L r B R.AFLY 
 
 OF THL 
 
 UNIVER.5ITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 GiS7ta 
 
 V. I
 
 ^A
 
 TALES 
 
 OF 
 
 THE JURY ROOM.
 
 TALIS QUALIS, 
 
 OR, 
 
 TALES OF THE JURY ROOM. 
 
 BY 
 
 GERALD GRIFFIN, Esq., 
 
 AUTHOR OF " GISIPPUS," THE " COLLEGIANS," &c. 
 
 Eamus in jus. 
 
 Plaut. Pomilius, Act v. 
 
 Dogberry. Are you good men and true ? 
 
 Much ado about Nothing. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. 1. 
 
 LONDON. 
 MAXWELL AND CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 30, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND. 
 
 1842.
 
 LONDON: 
 J. Wyatt, Printer, 4, The Terrace, Old Kent Road.
 
 V.I 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 -0- 
 
 The Jury Room. 
 
 The Foreman's Tale— Sigismund. 
 
 Second Juror's Tale— The Story teller at 
 
 Fault. 
 Third Juror's Tale-The Knight Without 
 
 Reproach. 
 Fourth Juror's Tale— The iMistake.
 
 EDITOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 ■0- 
 
 Sorae of the Stories in the following collection, are 
 translations of ancient Irish manuscripts, and, as spe- 
 cimens of the national romance in ruder ages, must 
 be regarded as great literary curiosities. They all 
 display much fertility and richness of imagination, 
 in some instances not inferior to the most cele- 
 brated fictions of the East. The ''Swans of Lir,'' 
 in particular, which is a perfectly literal translation 
 from the Irish, without a word added or omitted, 
 contains remarkable evidence of the purity and 
 chasteness of thought, which characterized some of 
 these writings, as well as the straight forward 
 simplicity, and the absence of all trick or mjstery 
 in the plan upon which they were framed. It is 
 necessary to mention, that one of these romances 
 originally given as one of the " Tales of the Jury 
 Room,'^ has been omitted by the Editor. Although
 
 ii editor's preface. 
 
 very imaginative and new, it was not more charac- 
 teristic than those which remain, and it contained 
 many repetitions which would have been considered 
 tedious. The story of Sigismund, found among 
 Mr. Griffin's paperS;, has been given in its place. 
 The circumstance of the omission, rather than any 
 particular interest or attractiveness in the latter 
 tale, must account for its being placed first in the 
 series. It seems to be a translation, or rather, like 
 Lamb's Stories from Shakespear, a version of one of 
 Calderon's plays, which may explain the obvious 
 difference of style between it and the author's 
 original writings.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 -0- 
 
 A long preface, courteous reader, to so slight a 
 performance as this which is here presented for 
 your indulgent perusal, is a task which we doubt 
 not you will readily excuse us for eschewing. Our 
 Jurors, you will see, (should you remain a sufficient 
 time in their company,) have dipped deep into the 
 well of early Irish romance for your amusement 
 and their own. For the rifacimenta thence drawn 
 up, as well as for the original tales with which 
 they are interspersed, it will be sufficient for us if 
 you are pleased to pronounce them, what the Jury 
 themselves were — tales de cir cum stantibus — as good 
 as their neighbours
 
 \ 
 
 T H E J U R Y-R COM. 
 
 Svreet masters be at accord !" As you like it. 
 
 It was during the Assize week of an important cit}"^ 
 in the South of Ireland, that a grave looking gentleman 
 dressed in a sober suit of brown and Petersham top 
 coat, was observed riding with a somewhat inquisitive 
 air through the dense crowds who thronged the open 
 space before the city and county Court-house. Every 
 thing in his appearance announced a person of good 
 sense and prudence. His dress was neither too good 
 for the road nor too mean for the wearer's rank as 
 indicated by his demeanour ; his hat was decpnt, but 
 evidently not his best; a sma!! ©potted shawl folded 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 THE JURY ROOM. 
 
 cravat-wise, protected his throat and ears from the 
 rather moist and chilly air of an early Irish spring. A 
 pair of doe-skin caps, or over-alls, buttoned on the 
 knees, defended those essential hinges of the lower 
 man from the danger of contracting any rhumatic rust 
 in the open air ; while gloves of the same material and 
 top-boots neatly foxed, evinced in the extremities of 
 the wearer's person the same union of economy and 
 just sufficient attention to appearances which was 
 observable in all the rest of his attire. 
 
 The countenance likewise was one which at the first 
 glance attracted the respect and confidence 'of the be- 
 holder. It was marked by a certain air of goodwill 
 and probity of character, with a due consciousness of 
 the owner's position in life, and an expression which 
 seemed to intimate that he would not be willingly de- 
 ficient in what was due to others, nor readily forfeit 
 any portion of what was fairly owing to himself. 
 
 As is usually the case when a stranger makes his 
 appearance amid an idle crowd, all eyes were fixed 
 upon him as he leisurely walked his horse toward a 
 small hotel which stood at a little distance from the 
 
 *%
 
 THE JURY ROOM. 3 
 
 Court-house. Giving the bridle to the hostler, with 
 the easy air of one who seldom hurries about anything, 
 and of the two feels less satisfaction in motion than in 
 rest, he alighted, and after desiring, in what seemed an 
 English accent, that the horse should not be fed, until 
 he had leisure, himself, to visit the animal in the stall, 
 he drew off his gloves, looked up and down the street, 
 then up at the sky, where the clouds seemed just de- 
 liberating whether they would rain or no, took off his 
 hat, inspected it all over, thrust his gloves into the 
 pocket of his great coat, and finally entered the coffee- 
 room. It may seem trifling to mention all those mo- 
 tions of the traveller with so much precision, but not 
 one of them was lost upon the intelligent observers in 
 the street, who doubtless would not have employed a 
 thing so valuable as time in watching the movements 
 of an entire stranger, if there were not something very 
 important, though still a mystery to them in every turn 
 he took. 
 
 The coffee-room was at this instant the scene of a very 
 animated discussion. It needed only a few minutes 
 standing at the fire, and lending an ear occasionally to 
 
 b2
 
 4 THE JURY ROOM. 
 
 what went forward, to render the grave-looking gen- 
 tleman somewhat curious to know more of the affair 
 at issue. Some asked with sparkhng eyes " whether 
 tlie Penal Code was to be re-enacted ?" Others talked 
 of the *' enlightened age in which we live/' and said 
 very often that ** the days were gone by when the peo- 
 ple could be trampled on with impunity." Others 
 who seemed of an opposite way of thinking, talked 
 with equal vehemence of " the dark ages,'' of 
 " the fires of Smithfield," and " the gunpowder 
 plot," with sundry other allusions to by-gone mas- 
 sacres and conflagrations, and asked ^' if the Inqui- 
 sition was about to be again established in all its terrible 
 power." 
 
 These alarming expressions whetted the curiosity of 
 the stranger, who looked vainly around for some time 
 in search of a neutral face, to which he might address 
 an enquiry with some chance of his being listened to. 
 His eyes at length alighted on that of a middled-aged 
 quiet-looking person, who sat on one side of the fire 
 with half-closed eyes, a newspaper in his hand, and an 
 expression on his countenance as if he were rather
 
 THE JURY ROOM. 5 
 
 amused than interested by what was going forward. 
 On hearing the stranger's question, he civilly laid aside 
 the paper and turning his person toward the fire, said 
 with a smile : 
 
 " It appears you are but newly arrived, sir, or you 
 would have no necessity to ask that question." 
 
 " You are quite right ; I never was in the town be- 
 fore the last quarter of an hour." 
 
 " That is evident by your knowing nothing of the 
 
 affair which has kept the whole city and county like- 
 wise in a state of commotion during the last fortnight." 
 
 " Bless me ! — some conspiracy discovered ?" 
 
 *' Not exactly." 
 
 '^ Some appalling murder then ? — some clergyman 
 shot on account of tithes ? — or perhaps an affray be- 
 tween the peasantry and police ?" 
 
 " Wh}', sir," replied the quiet looking gentleman still 
 smiling, " after all your grand conjectures, I confess I 
 am ashamed to tell you the exact truth, it must cut 
 so paltry a figure in the comparison. But if you be 
 an Englishman as [ suppose, [the stranger bowefl] and 
 on a tour of pleasure [the stranger shook his head] or
 
 6 THE JURY ROOM. 
 
 business — [the stranger protruded his hps and 
 lifted his eyebrows with a half-dissenting air] — or 
 both perhaps united [the stranger nodded his head 
 as if to say, '* you have gone nearer to the mark."] 
 and are desirous of carrying home with you some 
 notion of the state of society in this country, [ano- 
 ther nod of assent] the circumstance may be 
 worth your hearing. You should know in the 
 first place, that in every city, town, and village 
 in Ireland, from the metropolis down to the pet- 
 tiest municipality that is kept in order by a few 
 police and a court of petty sessions, there are two 
 parties, who between them continue to keep society in 
 one continual uproar. Now in such a state of things, 
 if there be any disgrace in neutrality, I confess there are 
 some few besides myself who make a principle of in- 
 curring it. It is not that I am insensible to the good 
 or evil being of the country that gives me bread, but 
 I hate both bigotry and balderdash, and as it seems 
 impossible to meddle in public affairs and at the same 
 time steer a clear course between the one and the 
 other with any chance of being attended to, I content
 
 THE JURY ROOM. 7 
 
 myself with doing whatever little good I can in a 
 quiet way, and feel inclined rather to be amused by 
 the vehemence of others than to be induced to imitate 
 them/' 
 
 " Since you are so moderate" said the stranger '^ [ 
 will not fear wounding your nationality by saying that 
 you have just uttered the most rational speech I have 
 
 heard since I arrived in Ireland." 
 
 " Ah, you know that the compliment to my personal 
 vanity is sufficient to cover any umbrage 1 might feel 
 on the score of country. However, so it is. Well — out 
 of such a state of affairs, it arises, that every mole-hill 
 between the parties is magnified into an Olympus — 
 The local newspapers teem with rumours, with national 
 misdeeds upon the one side, and ready contradictions 
 of the "foul calumny" upon the other, for as you may 
 have observed since you entered the room, neither 
 party is deficient in vigour of language. Then there 
 are meetings and counter meetings — letters fronj 
 '' Veritas" " Eye- Witness'' " Victor" " Fair-Play" 
 '* Lovers of Truth" and " Lovers of Justice," the most of 
 whom prove each other to deserve any character, rather
 
 8 THE JURY ROOM. 
 
 than that which their signature assumes. "Veri- 
 tas" is shown to be a hired official, whom nobody 
 could trust; *' Eye Witness" to have been fifty 
 miles away at the time the occurrence took place ! 
 " Victor" to be a constant resident in the neigh- 
 bourhood he affects to have visited with the im- 
 partiality of a disinterested traveller : '' Fair Play" 
 to be a notoriously one sided partizan, and the 
 whole bunch of lovers of truth, and lovers of jus- 
 tice to be remarkable amongst all their acquaint- 
 ances for the total absence of those qualities. I de- 
 clare to you, though 1 love my country, and am not, 
 in the habit of carrying any sentiment to an extreme, 
 when I consider such a state of society, and the total 
 absence of peace and happiness which it involves, I 
 am often tempted to turn heretic to the '' enlighted 
 opinions of the age" and long for a good stout despo- 
 tism, which would compel them ail to hold theii' 
 tongues. But what has all this to do with the question 
 you asked me? you shall judge for yourself and pro- 
 bably you will see no great apparent connection when 
 I tell you that all you have heard relates to a trial for
 
 THE JURY ROOM. 9 
 
 breach of promise of marriage which has been this mo- 
 ment called on in our court-house. 
 
 "Breach of promise '/' exclaimed the stranger. 
 
