon there came out a third leaf. Who could that 
 be for .'' But there came another and yet another ! 
 Every day it grew stronger and stronger, and the plant 
 became a little tree. And all this was pictured in a 
 single tear that was brushed away and disappeared ; but it 
 might come again from its source — from old Anthony's 
 heart. 
 
 Near Eisenach there is a great ridge of stony' moun- 
 tains; one of them stands out from the rest with a 
 rounded top, bare of trees or bushes or grass. This one 
 is called the Venusberg, and within it lives Lady Venus, 
 a goddess of heathen times; Lady HoUe she is called 
 now, and that -every child in Eisenach knows. She it 
 was who enticed the noble knight, Tannhauser, the 
 Minnesinger, into her mountain, away from the minstrels 
 of the Wartburg. 
 
 Little Molly and Anthony sometimes found them- 
 selves on the mountain, and once she said to him, " Dare 
 you climb up and say, ' Lady Holle ! Lady HoUe ! look 
 out, here is Tannhauser ! ' " But Anthony did not dare ; 
 Molly did ; but she only said the words " Lady Holle, 
 Lady Holle ! " out loud and clearly, the rest she said so 
 softly under her breath, that Anthony was quite sure she 
 had said nothing at all. 
 
 Yet so bold as she looked, and so saucy, just as she 
 did sometimes when she and some other little girls 
 met him in the gardens; then they all would try and 
 
230 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 kiss him, just because he didn't like it, and would try to 
 knock them away : then she alone would dare to do it. 
 
 " I may kiss him ! " she would say proudly, and 
 throw her arms round his neck. That was just her 
 vanity, and Anthony would put up with it, and never 
 think of it twice. How pretty she was, and how daring ! 
 Lady Holle in the mountain was beautiful too, but her 
 beauty was that of a tempting witch. The highest 
 beauty was that of the holy Elizabeth, the pious Thu- 
 ringian princess, the guardian saint of the land, whose 
 good deeds, remembered in tale and legend, have made 
 famous many a place; her picture hung in the chapel 
 with silver lamps all around ; but Molly was not in the 
 least like her. 
 
 The apple-tree that the two children had planted 
 grew year by year, till at length it was so tall it must be 
 transplanted into the garden, out in the fresh air, where 
 the dew fell and the sun shone warm. There it gained 
 strength to stand against the winter, and after the winter's 
 hard trial was over, it covered itself with blossoms for 
 very joy. In the autumn it had two apples, one for 
 Molly and one for Anthony ; it could hardly do less. 
 
 As the tree grew, so did Molly, and she was as fresh 
 as an apple-blossom. But not for much longer could 
 Anthony look on this flower. Everything alters, every- 
 thing changes ! Molly's father left the old home, and 
 Molly followed him far away — nowadays indeed it 
 would only be a journey of a few hours, but at that time 
 it took more than a night and a day to travel so far 
 eastward from Eisenach, that lay on the furthest border 
 of Thuringia, to the town that is still called Weimar. 
 
 Then Molly wept and Anthony wept; but all the 
 
THE NIGHTCAP 231 
 
 tears ran into one big one, that had joy's red lovely light. 
 Molly had told him that she thought more of him than 
 of all the splendours of Weimar. 
 
 One year went by, then two, then three ; and in all 
 that time there came two letters. The first was brought 
 by a carrier, the second by a traveller. It was a hard 
 journey, a long road winding past towns and villages. 
 
 How often had not Anthony and Molly listened 
 together to the story of Tristan and Isolde, and just so 
 often he had likened himself to Tristan, although the 
 name meant " born in sorrow," which he himself certainly 
 was not ; nor would he ever have to say, as Tristan did, 
 " She has forgotten me ! " But yet Isolde had not really 
 forgotten the friend of her heart, and when they were 
 both dead, and buried side by side in the churchyard, two 
 linden trees grew out of their graves high over the church 
 roof, and mixed their flowering branches there. That was 
 so pretty, thought Anthony, but so sad ! but it could never 
 be sad with him and Molly, and he whistled a verse of 
 the Minnesinger, Walther von der Vogelweide : — 
 
 " Under the linden tree, 
 There by the heath." 
 