 '^ It is a fact, I assure you. The parties are unhap- 
 pily of the opposite factions — not that I believe either 
 the lady or gentleman care much whether they break 
 their eggs at the big or little end, and indeed it is 
 generally supposed that the affair would have been 
 long since arranged in the happiest manner for 
 both, were it left in their own hands. But the 
 gentleman, against his better will, has been led to 
 act unhandsomely by his friends of one party, and 
 the lady, against her inclination also, has been moved 
 to commence law proceedings by her friends who 
 are of another side, and so the town has been all 
 alive in expectation of the result, and the court- 
 house is thronged with partizans who see a great deal 
 more in the case than a mere suit at nisi prius. 
 Challenging has run so high that counsel have been 
 already compelled to pray a talesT 
 
 Stimulated rather by a general feeling of curiosity 
 than moved bj* any particular interest in the suit at issue 
 
 B 5
 
 10 THE JURY ROOM. 
 
 the stranger, after politely thanking the quiet gentleman 
 for his civihty, put on his hat and walked owt in the 
 direction of the court-house. There was something in 
 his appearance which opened a way for him through 
 the crowd, and the police and bailiffs were seen to push 
 aside all the country people with the butts of their 
 carbines, and hold the little iron gate-ways open as he 
 drew nigh. After listening for some time to the counsel 
 and witnesses who seemed bent up to harangue and 
 swear their best in honour of the occasion, our traveller 
 began to feel as if he had heard enough of it, and re- 
 turning to the inward flagged hall, cast his eyes about, 
 and seemed desirous to inspect the remainder of 
 the building. Passing along a somewhat lengthy 
 hall which divided the civil from the criminal court, 
 he ascended a short circular flight of stairs, which 
 brought him to a landing place on which he 
 could perceive several doors leading in different di- 
 rections. One of those by some unaccountable 
 neglect stood a-jar at the present moment. It 
 would appear that if the grave-looking stran- 
 ger had a foible it was that for which the tender-
 
 THE JURY ROOM. 1 1 
 
 hearted wife of Bluebeard was so near forfeiting her 
 life. The silence of the place, the mystery of so many 
 closed doors at a moment of so much bustle and con- 
 fusion, and the tempting air of that which stood invit- 
 ingly half open, provoked his curiosity withja degree 
 of force which he had not firmness to resist. He push- 
 ed in the door. All was silent inside. The room had 
 a bare, and scantily furnished appearance. A painted 
 deal table stood in the centre, on which were scattered 
 some paper, pens and ink. Near it, irregularly 
 placed, stood one or two wooden forms, and a few 
 chairs. On the side of the chamber opposite to the 
 door by which he had entered, was a window dim 
 with dust, which looked out upon the narrow and 
 ill-paved back street of the city. A neglected 
 though still tolerable fire burned in the capacious 
 grate. In one corner was a large press or 
 double cup-board inserted into the wall, the up- 
 per portion of which was locked. Not so the lower 
 in which the inquisitive stranger only observed a 
 few acts of parliament in stitched covers, barony 
 books, and some torn law papers. Near this stood an
 
 ISi THE JURY ROOM. 
 
 enormous basket filled with turf for the purpose of 
 replenishing the fire. 
 
 It needed not now, the aid of a conjurer to tell our 
 traveller into what chamber of the building he had pe- 
 netrated. It was the Jury-Room. Struck by the 
 natural reflections, which the place w as calculated to 
 excite in any mind, but more especially in one of a 
 thoughtful and generous turn, such as that of the 
 grave stranger, it was some time before he recollected 
 the awkwardness of his own situation in the ab- 
 sorbing reverie which seized upon him. The many 
 fellow beings, on whom the fiat of life or death 
 had been passed within that room, the families who 
 had been consigned to misery, the many occasions 
 on which passion and interest had there taken the 
 place of justice, to the condemnation, perhaps of 
 the innocent or the absolution of the guilty, all 
 those and other circumstances furnished matter 
 which detained him in the mood of thought for a 
 considerable time. Insensibly he passed to the in- 
 stitution of the much valued system, thence to the 
 manifold schemes by which the "wisdom of ages"
 
 THE JURY ROOM. 13 
 
 has sought at various times to defend the pure 
 administration of justice from the intermeddling of 
 human passion, and thence again, ascending higher 
 in. abstraction as he continued his musing, to the 
 corruption of society in general, and the misery 
 of man, whom not even a device so beautiful as 
 thjis great boast of the British constitution could 
 protect against the evil of his own perverse and fallen 
 nature. 
 
 By this time the night had already began to close. 
 The din of the city was hushed into a low murmur in 
 which might be distinguished the call of the watch- 
 man in the street, the occasional rattle of a passing 
 vehicle, and the ringing of some of the chapel bells 
 summoning the people to the evening prayers, usual 
 in the time of Lent. The same evening silence had 
 fallen within the circuit of the place of justice, and the 
 voice of the presiding judge was heard distinctly, 
 though faintly in the act of delivering his concluding 
 charge. Even this sound ceased at length, and no- 
 thing was heard except that general murmur which 
 arises in a crowd when something occurs to relax the
 
 14 THE JURY ROOM. 
 
 absorbing attention in which all have been enchained 
 for a considerable time before. 
 
 " And wretches hang, that jurymen may dine!" 
 
 exclaimed the stranger, awaking from his reverie, 
 when he was startled by an alarming sound, which 
 first brought to his mind the critical position in which 
 he had placed himself. A door was heard to open and 
 shut, and presently the clattering of a bailiffs halberd 
 and the tramp of many feet was heard upon the little 
 flight of steps, by which he had ascended. The jury 
 were coming ! What was to become of him ? There 
 was only one legitimate point of entrance, or of exit, 
 and that was the door, through which he came and 
 which the important twelve were now approaching, 
 brimful of law and evidence. The window was on 
 the first floor and looked out upon an uninviting stone 
 pavement. What should he do? The consequences 
 of being detected were unknown to him. He had 
 heard much of the crime of attempting to tamper with 
 a jury. The cup-board behind the turf-basket! It 
 was not a very dignified resource, but it was his only 
 
 %
 
 THE JURY ROOM. 
 
 15 
 
 one, and being a time not for deliberation, but for ac- 
 tion, he managed to secrete himself just as the bailiff 
 threw the door open, and ushered the juryman into 
 the chamber. Our traveller heard, with a feeling more 
 easily imagined than described, the door shut fast 
 again, and the key turned in the lock outside. 
 
 After a few moments of deliberative silence, the 
 discussion commenced, and was not long in reaching a 
 height which did not forbode a speedy unanimity of 
 opinion on the case in hand. What amused the 
 stranger, notwithstanding his awkward situation, was 
 to hear how Httle they dwelt upon the nature of the 
 evidence that had been brought before them, or on the 
 points of law laid down by the judge in his charge. 
 The chief points of contention, soon became restricted 
 to questions of theology and history, between which 
 and the guilt or innocence of the defendant, our tra- 
 veller would have found it hard to trace any connec- 
 tion, were it not for the hints previously thrown out by 
 the quiet gentleman at the hotel. The allusions made, 
 if not so broad as in the coffee-room, were fully as much 
 to the point, and as remarkable for their severity and
 
 16 THE JURY ROOM. 
 
 lucid vigour. The lash was administered freely though 
 politely on both sides, and the deeds of buried popes 
 and kings were insinuated into the discussion, evi- 
 dently more in aid of the immediate purpose than 
 with any unkindly or vindictive feeling towards the 
 ashes of the long mouldering delinquents. Hits, 
 however, were dealt liberally against the living and the 
 dead. St. Gregory the Seventh, and Harry the Eighth 
 Anna Boleyn and Catherine de Medicis, Queen Mary, 
 and Queen Elizabeth, all came in for their share, and 
 if the opposing parties were not always successful in 
 the defence they set up for their friends, they seldom 
 failed to make up for the deficiency by a well aimed 
 thrust at some cherished name upon the enemy^s side. 
 Perceiving that it was not likely they could agree, 
 the Foreman knocked at the door, and bade the bailiff 
 call the County High Sheriff. When that personage 
 arrived, the Forenmn in the name of the Jury requested 
 him to inform the judge that they had not been able 
 to agree upon their verdict, nor was it likely they 
 should do for a considerable time. He departed and 
 they awaited his return in almost unbroken silence.
 
 THE JURY ROOM. 17 
 
 In a short time his footstep was heard ascending the 
 small stair-case. 
 
 "Gentlemen" said he "his lordship 'desires me to 
 tell you, that, such being the case, you must only 
 make up your minds to remain in until you can agree 
 upon what verdict you are to give. His lordship does 
 not think proper to detain the court any longer at 
 so late an hour." 
 
 " Then we are to remain here all night, I suppose; " 
 exclaimed the Foreman. 
 
 '^ If you should agree upon your verdict long before 
 morning" continued the sheriff in the same sedate tone, 
 every accent of which was drunk with a thirsty still- 
 ness, by all ears in the Jury Room, not excepting the 
 pair " in the cup-board, his lordship is pleased to say 
 
 that you can send word to his lodgings in 
 
 Street." 
 
 What a prospect for all in the room, but more than 
 all, for our friend in the cup-board, who had not tasted 
 food since morning, and was moreover in a position far 
 from being the easiest in the world. There was how- 
 ever no help for it. Whatever difficulty he might
 
 18 THE JURY ROOM. 
 
 have felt in revealing himself in the first instance, was 
 increased a hundred fold by the suspicious mode of 
 concealment which he had since adopted, and the dire 
 fact of his having wilfully overheard a portion of the 
 private deliberations of the Jury. There was therefore 
 no other resource than hope and patience. The sheriff 
 descended the staircase, the jurymen separated murmur- 
 ing, into different corners of the room. The regula- 
 tions of the court were too well understood to allow 
 them to hope that they could be successful in any 
 attempt to obtain refreshments from the officials in 
 attendance, and they only deliberated each within his 
 own mind, in what manner they should pass the long 
 winter night without either sleep or food. Sighing 
 deeply, though inaudibly, our traveller resigned him- 
 self to his fate, without troubling himself further about 
 devising means of escaping it. The discontented jury- 
 men sought comfort as they could, some occupying 
 the few chairs that stood near the fire, while some, 
 tying silk handkerchiefs about their heads, and turning 
 the collar of their coat over their ears, stretched them- 
 selves at full length on the wooden forms, and courted 
 slumber with indifferent success.
 
 THE JURY ROOM. ^^B^ ^^ 
 
 [t was now approaching midnight, and an universal 
 stillness had fallen upon the city, interupted only at 
 intervals by the louder footfall of some elated passen- 
 ger, or the merry converse of a group returning home- 
 ward from some evening party. On a sudden a rough 
 sonorous voice was heard in the narrow street already 
 described, which passed beneath the window of the 
 Jury room. 
 
 *' Oyst — e — rs ! Oysters ! Fine Burren oysters ! 
 Choice Burren oysters !" 
 
 There was a general movement amongst the gentle- 
 men of the Jury. The Foreman raised his head from 
 the form on which he had laid his aching joints, and 
 advanced toward the window. After a moments con- 
 sultation with some of his fellow prisoners, he threw up 
 the sash, and leaning forward said in a low but distinct 
 tone, which could not fail to reach the ears for which it 
 was intended : 
 
 " I say, oysters I" 
 
 ''Who's that ? Who calls oysters V 
 
 " Oysters I" repeal ed the Foreman. 
 
 '' Oh, I beg your honour's pardon ! — Would you
 
 20 THE JURY ROOM. 
 
 want any oysters, sir? They're as fresh as daisies 
 your honour/' 
 
 " Come hither— — Do you think, if we took your 
 oysters you could get us something to eat with them?" 
 