 And this, too, he thought so beautiful — 
 
 " Out in the woods, in the quiet dale, 
 Tandaradai ! 
 Sang to himself a nightingale ! " 
 
 This verse was always in his head, and he sang and 
 whistled it one moonshiny night as he, on horseback in 
 the deep-sunk road, set off for Weimar to visit Molly ; 
 
232 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 unexpected he wished to come, and so he arrived un- 
 expected. 
 
 He had a welcome ! wine filled high in the great 
 tankards, lively company of the very best, a beautiful 
 chamber, and a soft bed; and yet it was not. what he 
 had so often thought and dreamed of. He did not 
 understand himself, and he did not understand the others. 
 But we can understand it ! One can live in a house and 
 family, and yet not become one of them. People can 
 talk together as one talks in a stage-coach, know each 
 other as one does in a stage-coach, weary each other, and 
 each man wish either himself or his good neighbour 
 away. Something of all this Anthony felt. ^ 
 
 " I am an honourable girl," said Molly to him, " and 
 I will tell you all. Everything has changed since we were 
 children ; all is different both within and without, and 
 custom and one's own will have no power over the 
 heart ! Anthony ! I would not have an enemy in you ; 
 now, when I am going far away, believe me, I have always 
 kind thoughts of you ; but as to loving you as I now 
 know one can love another, that I have never done ! and 
 you will have to get used to it ! Farewell, Anthony ! " 
 
 And Anthony, too, said farewell ; tears came to his 
 eyes, but he understood that he was no longer Molly's 
 friend. Hot iron and cold iron both take the skin from 
 our lips with the same sensation when we kiss them, and 
 Anthony burnt as fiercely now in hatred as he had in love. 
 
 In less than four and twenty hours Anthony was at 
 home again in Eisenach, but the horse that he rode was 
 quite ruined. " What does it matter ? " he said ; " I am 
 ruined, and I will ruin everything that can remind me of 
 her — Lady Holle, Lady Venus, thou heathen woman ! 
 
THE NIGHTCAP 233 
 
 I will tear down and break the apple-tree, and pull it up 
 by the roots ; never more shall it blossom or bear fruit ! " 
 
 But he never struck down the tree, for he himself 
 was stricken down by a fever, and lay on his bed. What 
 could help him up again ? A medicine came that was 
 powerful enough, the bitterest possible, as he found 
 whose sick body and shrinking soul were alike wrung by 
 it. Anthony's father was no longer the rich merchant ; 
 dark days, days of trial, stood at the door ; misfortune 
 rushed in and overwhelmed in its floods the once pros- 
 perous house. His father was now a poor man, and 
 trouble and sorrow crushed him. So that Anthony had 
 something else to think of beside nursing his grief and 
 rage against Molly. He must be both father and mother 
 in the house ; must give orders and assistance, act with 
 decision, and at last go out into the wide world and 
 work for his bread. 
 
 He came to Bremen, endured want and dark days — 
 days which sometimes harden the heart, and sometimes 
 make it soft, only too soft. How far different was the 
 world and the people in it from what he had thought 
 them in the days of his childhood ! What to him now 
 were the Minnesinger's verses ? Just a tinkling of words, 
 mere wasted breath ; yes, that was what he thought ! 
 Sometimes, however, their music stole into his soul, and 
 he became gentle of heart again. 
 
 " God's will is best," he would say then. " How well 
 it was that Molly's heart did not cleave to me. Whatever 
 should we have done now that the luck has turned. She 
 sent me away before she knew or dreamed of the mis- 
 fortunes that have come upon me. That was the will of 
 Heaven for me ; everything is for the best ; everything 
 
234 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 is ordered wisely ; she could not help it, and yet I have 
 been so bitter against her." 
 