 " To be sure I could your honour — but what good 
 was that for me when I have no means o' getting 'em 
 up there ?'' 
 
 This difficulty was speedily removed. A number 
 of cravats, and pocket handkerchiefs were tied toge- 
 ther, so as to form a line long enough to reach the 
 street. A whip was now raised, for defraying the 
 expenses of the projected entertainment, and the 
 amount as soon as collected, was made fast in the cor- 
 ner of a silk handkerchief, which formed one extreme 
 uf the line. The whole apparatus was then carefully 
 lowered from the window until it reached the hands of 
 the expectant vender of shell fish. 
 
 Like Iris' bow down darts the painted line 
 Starr'd, striped, and spotted, yellow, red and blue, 
 Old calico, torn silk, and muslin new. 
 
 Having extracted the treasure from the handkerchief 
 the oysterman disappeared, and during the succeeding
 
 THE JURY ROOM. 21 
 
 quarter of an hour, the silence of an anxious suspense 
 possessed all tongues with the exception of one or two. 
 which gave expression to [an ungenerous doubt as to 
 whether, they were likely ever again to see either their 
 money or the value. At the end, however, of that 
 space of time, those unworthy murmurers were put to 
 shame by the return of the well -principled object of 
 those suspicions. Admiring his integrity, the Foreman 
 drew up the basket which he had carefully fastened at 
 the end of the line of handkerchiefs. The feelings of 
 our fasting tourist in the cup-board may be more easi- 
 ly imagined than described, while he overheard from 
 his lurking place, such exclamations as the following 
 uttered in an eager and authentic tone : 
 
 " What beautiful oysters 1" 
 
 " And abundance of bread ! He's a thoughtful fellow. 
 What's that in the bottles V 
 
 " Montmellick ale and cider !" said the Foreman. 
 
 " And here's a knife !" cried one juryman. 
 
 '' And pepper !" exclaimed another. 
 
 " And a napkin, and oyster knife, and two glasses!" 
 exclaimed several voices in succession.
 
 22 THE JURY ROOM. 
 
 " And the remaining change !" cried the Foreman 
 holding up a small brown paper parcel, in which a few 
 shillings and some copper money had been carefully 
 wrapped up. 
 
 This final circumstance completed the admiration of 
 the Jury, and it was proposed by the Foreman and 
 carried by acclamation that the surplus should be 
 handed to the oysterman as a testimony of their esteem 
 for his punctuality and disinterestedness. According!}' 
 the line of handkerchiefs with the basket and money 
 were lowered from the window and the grateful oyster- 
 man departed after telling them that he would return 
 in the course of the night to take away the empty bot- 
 tles and the rest of the table equipage, when they 
 should be no longer needed. In a few minutes his 
 sonorous voice was heard resounding through the de- 
 serted streets to the customary burthen of " Oysters ! — 
 fine Burren oysters ! choice Burren oysters ! " 
 
 Supper now proceeded merrily, all party differences 
 being forgotten in the flow of social glee which was set 
 in motion by the good cheer which was so unexpectedly 
 acquired. Often in the meantime did the unfortunate
 
 THE JURY ROOM. 23 
 
 traveller call to mind the story of the highwayman and 
 the first of the three beggars, and more than once was 
 tempted to wish that the whole Jury had Wen sharers 
 in their infirmity, in order that he might have an oppor- 
 tunity of partaking in the feast without detection. He 
 had, however, a touch of the philosopher about him, 
 which prevented his yielding to any useless repinings, 
 and he contented himself with opening one of the doors 
 of his retreat just so far as to enable him to see what 
 was going forward, and to hear with more distinctness 
 all that was said amongst the company outside. 
 
 Having done suflHcient justice to the oysterman's 
 feast, a glow of genial good humour succeeded in the 
 breasts of all, to the anxiety and discontent which be- 
 fore had kept them silent and apart. More fuel was 
 heaped upon the fire, the forms and chairs were drawn 
 closer round it, and conversation became general and 
 animated. It was at length interrupted by the Fore- 
 nicin, who, after requesting the attention of his fellow- 
 jurors for some moments, addressed them as follows : — 
 " Gentlemen, although we have already fared so 
 much better than we had expected, it yet remains for
 
 24 THE JURY ROOM. 
 
 US to consider in what way the long interval is to be 
 spent which we must pass between this and daybreak. 
 The forms and the few chairs which we possess offer 
 little inducement in the way of sleep, and I do not see 
 the advantage of reviving any discussion on the case 
 which has been submitted to our judgment, being 
 always unfriendly to the introduction of party questions 
 in mixed company, where it can possibly be avoided. 
 I therefore propose that we leave the question 
 of the defendant's guilt or innocence between himself, 
 his conscience, and his maker, and turn our attention to 
 the passing our remaining term of confinement in 
 such a manner as may be most profitable, under the 
 circumstances to ourselves and to each other." 
 
 This address was received with general applause, 
 which having subsided after a little time, the Foreman 
 was permitted to resume : — 
 
 "I have heard it remarked, gentlemen, by learned men, 
 that the word Erin, (which as you are all aware is the 
 poetical name for Ireland) forms likewise the accusative 
 case of a Greek noun, signifying strife or discord. 
 Whatever analogy the present state of our country
 
 THE JURY ROOM. 25 
 
 may enable a satirical mind to imagine between the 
 word and its Greek meaning, I am sure there is no one 
 in this room but will agree with me in hoping that the 
 time may yet arrive when no handle shall be found for 
 such invidious sallies, when the rocks and shoals of 
 party feeling which at present 'wreck the peace and 
 happiness of society shall be covered by the advancing 
 tide of good-will and brotherly affection, and when 
 Irishmen, instead of maintaing a selfish struggle for 
 partial or individual interests, shall labour heart and 
 hand for the peace and welfare of the whole." 
 
 Renewed applause interrupted the current of the 
 Foreman^s discourse, and it was only after a few 
 minutes that he was permitted to proceed. 
 
 " At all events, gentlemen, there is nothing to 
 hinder us from trying the experiment, and setting our 
 countrymen, an example for one night at least, of the 
 triumph of social feeling over prejudice and opinion. 
 My proposal is, therefore, that we draw closer around 
 the fire, and each in succession either pay a fine of one 
 shilling sterling or relate some amusing and character- 
 istic tale, such as he may have gathered in the course 
 , VOL. I. c
 
 26 THE JURY ROOM. 
 
 oi reading or experience, and conclude by singing a 
 song for the entertainment of the company ; and, in 
 order that this may proceed with all freedom, 1 move 
 that no one shall take ofibnce at what may be said, but 
 that every one be at liberty to tell his story after his 
 own fashion, with a carte blanche ^ox the full utterance 
 of every thing that may come into his mind, excepting 
 of course questions of mere controversy, for which this 
 is not the time nor place, and for the introduction of 
 which a fine of ono shilling is to be imposed. I say 
 this, not that I hold a man's opinions to be a matter of 
 indifference, but merely that no feeling of restraint or 
 awkwardness should embarass the chain of the nar- 
 rative, and consequently diminish the amusement of 
 the listeners." 
 
 A fresh burst of applause announced the unanimous 
 assent of all present to this proposal, and preparations 
 were immediately made for carrying it into effect. A 
 fresh supply of turf was heaped upon the fire, the 
 chairs were arranged in semicircular fashion around 
 the hearth, and the Foreman was placed in the only 
 arm-chair in the room, with the additional dignity of 
 
 I
 
 THE JURY ROOM. 27 
 
 president, and full authority to decide all points of . 
 order which might arise. It being decided that the 
 entertainment should commence with the president, 
 a general silence fell upon the circle, while he spoke as 
 follows : — h 
 
 " Having lately, gentlemen, in the library of a 
 learned friend of mine, fallen upon an unpublished 
 manuscript containing a very curious and interesting 
 story, which I presume will be entirely new to you, I 
 shall endeavour to relate it as accurately as my 
 memory will allow. 
 
 C 2
 
 1 
 
 « 
 
 THE FOREMAN'S TALE. 
 
 SIGISMUND. 
 
 Princess. Rosaline; 
 
 What did the Russian whisper in your ear ! 
 Rosaline. — Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear 
 As precious eye-sight, and did value me 
 Above this world ; adding thereto, moreover, 
 That he would wed me, or else die my lover. 
 
 Love's labour lost, Act v. Scene VIII.
 
 SIGISMUND 
 
 It was a beautiful summer evening, that fell on the 
 mountams to the north-east oi Poland, but those vast 
 tracts of country lying at their base, were then al- 
 most uninhabited, and the traveller, who on this even- 
 ing, found himself alone on the hill side, felt sensa- 
 tions very different from those which might result from 
 the beauty of the scene. 
 
 He was young and fair and habited in the riding 
 costume of Muscovy. A sword hung at his waist 
 which from the splendour of its carriage seemed ra- 
 ther intended for dress than warfare, and although it 
 had not been so, the slender figure and delicate ap-
 
 32 SIGISMUND. 
 
 pearance of the youth, who bore it, would have ac- 
 quitted it of any suspicion, as to the latter design. 
 His bright yellow hair was twined up under his bon- 
 net, and as he placed one hand over his brow, in order 
 to shade his eyes from the sun, while he looked an- 
 xiously down into the plain, the dark attone of its 
 shadow formed a striking contrast to the sickly pale- 
 ness of his cheek, 
 
 " He is not there" said the stranger, and the night 
 will have fallen before we have left these crags behind 
 us. " Mother why have you advised me to this.'' 
 
 A loud and shrill *' Ujiiju T' from beneath the cliff 
 where he stood, made him start and rush toward its 
 edge. 
 
 " Clarin is it you? is there any hope? where are 
 our horses ? what shall we do ?" said the youth. 
 
 The person whom he addressed, now stood forward 
 upon the point of a rock which jutted out from the 
 base of the cliff, so as nearly to form an angle with 
 that and its summit, and yet was itself, no bigger than 
 a spears point in the eye of the distant valley dwel- 
 ler. He leaned upon his gold headed staff and waved
 
 SIGISMUND. 33 
 
 his arm to the querist to descend, at the same time 
 pointing out on his left a safer path than that which 
 the latter was about to choose. He continued while 
 his companion was descending, looking along the hill 
 side, and down the vale with a ludicrous expression 
 of dismay painted on his broad countenance, and un- 
 easily shifting his bonnet from side to side, twirling 
 his mustachioes between his finger and thumb, and 
 muttering to himself at intervals. 
 
 " Oh ! merry — merry Castile ! that ever the evil one 
 should have put it into the head of poor Clarin that he 
 might find a pleasanter spot on the earth than that of 
 his birth. I was not content with good, ^ithout look- 
 ing for better, and I have lost both. I would I had 
 never heard of Muscovy when I was in Castile, or 
 that I had never heard of Poland when I was in 
 Muscovy." 
 
 His companion was now by his side, breathless and 
 exhausted. He repeated his first interrogatory. 
 
 " It is Clarin truly enough and sorry he is to say 
 it," answered the Castilian, '* and as to whether there 
 is any hope I know nothing about it since we came 
 
 c 5
 
 34 SIGISMUND. 
 
 hither. Our horses have very wisely taken care of 
 themselves, seeing that we could not do it for them, 
 and as to what we shall do, I leave that to your judge- 
 ment, since the enterprise is of your planning. What 
 we must do I am afraid I foresee very well." 
 
 They began to descend, the youth leaning on the 
 arm of Clarin, who while he assisted him with the 
 most anxious solicitude, bearing him in his arms when- 
 ever a difficulty arose in the path and dashing away 
 with his foot the brambles which lay across it — took all 
 the trouble in the world to assure him that his con- 
 duct had driven all esteem and regard from his heart, 
 averring that it was as hard as that of his enemy, As- 
 tolpho himself. Before they had reached the base of 
 the mountain, the sun had long since been hidden from 
 their eyes, and they were left almost in utter darkness 
 — the youth then resting his head on the shoulder of 
 Clarin declared that he could proceed no further, and 
 flinging his mantle on the earth, was about to throw 
 himself upon it, when suddenly directing the attention 
 of his companion to the depths beneath them, he 
 exclaimed,
 
 SIGISMUND. 35 
 
 *' Look ! look ! we have passed the frontier. That 
 light is a Polish one." 
 
 "What light? where?" said Clarin tifrning quickly 
 round, for he had been bent to the earth in the act of 
 arranging the mantle so as to preserve his exhausted 
 companion from the dankness of the heath bloom. 
 The fair hand of the latter was still extended, but the 
 light had vanished. The struggling light of the moon, 
 however, just revealed to them in the same direction 
 the habitation from w)\ich it was most probable it had 
 proceeded, but such was the situation of the place that 
 it seemed almost hopeless to attempt reaching^ it, at 
 least at that hour. It appeared from the distance at 
 which they stood to be a species of tower, but it was 
 so completely buried in the side of the mountain which 
 overhung it, and whose peak formed a projecting roof 
 between it and the heavens, that any traveller would 
 have passed without noticing it, whose mind was not 
 intent on discovering some sign of human habitation. 
 The small sandy opening before it, seemed to be sur- 
 rounded on every side with rocks, which rose one 
 above the other to an immense height, and rested at
 
 36 SIGISMUND. 
 
 length against the brown and heathy side of the moun- 
 tain. This dismal abode had been made in the early 
 times of Poland, by one of the independent barons of 
 the country, who marked its completion with blood- 
 shed, for, with his own hand, he butchered all those 
 who had been employed in its construction, after invit- 
 ing them to a feast, within its gates, and rendering 
 them defenceless, by mingling poppy juice with their 
 wine. Their bones still whitened the platform before 
 the entrance. During his life he had made use of the 
 place for the incarceration of those enemies whom he 
 got into his power, and those among his own vassals, 
 who were obnoxious to him. The unhappy wretch, 
 who had once entered this horrid prison house, never 
 saw the sun again, for it was only visible when in the 
 mid heaven, from the centre of the platform, and on 
 that he was never suffered to place his foot. When 
 the tyrant had fixed on a victim, he selected the most 
 trusty of his guards, and blindfolding them one after 
 the other, placed the prisoner in chains between them, 
 and conducted them himself at midnight to the en- 
 trance of the dungeon, or rather burying ground
 
 SIGISMUNI>. 37 
 
 which was no less than a mile from its interior, After 
 his death, the secret for many years remained un- 
 known, until in the reign of Eustorgius MI, the young 
 prince Basilius, who was then devoting himself deeply 
 to the study of the occult sciences, issued a proclama- 
 tion, offering a large reward for all the antique manu- 
 scripts of whatever kind they might be, which should 
 be presented to him. The nobility of the kingdom 
 
 were anxious by such a trifling sacrifice to procure the 
 favour of the heir of Poland, and amongst many others 
 
 who supplied him with the documents of their families 
 for centuries, were the descendants of ihe cruel baron. 
 Basilius among the writings of this house, discovered 
 one giving a description of the scite, and manner of 
 the building — the entrance to it — the date of its con- 
 struction — and a long roll containing the names of those 
 whom the builder had there compelled to wear out 
 their existence. The young prince, having privately 
 ascertained the truth of the scroll, was wise enough 
 to conceal the discovery from all, (even his father) 
 until he came to the throne, and he entrusted it only 
 to his confidential friend, and agent, the aged Clo- 
 taldus.
 
 38 . SIGISMUND. 
 
 As Clarin and his companion, sitting on the brow of 
 the cliff above looked anxiously into the chasm 
 beneath them they observed the light again glimmer 
 from the recess under the rock. The younger of the 
 travellers was standing in an instant. " Clarin there 
 it is again — Let us descend." 
 
 '^ How shall we descend over the rock," said Clarin, 
 " I see no other way, and for that manner of seeking 
 succour, I had as lief even Avait here 'till it comes." 
 
 *' I see/* said the other, "a little rill which drops 
 from rock to rock, and flows across the centre of that 
 small level space before the light; and look there is a 
 stream at our feet." 
 
 " And one may bring us to the other,*' said Clarin 
 rising, "bui we can neither burrow like conies, nor 
 bound like the stream — nevertheless have a good 
 heart — we will try it." 
 
 They followed the course of the stream as long as 
 it continued to How on passable soil, and had nearly 
 proceeded a furlong gradually descending, when by a 
 sudden turn it brought them before two large rocks, 
 which meeting above, formed a kind of rude archway
 
 SIGISMUND. 39 
 
 under which the water continued to gurgle onwards. 
 
 "We shall be buried alive," said Clarin in answer 
 to the proposal of the Muscovite youth that they 
 should enter. ''We shall never see the day break 
 again." 
 
 They had scarcely proceeded forty paces, still fol- 
 owing the hollow niurmer of the rivulet, when they 
 could perceive that they trod on artificial steps. In a 
 little time they saw the water bounding into the moon- 
 light, and pleasantly enjoying its enfranchisement by 
 describing frolic mazes on the sandy plain before the 
 cleft whence it had emanated. 
 
 Clarin descended on the platform, and then assisted 
 his companion to follow. On looking up they per- 
 ceived themselves in front of the secret dungeon. 
 They turned their eyes to the clear heaven and per- 
 ceived at an immense distance above them, almost 
 directly over their heads, the rock from which they had 
 first seen the light. They had found the little plain 
 much more extensive than they had concluded it to be 
 from that distance. The stream which had conducted 
 them, winded across through its centre where it formed
 
 40 SIGISMUND. 
 
 a capacious basin, and flowing onward disappeared 
 under the rocks on the opposite side. Before them 
 was a large iron grating thrown open — two smaller 
 ones, closed, on each side, appeared to lead in an 
 oblique direction from the great entrance. A solitary 
 pine tree in a corner of the court, if such it might be 
 termed, where the wanderers stood, formed the only 
 appearance of vegetation which the place presented. 
 
 " I should hardly have thought,'^ said the younger 
 as he looked upward, " that we had descended so far. 
 Let us approach the gate." 
 
 " The gate ? " repeated Clarin, plucking him back by 
 the mantle. 
 
 "What should be the fear?" said the Muscovite, 
 " other than that the interior be desolate." 
 
 " Heaven forbid it should prove worse,'^ said Clarin ; 
 " Nevertheless there be those things should be dreaded 
 more by travellers than an empty dwelling, when the 
 midnight is around them. But auch a one ! If night 
 were to mingle with night and be made double, doubt- 
 less they could not form a blacker." 
 
 " Let us however,'* said he of Muscovy, " range
 
 SIGISMUND. 41 
 
 ourselves by the gate, and listen for intelligence." — 
 They did so. 
 
 In a few moments they heard a heavy moan withm, 
 and at the same time a clanking of iron. Clarin trem- 
 bled. The other who seemed to be all mind, walked 
 toward the gate as noiselessly as the grateing sand 
 would permit and looked in. A human figure ap- 
 proached from the interior. It was clothed in a rude 
 habit formed of the skins of the forest creatures, which 
 reaching only to the wearer's elbows and his knees, 
 left the extremities of his limbs unprotected. His 
 hair parted in the middle of the forehead, and hung in 
 thick and neglected masses upon his shoulders. His 
 eyes were dark, bright,' and large, and on his brow 
 was stamped, the savage grandeur of uncultivated 
 nature, but his whole appearance, every look, and 
 and every motion, evinced a melancholy sternness of 
 disposition. As he came forward he held aloft in one 
 hand a lamp, the flame of which, fully revealed his 
 figure to the wanderers, and with the other he lifted 
 the chain which was made fast to an iron ring, on his 
 right leg, in order to relieve himself as he walked.
 
 42 SIGISMUND. 
 
 He came from the open gate and laid his lamp on the 
 ground. Then pausing for some time while he 
 sprinkled his brow with the water which flowed over 
 the sands he suddenly extended his arms and looking 
 up exclaimed, 
 
 " Ye heavens ! since it is my fate to be thus treat- 
 ed, I will ask ye what has been my crime ? My 
 existence is your onlj'^ answer, my existence is my 
 only crime. Then tell me why are not all the many 
 creatures, that I see around me, punished for an of- 
 fence of which they are no less guilty than I. The 
 bird that visits me in my solitude, no sooner feels the 
 budding down upon its wings, than springing forward, 
 it is borne like a winged flower upon the wind, now 
 dividing the blue heavens in its rapid flight, and now 
 returning to nestle in its former home, while I with 
 a greater capability of appreciating the joys of free- 
 dom, am doomed to chains aad slavery. Nature has 
 no sooner tinged with her magic pencil, the soft and 
 spotted fur of the beast that prowls among the crags 
 and heathof yonder mountain than starting boldly and 
 fiercely from his lair, he flies to the free desart to shun
 
 SIGISMUND. 43 
 
 the tyranny of man, more fierce than he. I have more 
 cause to hate that tyranny, and less liberty to avoid it. 
 The fish beneath me, the thing that breaths not, the 
 abortion of weeds and foam, no sooner sees his scaly 
 sides reflected in the wave, then darting from the light 
 he measures the vast profundity of its liquid centre, 
 while I with more will to flv to the shelter of dark- 
 ness, have less power to indulge it. I see the stream- 
 let leave its bed and gliding like a serpent among the 
 flowers, break its silvery side against the pebbly shore, 
 while, [with a sweet murmur the meadow opens its 
 painted bosom to receive it, and 1 with more need of 
 such a friend have none to give me aid or] succour. 
 When I think of these things, my bosom swells and 
 burns, as though a furnace were labouring at its cen- 
 tre and I could in the anger of my soul tear it asun- 
 der to give the passion room. What law, what 
 justice, what reason is there in denying to man, the 
 sweet privilege the Almighty has given to the crea- 
 tures of the air, the forest, and even to the inanimate 
 waste 01 water ?'* 
 
 " Have you heard him Clarin ?'' said the Muscovite,
 
 44 SIGISMUND. 
 
 " his appearance strikes me with terror, and yet his 
 speech has filled me with compassion/' 
 
 The strange inhabitant of the dungeon here sud- 
 denly turned and exclaimed, *' Who heard my speech ? 
 Is that Clotaldus ? " 
 
 " Alas ! no," exclaimed, the terrified youth, '' it is 
 only a wretched being, whose ill-fortune has conducted 
 him to your cold vaults, and who has unintentionally 
 overheard your complaints." 
 
 " Then " said he rushing fiercely on and seizing him 
 *'your fate is certain, for I will not suffer you to go 
 hence with the story of my weakness." The youth 
 jBung himself at his feet. " Mercy '' he exclaimed, ^* if 
 you are a man you will not despise the prayer of a 
 stranger on your own threshold.' 
 
 Sigismund, (for such was the name of the prisoner) 
 paused and relaxed the sternness of his grasp. At 
 the same moment the moonlight fell full upon the 
 upturned countenance of the kneeling stranger. It 
 was the first sight of beauty he had ever known and 
 he wondered at the influence which he felt rushing to 
 his soul.
 