 And the years went by. Anthony's father was dead, 
 and strangers lived in his father's house. But Anthony 
 was to see it again, for his rich employer sent him 
 travelling on business, and so he came to his native 
 town — Eisenach. The old Wartburg stood up there on 
 the mountain just the same, with the great stones, the 
 "monk and the nun"; the huge oak-trees spread the 
 same beauty over all as in his childhood. The Venus- 
 berg stood up bare and grey from among the valleys. 
 How willingly he would have called : " Lady Holle, 
 Lady Holle ! open your mountain ; I will stay with you 
 in my own land ! " 
 
 But that was a wicked thought, and he made the 
 sign of the cross on his bosom. Then a little bird 
 sang in the bushes, and the old song came into his 
 head — 
 
 " Out in the woods, in the quiet dale, 
 Tandaradai ! 
 Sang to himself a nightingale ! " 
 
 He remembered so much, now when he saw his old 
 home, that he had to look through tears. His father's 
 house stood as before, but the garden was changed. A 
 new road cut off one corner of it, and the apple-tree, that 
 he had never torn down, stood there still, but now out- 
 side the garden, and on the other side of the road. 
 Still the sun shone there, and the dew fell there, and 
 it bore fruit, so the branches were weighed down to the 
 ground. 
 
 " Ay, it thrives ! " said he ; " well for it ! " 
 
THE NIGHTCAP 235 
 
 One of the great branches had been broken, rough 
 hands had plucked at it, for it stood on the public road. 
 
 "Men may break off its blossoms without saying 
 thank you ; they may steal the fruit and break the 
 boughs. If one might speak so of a tree — it was never 
 foretold at the cradle that it should stand like this. Its 
 story opened so fairly, and now what is its lot .'' For- 
 saken and forgotten, a garden tree in a ditch by a public 
 road ! There it stands with no protection, plundered 
 and torn ! Not yet has it faded, but year by year its 
 blossoms will be fewer, its fruit less and less, until at 
 last — ay, then its story will be done ! " 
 
 So thought Anthony as he stood under the tree, and 
 so he thought many a night in his lonely little room in 
 the wooden booth in the strange town of Copenhagen, 
 whither his rich employer, the Bremen merchant, had 
 sent him, on condition that he should not marry. 
 
 " Marry ! ha, ha ! " and he laughed bitterly to 
 himself. 
 
 The winter came early, and it froze hard; out of 
 doors there was a snow-storm, so that every one who 
 could stayed indoors. So it happened that Anthony's 
 neighbour over the way never noticed that his booth had 
 not been opened for two whole days, and that he himself 
 had not been seen, for who would go out in such weather 
 when he could stay at home ? 
 
 Those were grey, dark days, and in houses where the 
 windows were not made of glass twilight and pitch dark 
 reigned by turns. Old Anthony had not left his bed for 
 two days, he had no strength for it. For a long time 
 past the hard weather had benumbed his limbs. Forsaken 
 lay the old bachelor ; he could not help himself, barely 
 
236 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 could he reach to the water-jug he had placed by his 
 bedside, and now the last drop was gone. No fever or 
 sickness had brought him down, nothing but old age. 
 It was all the time dark night in the little corner where 
 he lay. A little spider, that he could not see, worked 
 busily, and spun his web just overhead, so that there 
 should be at least a little fresh new shroud for his face 
 when the old man should close his eyes. 
 