 SIGISMUND. 46 
 
 " Thy voice " said he " has moved me — thy person as- 
 tonishes me — thy glance troubles my senses ; who 
 art thou ? For I know so little of the world that this 
 tower has been my cradle, and my tomb. Ever since 
 my birth if this can be called life, I have only beheld 
 this rude desart, where I drag on my wretched ex- 
 istence, a lump of inactive earth, a breathing corpse. 
 I have never seen or spoken to more than one man 
 who, alone, knows my misfortunes, and who, as if to 
 make my slavery more miserable, tells me daily and 
 hourly of a free and glorious world without — of the 
 wonders of the heavens, of the changes of kingdoms 
 and empires, and myriads of beings like myself, in all 
 but my chains and dungeon, and yet, amidst all my 
 griefs, and amidst all the wonders that have at times 
 delighted and amazed me, thou art the only thing 
 whose glance has ever calmed the fury of my rage. 
 I look on thee and wonder, and look again and won- 
 der, still more — -my eyes feel as though they would 
 never be satiated with gazing on thee, yet the sensa- 
 tion which they convey to my soul resembles what I
 
 46 SIGISMUND. 
 
 have been told of the thrill of death. I will not slay 
 thee. Beautiful creature arise and take thy way." 
 
 Clarin thought all that would be now necessary to 
 secure their safety, would be promptly to take advan- 
 tage of the moment, and civilly assure him of their 
 pacific intentions. He was a courtier too, and though 
 not of the highest order, yet he knew how the highest 
 act, when a favour is to be sought, or a great man to 
 be conciliated, and however pitiful a figure Sigismund 
 might make at the court of Muscovy, he was decidedly 
 the greatest man here ; at least as far as power was 
 concerned. He therefore advanced with a smile, and 
 having made some profound bows rested on his gold 
 headed staff. Sigismund scarcely looked at him. He 
 ventured a step nearer, and again repeated his obei- 
 sance. Sigismund lifted his head and gazed full upon 
 him, not in a manner calculated to make Clarin pleased 
 with his address.j 
 
 " Who art thou ?"' said Sigismund, '' and what [art 
 thou ? What do you want ? Why do you call my 
 eyes away from this pleasant sight to such a sickly 
 prospect as thyself? Away ! What do you mean by
 
 SlGISMUiND. 47 
 
 those postures and grimaces ? The night is hot, 
 cool thyself, and leave me to better employment." 
 
 Clarin had not time to expostulate, or explain, when 
 Sigismund lifted him from the sand, and cast him into 
 the fountain. He scrambled to the other side as quick- 
 ly as he could, and made his way under the opposite 
 clift, grumbling at the knaves inhospitality. and only 
 wishing that his companion, as being the cause, might 
 share in its effect. 
 
 " Tell me again" said Sigismund, addressing the youth, 
 " What and who thou art ? When Clotaldus gives me 
 books and teaches me to find their sense, and tells me 
 of a wide world, and multitudes of men, and cities, 
 and kingdoms, and oceans, I listen, and am pleased 
 with the relation, but cannot understand. I know no- 
 thing about it. I take up those bones which are 
 strewed around us, and ask him what are they ? He 
 says they were once men like me. I cannot believe it. 
 How are they thus ? He says that they have died. 
 He tells me I shall one day lie down and grow cold, 
 and become such as these. I laugh at that ; and yet 
 when I take up those bones I cannot laugh. What is
 
 48 SIGISMUND. 
 
 the reason ? Ever}" thing surprises me. When I am 
 enraged nothing can calm me until my anger wastes 
 itself out, yet you took it in its height and arrested it. 
 I look on you, and wonder; and at every glance I 
 wonder j'et more. Tell me what power have you ? If 
 I wished to hurt you, I could not do it now ! Who 
 are you?" 
 
 " I thought myself" said the stranger, as Sigismund 
 suffered him to replace his bonnet **the most afflicted 
 wretch that ever knew mourning, until heaven direct- 
 ed my steps to your prison house for a lesson of 
 thanks-giving and contentment. If it be indeed true 
 that we are naturally so selfish, that not even the dew 
 of compassion falls so soothingly on a wounded heart 
 as the tears of a fellow sufferer, hear my grief, and be 
 pleased." 
 
 At this moment he was interrupted by a voice from 
 within. " Guards of the tower !" it exclaimed " Awake I 
 ho ! Your trust has either been neglected or be- 
 trayed. The precincts of your keeping have been 
 entered. Come forth ho ! and speedily !" The youth 
 started and turned yet paler than before. " It is Clo-
 
 SIOISMUND 49 
 
 taldus" said Sigismund. ''But fear not you? I will 
 guard you !" 
 
 The aged Clotaldus now appeared fn his coat of 
 mail, and incrested helmet, followed by a guard, all cl 
 whom wore masks, while in the presence of the pri- 
 soner. The youth clung to the latter as Clotaldui* 
 approached. " You" said the •' leader who have had 
 the hardihood to despise our king's prohibition, and 
 entered this prison on the pain of death, surrender 
 your arms and quietly submit, or make the forfeitun:' 
 at once/* 
 
 Sigismund stepped between his extended wenpo!) 
 and the fearful stranger. 
 
 " They shall do neither" said he. 
 
 'Ho! ho!" said Clotaldus " art thou his defender 
 then ? And how shall I be prevented?'" 
 
 *'Get thee hence — shrunken snake ! begone. Be- 
 fore thou shalt harm these, I will gnaw my chains and 
 make these rocks my weapons. Get thee hence i 
 say."' 
 
 Clotaldus signed to an attendant, who walked tc 
 ward the larger gate and touched a spring on the 
 right. In an instant Sigismund was dragged by hi* 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 SIGISMUND. 
 
 chain within the tower, and the double gate shut to 
 with a loud crush, leaving him within, foaming with 
 rage. Clotaldus mocked at him. " I think" said he, it, 
 were as well for your dependents that you did not 
 boast so loudly, why do you not come forth and 
 aid them. But he spake of them. I see but one 
 " Guards search the prison." 
 
 In a few moments Clarin was dragged from his 
 hiding place, and brought before Clotaldus. Both tra- 
 vellers fell on their knees, and in one voice begged for 
 mercy. He bade them surrender their arms, Clarin's 
 staff was on the ground in an instant. The youth 
 was silent, and did not even offer to ungird the light 
 sword which hung at his side. 
 
 "Youth" said Clotaldus, " you , seem unwilling to 
 submit, guards seize him." 
 
 *' Hold !" said he. '* To your chief, alone will I 
 subniit my sword,;" then placing it in his hands he 
 continued; "wretch that I am that I should be com- 
 pelled to yield that sword before I have proved its 
 virtue. Take it ; If I must die preserve it carefully 
 for I sought your kingdom, trusting in that alone, tc 
 quit my honour of a deep offence."
 
 SIGISMUND. 51 
 
 Clotaldus took the sword, half drew it from the 
 sheath, and placing its point against the earth con- 
 tinued for some time gazing on the stranger's face. 
 
 " If this be true," said he, " I shall believe all 
 things possible — who gave you this sword ? " 
 
 " A woman," replied the youth. 
 
 *' What is her name ? " 
 
 " That is a secret I cannot now reveal." 
 
 " How know you then," said Clotaldus, " that so 
 much depends on this sword ? '' 
 
 " She who gave it to me bade me depart to Poland 
 and endeavour by some means that it should meet the 
 eye of one of the nobles of the court, who would give 
 me his protection." 
 
 *^ I can doubt no longer,'* said Clotaldus, in astonish- 
 ment, " it is indeed the sword which I left with 
 Violante, my wronged and faithful wife ; and this 
 must be my son, who has sentenced himself to death 
 by appearing within the precincts of this secret dun- 
 geon. 1 will throw myself on the mercy of the king, 
 and if that should fail me my child shall die without 
 learning that I am his father. Strangers," he added, 
 
 D 2 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF tUAW^
 
 52 SIGISMUND. 
 
 addressing himself to them, " follow me, and fear 
 nothing; ye are not the only unfortunates in the 
 world ; I cannot promise you life, but all that I can 
 do you may depend upon.'' 
 
 Saying this he led them from the prison to the 
 plain on which Basilius intended, on the morning 
 which had now risen, to hold a convention of the high- 
 est states of the kingdom, for the purpose of deciding 
 a controversy which had arisen between princess 
 Estrella, a niece of Basilius, and Astolpho, prince of 
 Muscovy. He had summoned them both to meet him 
 here, on the frontiers of his kingdom, apprising them 
 that he would there settle all the claims that they 
 could make — recommending them in the meanwhile to 
 live in good will as became two scions of the same 
 stock so nearly united, Estrella submitted, because 
 she was peaceabl\" disposed; Astolpho submitted, 
 because he was ambitious not only of government but 
 of the favour of the lady. They met and pitched their 
 several camps at the foot of the gray mountain that 
 contained the dungeon of Sigismund. 
 ' The camps, the banners, and the moving mjTiads of
 
 SIGISMNUD. 53 
 
 men glittering in their harness were the first objects 
 that caught the eyes of our travellers as they sud- 
 denly emerged from the crags. The younger traveller 
 started when he beheld the banners of Muscovy, and 
 Clarin, rubbed his hands and ahnost shouted for joy ; 
 he was, however, instantly checked in his raptures by 
 a look from Clotaldus, who signified to the guards that 
 they should descend by a circuitous route to that part 
 of the plain which was yet unoccupied, and which a 
 single banner of Poland shewed was intended for the 
 site of the monarch's court. 
 
 As Clotaldus and his party again turned from a ra- 
 vine, and placed their feet upon the pleasant sward of 
 the slope leading to the plain, they beheld the rivals 
 with their attendants not many hundred paces removed 
 from them, at the very foot of the ascent. The whole 
 scene, as it then presented itself, was grand and in- 
 spiring ; it was the sweetest time of the year — the 
 close of the spring. The swell of the music, in its 
 intervening pauses, contrasted with the gentle voice of 
 the mountain rills, and the song of the wild birds that 
 woke with the day — the waving of the banners in their
 
 54 SIGISMUND. \ 
 
 pride of blazonry and display — the marshalling of the 
 troops in their shining* armour — the curvetting of the 
 spirited steeds that pranced and bounded beneath their 
 riders as if they shared in their enthusiasm and in the 
 jealousy of valour, all was glorious — all was elevating. 
 Even the withered and hoary Clotaldus, accustomed as 
 he was to the splendour of military show, paused on 
 the hill side, and leaned on Clarin's staff to enjoy it. 
 
 " Who is that " said Clarin to a soldier, ** with the 
 hat and white plume — his casque hanging at his 
 saddle bow — I think I should know him — but who 
 is he?" 
 
 " Astolpho of Muscovy," replied the guard. 
 
 The young traveller's eye had been fixed on the 
 same object, but he dared not to ask the question ; 
 when he heard Clarin make it he turned yet paler than 
 usual; and when he was answered his cheek and 
 brow were covered with a rushing tide of crimson. 
 
 Before Clotaldus had given orders to the guards to 
 renew their march, both had resumed their sickly 
 whiteness. They passed on and mingled with the 
 general camp.
 
 SIGISMUND. 55 
 
 " Princess," said Astolpho, after he had alighted, 
 •* I have sought this interview for many reasons ; 
 and I would not have sought it were I not aware that 
 Estrella herself was not of a mind that could delight in 
 the effect of causeless bickering among relatives. Will 
 Estrella guess the means I have to myself proposed, or 
 will she insist on a detail ? " he continued, laying his 
 sword at her feet, and pausing for a reply. 
 
 There was a mixture of pride and meanness in his 
 manner; ■ it was an attempt at condescension, influ- 
 enced by self interest, and checked at halfway by the 
 lord of the ascendant among all his affections. He 
 would have succeeded belter with Estrella had he 
 either bowed him down entirely, or stood erect in his 
 haughtiness ; even as it was, she did not despise 
 him. 
 
 " If this be not mockery prince," said she, *' what 
 is such. You lay a sword at my feet, and you have 
 thousands behind ready, at the raising of your finger, 
 to sheath themselves in blood for steel. ^' 
 
 *^ It only depends on you, lovely cousin, to say 
 whether such shall be the case. One word, one look
 
 56 SIGISMUND. 
 
 from 3'ou, will make this plain a scene of death or 
 of joy - 
 
 "Do you mean to woo, Cousin?" said Estrella. 
 
 " Do I look on you and speak with you ? " re- 
 joined Aslolpho. 
 
 " Then," said Estrella, " you have struck on an 
 original mode. It is in order to commend your con- 
 stancy, that while you address me, you wear another 
 on your heart.'' 
 
 Astolpho quickly put up his hand, and found indeed 
 a portrait which had escaped from his vest and 
 hung loosely forward. He thrust it into his bosom 
 again, 'muttering something between his teeth, and 
 biting his lip with vexation. 
 
 '' Alas ! cousin," said he, " what a simple suppo- 
 sition you have made. This portrait ! — why you shall 
 speedily be satisfied what this portrait is. Lisardo, 
 look out and see if that dust is not caused by the 
 advance of Basilius — yes, it is his troop — they now 
 enter on the green — 'tis his train indeed." 
 
 " But the portrait," said Estrella, "is not his." 
 
 '* The portrait — ^Oh ! most true. Lady, you shall
 
 SIGISMUND. 57 
 
 be fully satisfied on that when Basilius has left us at 
 leisure to speak of it. But the music strikes — and 
 see where he comes yonder, accompanied by the sages 
 of his council ; it were but decorous in us to meet 
 him beyond the circuit of the camp." 
 
 Basilius received them kindly. A lofty seat was 
 prepared for the old monarch in that part of the plain 
 where the standard of Poland held solitary dominion ; 
 the chiefs and nobles gathered around, and silence 
 having been proclaimed, and procured, he thus adressed 
 them : — 
 
 '* You all know, my kindred, friends and subjects — 
 the occasion for which I have summoned you to meet 
 me here. — You know that almost immediately on my 
 accession to the throne of Poland, I took unto my love 
 and my name, a woman, whom heaven was not content 
 to spare us, for even the space of one short year. — 
 You know she died in the first travail, and you believe 
 that her issue then perished with her. — Of that more 
 anon. — For some months previous to her death, I had 
 anxiously betaken myself to those sciences in which I 
 have attained a knowledge that has procured me the 
 
 d5
 
 58 SIGISMUND. 
 
 name of wise among the nations, and has won me the 
 life of the pencil of Timanthers, and the marble of 
 Lissippus. — But all this is a hidden woe, a grief that 
 smiles. — It is true that I can look upon the midnight 
 heaven, when, like a mighty tablet, it is opened with its 
 characters of fire — and read them, and catch from their 
 sight, those glimpses of things to come — those reveal- 
 ments of the picture world, which are the end, and aim 
 of the mystic science I have pursued. But it is no 
 less true, that I have thus been the assassin of my 
 own peace, I may indeed say, that have found sorrow 
 in my knowledge. I had prepared every thing to make 
 the most exact calculation that was possible on the 
 nativity of my offspring, and anxiously awaited the 
 moment of my Queens illness. — For many weeks pre- 
 vious to that event — the heavens and the elements had 
 exhausted their prodigies. — The night before his mo- 
 ther had a dream — and she saw, and felt a monster too 
 fearful for description, rending her womb, and burst- 
 ing to the light by the unaided effort of his own 
 strength. She shrieked in her slumber — and woke me, 
 — I mocked her fancy from her, and bade her be of
 
 «. 
 
 SIGISMUND. ^ ^ 
 
 ♦ 
 
 comfort. — But the next morning her vision was indeed 
 accomplished fearfully.— Never shall I forget that 
 morn. — You all remember it. — The day broke in 
 thunder and lightning, and shrunk back into its clouds 
 again, as if terrified. — The earth trembled — the sea 
 was troubled — the winds drove the vapours and night 
 mists over the early brightness of the east, and black- 
 ened it again to midnight. — The buildings shook to 
 their foundations — large hail stones fell from the clouds 
 — and the rivers affrighted, swelled in their channels 
 and rushed upon the tillage, near their banks. — 
 Amidst this general confusion, and dismay — a cry 
 from the chamber of my wife, told me the hour was 
 come. I burst into the room — and beheld a terrible 
 fulfilment of her fears. — Before me, in the midst of the 
 room, stood her offspring, darting his keen, and won- 
 dering 'glances all around. His hands were covered 
 with gore, and his hair shaggy and black, hung upon 
 his shoulders. I started in horror and disgust, from 
 the monstrous creation, and turned my eyes on the 
 unhappy mother. — She was already dead. — A matricide 
 in his birth, he had, at his entrance upon the world
 
 60 SIGISMUND. 
 
 sacrificed the life of the being who fostered him — He 
 walked, and looked around him, as if he had been a 
 creature of years, not minutes. — Terrified, and grier- 
 ed at the event, I locked the room, and set my seal 
 upon the door, while I proceeded to consult my mystic 
 aids in another wing of the palace. — After I had suflli- 
 ciently empowered myself to begin my calculations, I 
 found that Sigismund was born under that fatal horos- 
 cope where the sun and the moon meet in the mid- 
 heaven, and contend in hues of blood. — That most 
 deadly of all the heavenly symbols, Cauda Draconis 
 of the fiery dragon, under whose influence, scarce one 
 in a million is born, was visible in the right house of 
 his horoscope. — From all my o bservations, I deduced 
 — that Sigismund, if suffered to live in freedom, would 
 curse Poland with his sway — would occasion civil 
 broils, a!id amongst other crimes, would humble my 
 own gray hairs to the dust — and usurp my crown. 
 Trembling for my people, yet more than for myself. — 
 I took my resolution. — I gave it out to the general 
 state, that my Queen and her infant had both perished, 
 and trusting my secret only to the aged Clotaldus,
 
 SIGISMUND. 61 
 
 I had the infant conveyed secretly to a prison, which 
 has been long built within the bosom of those stoop- 
 ing cliffs, and which I have now no longer, any rea- 
 son for concealing. — This was the cause of those 
 edicts which were proclaimed — prohibiting any from 
 entering those mountains on pain of death. There he 
 has lived — and lives. Clotaldus has been his only 
 immediate attendant, from the time of his birth — he 
 has never seen or spoken with any other — and from 
 him, he has learned all in science, and in religion that 
 befals a prince to know. — There was one consideration 
 that urged me to preserve the place, and manner of his 
 concealment, still unknown — but two far more weighty 
 have spirited me to the avowal. — The first is this — 
 I love thee, Poland, and I would not, knowingly, give 
 over thy happiness, into the keeping of a destroyer. — 
 But secondly, if a man play the tyrant himself, in 
 order to prevent another from doing so, where is his 
 justice, or the world's profit? And lastly, what assu- 
 rance have I, that my divination is correct. — -The 
 planet inclines, not compells — and what proof have I, 
 that Sigismund will be a tyrant ? The position of the
 
 62 SIGISMUND. 
 
 planets are thus and thus in the houses of his horo- 
 scope. — Is that demonstration f No. But I have found 
 a remedy for all, that will perhaps surprise you.— 
 He knows not yet, who he is — nor why confined, — 
 Tomorrow I will have him placed in his slumber under 
 my canopy, and after, seated on my throne — that he 
 may rule the kingdom. — If he prove other than his 
 stars forebode — you will own him for- your prince — 
 and I shall rejoice in the discovery of my error. — If on 
 the contrary, his cruel nature betrays itself, a second 
 sleeping draught will place him again in his cave. — 
 I shall have done my duty in the trial — and then 
 Estrella and Astolpho, by your union, if you could 
 consent to such a measure, peace would be insured to 
 the kingdom, and to me. I am your king, and I decree 
 this. — I have experience, and I advise it. — I am an old 
 man, and I desire it. And if it be true what the 
 Roman Seneca has written — that a king in his king- 
 dom is the humblest slave in a great republic — as a 
 slave, I entreat that you will give your consent — 
 Astolpho — speak for both" 
 
 " The Muscovite prince stood forward. — The hope
 
 SIGISMUND. 63 
 
 which in the early part of the kings address had well 
 nigh sunk to an ember — was relieved by his last words. 
 — He resolved again to play the only part which his 
 nature prompted him to, and affected to submit cheer- 
 fully, partly because he thought he might secure his 
 interests better thereby, partly because he could not 
 help himself. — Estrella did not affect, she assented 
 with gladness of soul. 
 
 The assembled multitudes, seconded with shouts the 
 request of Astolpho, that their prince might be given 
 to them as speedily as might be. Basilius joyfully 
 promised, that he should that very night be conveyed 
 to the palace, and calling on the lord intendant of the 
 household, to wait on his cousins thither, he rose and 
 walked toward the raising ground, at a little distance' 
 where Clotaldus with the prisoners, abided the result 
 of the conference. Him he took aside, and directed at 
 length, in what manner he should prepare the prince 
 for the change in his condition, without even by a word 
 or look, apprizing him of their intention, Clotaldus 
 pledged himself to execute all faithfully, and then as 
 the monarch was departing, knelt before him. ,i
 
 64 SIGISMUND. ^ 
 
 " What would ye, Clotaldus ? " asked Basilius. 
 
 " Why sire," replied the old man, " this fine youth 
 and his companion have daringly though unknowingly, 
 contrary to the prohibition, entered the precincts of 
 of the mount and" 
 
 The king was surprised, at the tremulous anxiety 
 of the aged chieftains utterance, as he pleaded for [the 
 strangers. "Be not troubled," he replied "had this 
 chanced yesterday, or an earlier day, it would have 
 grieved me. But now that I have made it public, it 
 matters not. Come to me at the court, before vou 
 leave for Sigismund's prison, I have somewhat more to 
 lell thee. In the mean time, let those strangers go at 
 liberty. Why ! I think to detain or harm them, I 
 should punish thee ! " — 
 
 t Clotaldus thanked him with warmth, and after he 
 had departed, turning to the stranger and Clarin, 
 exclaimed , " you are free." The young Muscovite 
 clasped his knees, and Clarin knelt behind the latter, 
 with a very ludicrous expression of gratitude, which 
 however afforded mirth only to the guards, for Clotal- 
 dus did not see further than the vouth at his feet.
 
 sigismunih' 65 
 
 He raised the latter affectionately from the earth 
 and received his acknowledgments with a shortness, 
 and peevishness of tone, that did not adcord with his 
 looks. He gazed on his features, as if every linea- 
 ment there, singly and slowly, was winning a youthful 
 memory from its sleep of years. 
 
 " Are you not nobly born ? " asked Clotaldus. 
 
 The youth reddened and looked to the earth. " my 
 blood is noble." 
 
 "^I doubt no longer'^ said Clotaldus ; then again turn- 
 ing to him he continued, " You say you are noble, and 
 you stand^here, and you tell me that a slight has-been 
 thrown upon you, and you have known it ; and your 
 offender lives unrequited." 
 
 " Heaven is my judge," said the youth, " it is not 
 my fault. I have wandered a long and a weary way 
 to quit my honour ; but I cannot command circum- 
 stances and time. Nevertheless, I thank you for my 
 life, for that gives me hope that 1 may yet succeed.^' 
 
 " He who lives in shame, does not live. Dishonour is 
 a shroud, and he whom it enfolds is among the dead.' 
 
 " I know that life is now a stain, but where shall I
 
 66 SIGISMUND. 
 
 turn me to requite myself. Behold me ; 1 am wea- 
 ponless. Give me that sword of secret power, which I 
 owned and trusted in, and that which is now as the 
 marl at the mountains foot, shall become as the snow 
 on its peak.'* 
 
 " Take it said the other, and be assured, a weapon 
 which Clotald us has once wielded; (yes, have I not 
 wielded it now?" ) he added on perceiving the youth's 
 surprise, ** will not be found' unaccustomedjto the work 
 of justice.'* 
 
 The eyes of the Muscovite lit up as he girded once 
 more the weapon to his side. " Now I hold thee once 
 again," said he " I will confide in the assurance thou 
 bringest, and persevere to the end ; what of his power ? 
 — it may be reached." 
 