 Slowly and drearily time went by ; he had no tears to 
 shed, and he felt no pain ; Molly never came into his 
 thoughts ; he had a feeling as though the world and its 
 bustle was nothing to him, as though he lay beyond it, 
 and no one remembered him. Now and then it seemed 
 to him that he felt hunger and thirst ; — yes ! he was sure 
 that he did !-^but no one came to comfort him, no one 
 would come. Then he thought of all those who had 
 ever suffered hardship, and he remembered how the holy 
 Elizabethi when she lived on the earth, she, the heroine 
 of his home and his childhood, the noble Duchess of 
 Thuringia, the lofty lady, went herself into the poorest 
 cabin, and brought hope and comfort to the sick. Her 
 good deeds shone in his thoughts; he remembered how 
 she had come and spoken words of consolation to those 
 who suffered, how she bound up the wounds of the 
 miserable and brought food to the hungry, although often 
 rebuked for it by her stern husband. Then he remem- 
 bered a tale about her; how, when she came with her 
 basket packed full of wine and bread, her husband, who 
 watched her comings and goings, strode up in anger, and 
 asked her what it was that she was carrying, whereupon 
 in terror she answered that it was but roses, she had 
 plucked in the garden. At that he tore off the cloth, and 
 
THE NIGHTCAP 237 
 
 a miracle had been worked for the good queen ; and the 
 wine and bread and everything in the basket lay there 
 changed into roses. 
 
 So lived this princess in the thoughts of old Anthony ; 
 so she stood in living colour before his weary eyes, beside 
 his bed in the poor wooden booth in the Danish land. 
 He bared his head, looked up into her kind eyes, and all 
 around was a glory of light, and roses spread themselves 
 through the room and smelt so sweet. Then, too, came 
 the peculiar delicious perfume of the apple-blossom, and 
 he saw the blooniing branches of an apple-tree waving 
 over him — it was the tree that he and Molly had planted 
 from the little kernel. 
 
 The tree scattered its perfumed petals over his hot 
 forehead and cooled it; they fell on his parched lips, 
 and it was like refreshing bread and wine; they fell 
 on his breast, , and then he felt peaceful and ready to 
 slumber. 
 
 "I will go to sleep," he murmured; "sleep will do 
 me good, and in the morning I shall get up again quite 
 strong. How lovely ! how beautiful ! The apple-tree, 
 planted in love, I see again in heavenly, beauty ! " 
 
 And so he slept. 
 
 The next day, the third day that his booth had been 
 shut, the snow ceased falling, and the neighbour opposite 
 went over to visit old Anthony, as he had not yet shown 
 himself. There he lay stretched dead on his pallet, with 
 his old nightcap clasped tightly in his two hands. But 
 he did not have this one on in his coffin — he had a new 
 one, clean and white. 
 
 Where were now the tears that he had shed .'' Where 
 were the pearls.? They remained in the nightcap — for 
 
238 THE GARDEN OF ROMANCE 
 
 the real ones are not lost in the wash — yes, they remained 
 with the nightcap, thrown aside and forgotten — the old 
 thoughts, the old dreams, they were all there in the Old 
 Bachelor's Nightcap. Never wish yourself such a one ! 
 It would make your forehead hot, cause your pulse to 
 beat stronger, and bring you dreams that would seem to 
 you real. And so found the first person who put it on, 
 and that was half a century after, and it was the Burgo- 
 master himself, as he sat quite safe indoors with his wife 
 and eleven children; directly it was upon his head he 
 dreamed of unhappy love, of bankruptcy, and starvation. 
 
 " Hallo ! how hot the nightcap is ! " he said, and 
 pulled it off, and then there fell a pearl, and then 
 another, that tinkled on the floor, and broke in a flash 
 of light. " That is the rheumatism ! " said the Burgo- 
 master ; " it makes my eyes swim ! " But it was the 
 tears wept half a century ago, wept by old Anthony 
 from Eisenach. 
 
 To every one who afterwards put this cap on his 
 head there came straightway visions and dreams. His 
 own history grew into Anthony's, and became a whole 
 new tale ; so that there are many which others can tell, 
 now that we have told the first one, whose last word 
 is — Never wish for yourself a " Bachelor's Nightcap." 
 
 Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson 6" Co. 
 Edinburgh &' London