 ** Is yours a powerful enemy then V said Clotaldus. 
 " So much so, but I must not say it, I would not have 
 you revoke the friendly assurances you have made." 
 
 " There is no danger of that, on the contrary, you 
 will then secure my assistance, for the confidence you 
 repose would at the least have the efl^ect of preventing 
 me from lending countenance to your opposer. Who 
 is he r
 
 SIGISMUlSJD. 67 
 
 " Astolpho of Muscovy." 
 
 Clotaldus gazed on the young complainant with an 
 alternate expression of wonder and anxiety. 
 
 " Stranger," said he " do you know what j^ou have 
 said, and what you are about to do? Are you not of 
 Muscovy V 
 
 " I was born in Poland, but I am a Muscovite by 
 
 family and education." 
 
 " Then" said Clotaldus " he is your natural prince, 
 and he could not offend you. Return to your adopted 
 land, and forget that fatal courage which misleads 
 
 you, return and forgive." 
 
 " His being a Prince" said the youth," neither les- 
 sens his guilt nor my resentment. When a man has 
 offended me, I do not ask his name.'' 
 
 " He could not offend you*' said Clotaldus *' not 
 
 even O Cielos ! not even though he had dared to 
 
 lay -his hand upon thy face." 
 
 " He did more.'' 
 
 "He could not do more." 
 
 *'Hedid." 
 
 " A deeper insult th^n that ?"
 
 68 SIGISMUND. 
 
 " Yes ! listen to me ; I know not how it is that you 
 win me to confidence thus easily. I feel as if under the 
 influence of a supernatural emotion, and I am drawn 
 to you in affection and in trust. But hear all. I am 
 not what I seem. Then weigh it well, whether, if I am 
 other than this habit speaks me, and Astolpho comes 
 here with the design of wedding with Estrella, it may 
 not be that he has done me a deeper offence than 
 that you spake of. I have said he wronged me. 
 He was my betrothed." 
 
 While she thus spoke, her face gradually deepened 
 in hue, and at the end she covered it with her hands 
 and hung down her head in sorrow. However, the 
 feeling passed away with its effect, and she looked up 
 once more with the pale and frozen fixedness of reso- 
 lution, which was so strongly mingled up with her 
 character. She [waved her hand to Clarin, who after 
 he had been re-invested by Clotaldus, with his gold 
 headed staff of oflfice, followed her as she hastened 
 along the hill side to overtake the train of Estrella, 
 and they were both lost to the eyes of Clotaldus be- 
 fore he had found the sense of her last words.
 
 S1GISMUN,D. 69 
 
 " The heavens and the earth," said he, " are full of 
 wonders. What doth she mean ? Astolpho ? and then 
 that sword ! But I must attend the kinc|^. The 3'outh 
 has an excess of that which I was about to contemn 
 him for needing. The dust has been thrown upon his 
 head, but he has shaken it off nobly." 
 
 The sleeping draught was soon after prepared ; 
 Clotaldus left for the prison, Basilius expected him in 
 his laboratory. The sun had gone down before his 
 return was announced to the king. 
 
 " I prepared the beverage," said Clotaldus " exactly 
 according to your directions, and in such a manner 
 were its narcotic ingredients commingled with others 
 of an agreeable flavour, that it was impossible he 
 should detect them ; with these I descended alone to 
 his prison, leaving the guard without the distant en- 
 trance as usual, masked and blindfolded. I found 
 Sigismund stretched upon the ground, one hand be- 
 neath his head, the other grasping his chain in the 
 manner yourself have often marked. I found it at 
 first difficult to draw his attention away from his own 
 gloomy reflections. He looked straight forward with
 
 70 SIGISMUND. 
 
 an air of vacancy, and seemed to regard me no more 
 than the breeze that stirred upon the fountain before 
 him. On a sudden, an eagle stooped from the upper 
 air into the chasm of the rocks, and beholding the 
 desolation, uttered a loud scream, mounted upon the 
 winds, and went to prey elsewhere. 
 
 "I saw Sigismund's eyes kindle; he half started from 
 the earth and gazed after it, until his eyes ached with 
 the effort. I saw the feeling which agitated him, and 
 affected to participate in it, in order to accomplish my 
 end. 
 
 •* What a noble creature" said I, it is the monarch of 
 its kind. It does not, like the lesser of them, content 
 itself with the dull heavy sphere of the terrestrial air, 
 but comet-like soars into the regions of fire, and then 
 
 floats upon the sunbeams, a winged lightning a 
 
 wanderer without limit. What a majestic creature ?" 
 
 Sigismund sunk back on the ground. '' I am tired'' 
 said he, "lam chained. I, do not want wings; but 
 even the free use of that which I have received. They 
 have bound me, they have tortured me before they 
 had cause. I am miserable, my heart is destroyed !
 
 SIGISMUNI?. 71 
 
 I have been a slave until liberty is no longer a sweet 
 sound. Yet if it were otherwise, the eagle is the 
 first of his kind ; and I should not b© the last of 
 
 mine." 
 
 " When I saw his mind and imagination hurried along 
 by the violence of the emotion in which they had been 
 caught, I begun to descant on his favourite theme of 
 dominion." 
 
 Clotaldus in passing through the gallery observed 
 near a window at the far end, a figure standing as if 
 in expectation of his exit from the kings chamber. He 
 had not much difficulty in recognising the attendant 
 of Rosaura. 
 
 ^' We!l,Clarin'' said he "howdid'st thou penetrate 
 thus far? Were there no sentinels posted at the en- 
 trance ? " 
 
 After his usual routine of obeisances, the merry 
 courtier replied " Indeed my lord, I do not marvel you 
 should deem it strange how I came hither, and as to 
 the guards at the entrance, these poor shoulders of 
 mine fully testify that they have done their duty, but 
 I would not be checked, I passed them, and as they
 
 72 SIGISMUND. 
 
 dared not quit their posts to follow me, I came off 
 with the showers I had received in the passage from 
 the flats of their swords, A plague on the maker of 
 these Toledos. My own country conspired against 
 me ; they lay over my shoulder and along my spine, 
 as a willow of Tagus."* 
 
 " I am sorry for thee Clarin, but why did'st thou 
 bring it upon thyself? What had ye to do to force 
 your way hither in that manner? " 
 '* To speak with you my lord." 
 " On what affair prithee ? " 
 
 " On rather a delicate matter mayhap, but it must be 
 said. To tell you the plain truth, 3'ou have taken some 
 steps, lately, which do not immediately meet my ap- 
 proval." 
 ^" And what may those be, Clarin ?" 
 *' Why^in the first place, there is Madam Rosaura, ' 
 (for such was the name of the young Muscovite,) you 
 have made to put off her disguise and put on her mai- 
 den weeds again, and the consequence is, it is told all 
 over the palace that she is your niece and she is as 
 much honoured as the princess herself, who by the
 
 SIGISMUND/ 73 
 
 way, has taken her into her suite, as principal dame ol 
 honour, and tenders her like a sister/' 
 
 " And where is the mighty mischief of *all this? my 
 good adviser," said Clotaldus. 
 
 Clarin twirled his bonnet, and looked on the ground 
 for a moment, " She has resumed her own dress," 
 he replied. 
 
 *' Would it be very decorous to do otherwise after 
 his secret was discovered ?" asked Clotaldus. 
 
 *' Aye that is all very good/' said Clarin, '' and it 
 would be better still, and I should not murmur, if I 
 was permitted to make a similar change, but a las 
 in casting off her habit, Madame has cast off her 
 attendant also, and that is what 1 cannot by any means 
 approve of, in my present situation.'* 
 
 *' Oh ! ho! are you there Clarin?" said Clotaldus 
 " why all this might have been said in two words." 
 
 "She forgets" said Clarin, waxing warm, "that I 
 know more about somebody, though I'll tell nobody of 
 it, than somebody would wish any body ehse to know, 
 and that I could raise a dust in this court, which 
 might make a certain person sneeze, but, no matter 
 (or that, yet it should be recollected that I am Clarin, 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 74 SIGiSMUND. 
 
 which is first cousin to Clarin, which is a very noisy 
 thing you know." '■ 
 
 "Indeed?" said Clotaldus to himself, "we must 
 take care of you then. Well Clarin, your complaint 
 is not without justice, I will seek to find you a remedy. 
 In the mean time enter into my own service." 
 
 Clarin assented with delight. 
 
 On entering the chamber, where Sigismund lay, Clo- 
 taldus found all the attendants gathered in silence 
 round the bed of state, they informed him that the 
 sleeper had just then began to breath audibly, and his 
 brown forehead was moist with perspiration. 
 
 Clotaldus motioned them to a distance, ordered the 
 hangings of the bed to be removed and the band of 
 musicians which was stationed in an adjoining cham- 
 ber, to begin a martial air. After they had played a 
 little time Sigismund raised himself on his elbow to 
 wjpe the damp from his brow, and opened his eyes. 
 They first fell on the large and splendidly stained 
 window which luoked upon the water, and opposed his 
 beds foot — they then wandered to the inlaid porphry- 
 tabie near it, which was half exposed, half covered
 
 sigismund'. 75 
 
 with cloth of gold. The magnificent vases ^vhich were 
 disposed on that and the window frames — with the 
 rare and beautiful display of the earliest bloom of the 
 spring — to the richly decorated tapestry of the apart- 
 ment and the costly attire of the attendants. He 
 seemed afraid to speak or move, and almost suspended 
 his breathing lest he should destroy the glorious vision, 
 and wake to his poverty and his sorrow. At Jength 
 he slowly arose and walked noiselessly and carefully 
 from the couch. The musicians again played, and he 
 listened with pleasure and attention, but did not yet 
 speak. On a sudden the mingled chorus of sounds 
 was hushed, and a trumpet loud and single continued 
 the strain. Sigismund started and remained fixed in 
 admiration. His eyes filled with fire. He had never 
 before heard any musical sound, save those of the 
 winds and the waters of his mountain residence and 
 the wild creatures, who sometimes made it their so- 
 journ. At this moment one of the attendants ad- 
 vanced and offered him a dress suitable to his estate. 
 Sigismund took it with a feeling of uncertainty, and 
 
 E 2
 
 7o SIGISMUND. 
 
 hesitation. He felt it — gazed on it, and on the attend- 
 ant alternately. 
 
 " Tell me " said Sigismund, *' w hat is the meaning of 
 this?" What are you, and those who are with you? 
 what ;ire they ? are ye the princes and rulers of whom 
 Clotaldus tells me? Is this real, or do I dream? An- 
 swer me? Where am I and how cama I here ? 
 
 The attendant following the instructions of Clotal- 
 dus, bowed and retired without speaking. 
 
 "Well,'* said Sigismund, "come what may, I shall 
 enjoy the delusior), if it be indeed no more, while it 
 lasts. J will put on this splendour and be in my slum- 
 ber, what I would be in my waking." 
 
 The attendants assisted him to dress, and then 
 a>;ked him if the musicians should again play? 
 
 "No!'' said Sigismund." 
 
 ** We tht>nght it might pleise you," said they. . 
 
 " It does not pleasure me, t am a miserable creature 
 and p!ea:vint souads mock me. But hush, stay, there 
 was a (ine and single sound, which filled my breast 
 with fire, let me hear that again, for I can thnik and 
 hear. I prav vou let me hear :[i,\i ai^un or none.
 
 SIGISMtJND. 77 
 
 As he spoke this, Clotaldus stood before him. He 
 started back in wonder and confusion. Clotaldus 
 knelt at his feet and respectfully kissed his hand. 
 
 " Is this indeed Clotaldus ? " said Sigismund, " Clo- 
 taldus, my tyrant, my torturer? How is he thus 
 changed? I begin again to doubt the reality of what 
 passes round me." ' 
 
 f' Clatoldus seeing him relapse into incredulity re- 
 vealed to him his birth, the cause of his imprisonment 
 with a hope that it would be found futile as it was in 
 the power of a great mind ever to resist the influence 
 of the stars themselves. 
 
 He concluded by informing him that the king Basi- 
 lius, his father was preparing to see him. 
 • Sigismund burned with rage. His eyes flashed, his 
 forehead whitened, and his frame trembled. At length 
 he burst forth with all the violence of abuse. "Thou 
 vile infamous malignant traitor, blacker than the black- 
 est of the many serpents thyself has told me of; how 
 darest thou front me with that confession ? How 
 darest thou be the villain, thou hast acknowledged 
 thyself? A villain without a motive. A tyrant for
 
 78 SIGISMUND. 
 
 thy sport ! and me, me, thy lord, thy Sovereign, made 
 the victim of a causeless cruelty ! What shall I say ? 
 Nothing. What shall I do. My heart, my nature tells 
 me." 
 
 He wrenched a sword from one of the attendants 
 and rushed upon the old man ; the former interposed 
 and detained him, panting with the eagerness of pas- 
 sion, until Clotaldus had disappeared. As he left the 
 room he turned to Sigismund, and said, " Unhappy 
 mistaken man, you begin already to show the sick- 
 liness of thy nature, and confidest in the delusion of a 
 dream \" 
 
 ' " A dream, a dream,^^ said Sigismund, " it is false, I 
 do not dream, I wake, I talk, I see, I hear, I feel. He 
 speaks with the tongue of a traitor, but he shall never 
 lie and mock again.'* 
 
 As he rushed towards the door the attendants again 
 interposed and closed it, while one of them placed 
 himself immediately in the way of Sigismund. 
 
 He wore a ribband on his breast, and a blue sword 
 knot. He caught the prince's arm and knelt at his 
 feet
 
 SIGlSIMfUND. 79 
 
 "Away with you," cried Sigismund "begone, leave 
 the way clear, or I will hew you down in his stead, i 
 will fling the first that opposes me through yonder 
 window — Get ye hence!" 
 
 " Observe," said an attendant, ** he was not his own 
 master, — he should obey his king." 
 
 " Not [in things unjust." 
 
 "He ought not," said the attendant, who had stop- 
 ped his arm, " to enquire whether the commands of 
 his sovereign were so or not." 
 
 " Have you quarrelled with your life?" said Sigis- 
 mund. 
 
 " The prince is right," said Clarin. 
 
 " And who art thou V 
 
 Clarin bowed. " I am a busy body, a fellow [that 
 meddles and makes for others good, ^until I get over 
 head and ears for it, as your highness may perhaps 
 call to mind was the case not very long since, and 
 which I have no disposition to experience again, for 
 anybody, be the other who he may." 
 
 " In this new strange world,'^ said Sigismund, " thou 
 alone pleasest me."
 
 80 ■' SFGISMUND. ''^■ 
 
 At that moment a flourish of trumpets announced 
 the approach of Astolpho, Duke of Muscovy and 
 Sigismund's cousin. He entered with his usual air of 
 haughtiness, and placed himself in a position to deliver 
 his formal gratulations to Sigismund. The latter 
 turned to Clarin. 
 
 " What is the reason/' said he, " that you all pull 
 off your hats when you come into my presence V 
 
 *' Because you are our prince, and it is a mark of 
 respect," 
 
 "And what is the reason that man does not remove 
 his V 
 
 " Because he is your cousin, and considers himself 
 your equal." 
 
 " Oh ! oh !" said Sigismund. 
 
 Astopho now addressed him in form. 
 
 " Mighty heir of Poland, who hast suddenly risen, 
 like the morning sun from the bosom of the moun- 
 tains, shine forth and make glad with the light of thy 
 wisdom the horizon of our country. And as thou 
 comest late to gird thy brow with the laurel of sove- 
 reignty, may it bloom there for a long line of years
 
 SIGISMVND. 81 
 
 until thy time is perfected in joy, and thou hast no 
 more to wait for." 
 
 After this flourish he paused for the prince's ac- 
 knowledgement, and all the suite were silent, 
 
 " God keep you, my good man," said Sigismund, 
 
 The attendants gazed on each other with wonder. 
 Clarin laughed in his sleeve. 
 
 Astolpho looked bigger than ever, and said with 
 sufficient emphasis. 
 
 **I am Astolpho," Duke of Muscovy, nephew of 
 Basilius king of Poland, and your cousin, and your 
 equal. But you knew not my rank, and I therefore 
 excuse your want of civility." 
 
 > "God keep you" repeated Sigismund, *'what, do 
 you call this uncivil '^ Why then go your ways, and 
 when you come again, since this oflfends you, I will 
 pray that he may not have you in his keeping." 
 
 Then turning to Clarin, he said, " He saw me from the 
 moment of his entrance, his solemn look and voice 
 were ridiculous, and his insolence intolerable. What 
 business has he to wear his hat and plume." 
 
 He is a great man said an attendant. 
 
 E 5
 
 82 SIGISMUND. 
 
 (< 
 
 f am g^reater " retorted Sigismund, fiercely. 
 
 " Yet" said the attendant with the blue sword knot, 
 " there ought to be a greater confidence between you, 
 and you o<ve him more than he has yet received from 
 you." 
 
 " And pray" said Sigismund " who asked your ad- 
 vice?" 
 
 The entrance of the Princess Estrella, cut short 
 this dialogue, just as it was beginning to grow a little 
 warm. She was habited in the light and elegantly 
 feminine costume of her own country, and appeared 
 to the eyes of Sigismund, who had never before be- 
 held a woman, in womanly guise, the divinest object 
 he had ever beheld. All the splendour of the scene 
 round him vanished, all the finery grew old and dull 
 and every other prospect, thought fair before, withered 
 and faded the instant that woman's beauty came in 
 contrast with it, Estrella addressed him. 
 
 " Prince'' said she *' you are welcome to the dwelling 
 and the heritance of your name. May you long be an 
 ornament to the one and a blessing to the other." 
 
 *' Clariri'* said Sigismund, " what is this wonderful
 
 SIGISMUND. 83 
 
 creature? How every tone and every look agitates me. 
 What infinite grace, what softness, what beauty, what 
 sweetness?'^ » 
 
 *' She expects your answer prince," said Clarin, 
 " She is your cousin, the princess Estrella." 
 
 " But what is she," Clarin, this lovely creature is 
 surely not a man ?" 
 
 '* Your highness is a merry man ? The princess Es- 
 trella; Lord ! what innocent creatures we are, before we 
 get into court. She is a woman and a fine woman too" 
 said Clarin. " Your highness is very merry." 
 
 Sigismund was already at the side of Estrella and 
 over-powered her with praises and admiration. He 
 attempted to take her hand, she withdrew it and step- 
 ped back; one of the attendants, the same who had 
 before twice checked the prince, observing the com- 
 mands of Astolpho advanced a third time. 
 
 " My lord" said he in his ear, " the duke is present 
 and at all events you should not act thus toward the 
 princess.*' 
 
 Sigismund turned shortly round and gazed on him 
 for a moment.
 
 84 SIGISMUND. 
 
 " Did I not tell you" said Sigismund, " that your ad- 
 vise was not needed." 
 
 " It is not the less just/' said he of the sword 
 knot. 
 
 " ril none on't. It displeases me and that's enough." 
 
 " Yet your highness said that even the will of kings, 
 should bend before justice." 
 
 "Did I? Well, said I not also, that I would fling 
 him who crossed mine through the window.'* 
 
 All eyes were now directed to the attendant. He 
 had gone far — his spirit was wound up and it would 
 have been paltry to shrink back at last. He twirled 
 his bonnet round, smiled, looking with a little mingling 
 of contempt toward the window, and replied : '' Yes 
 my lord that may be done with boys — with men like 
 me it may be found a little difficult." 
 
 " Say you so" said the prince " we shall see, we 
 shall prove it." 
 
 . He sprang on the attendant, seized him by the 
 waist, lifted him with ease from the earth, then bound- 
 ed on the table, dashed away with his feet the window 
 and its frame into a thousand pieces, heaved him forth
 
 SIGI^MUND. 85 
 
 through the aperture, and then folded his arms and 
 gazed upon his fall. 
 
 An universal cry of horror filled the apartment and 
 spread through the palace. 
 
 " Villain" said Astolpho, forgetting in the terror of 
 the deed, the advantage his own views would reap 
 from it, what is it you have done ? " 
 
 ** I thought I could have done it," said the other 
 coolly. '* He fell upon the gre&t water, how he beats 
 and struggles upon it, how he rages, stay — what is 
 this ? he is quiet, he is not there, where is he sunk." 
 
 *' You have murdered him," said Astolphus, " and 
 you are a Villain." 
 
 ** Take care" said Sigismund, ** that you be left a 
 head to put your hat on." 
 
 Attracted by the great consternation, Basilius hur- 
 ried into the apartment, followed by his guards and 
 enquired the cause of the confusion ; Sigismund sprang 
 from the table and carelessly walked across the room. 
 
 " It is nothing" said Sigismund. *' A man was in- 
 solent, and I flung him through the window." 
 
 "My lord" whispered Clarin, ** you are now speak- 
 ing to the king.''
 
 86 SIGISMUND. 
 
 Basilius seemed horror stricken, '* what," said he 
 " the first day, and a life already gone.*^ 
 
 " He said I could not do it, I thought I could and I 
 tried it, and I shewed him his mistake, and that's all/' 
 
 '* Prince'' said Basilius with dignity, " this grieves me 
 to the heart. I took thee from the dungeon of the 
 mountains, in the hope, that, by the native strength of 
 thy own mind, thou mightest be enabled to resist the 
 influence of the evil stars themselves, and that I 
 might in mine old age, e'er I am gathered to the dust 
 of my name, feel within my arms a son of my heart, 
 who, when I was no more, should preserve my memory 
 to my people. You have already destroyed that hope. 
 I can never embrace thee now. We start when we 
 gaze on the steel that has drank human blood, we 
 shudder when we walk over the spot of earth which 
 has once been the scene of a death struggle, but 
 how much more repulsive the contact of the murderer 
 himself. Although I longed to bind thee to my side 
 in love and fondness, and came hither to embrace and 
 to bless thee, I turn away in horror, aversion and sor- 
 row. I never can, never will receive a murderer to my 
 arms."
 
 SIGISMUND. 87 
 
 Sigismund paused for a moment, and a feeling like 
 sorrow pierced through his mind. The fine venerable 
 frame of the old silver haired king, strutk him with a 
 reverential respect. That man too was his father, and 
 though never known till then, a voice within him told 
 him fthat he was not as other men in his esteem. 
 Again, his mind recurred to the causes of their sepa- 
 ration, to his chain and his dungeon, his sufferings, his 
 undeserved bondage. This train of recollections in- 
 stantly over-turned all that nature had been doing 
 and changed the appearance of the old monarch into 
 that of an unnatural and wanton tyrant. His heart 
 burned within him, and he walked away from Basilius 
 toward the window. 
 
 *•' I can do without them, now" said he " as I have 
 ever. You say you are my father, and yet you have 
 persecuted me from my birth like a bitter enemy, you 
 have cast me out from human life, you have chained 
 me up as if I were a creature of the forest, you have 
 made me the monster you feared, you have sought my 
 death, and tortured me into a weariness of my life. 
 Why then, your kindness is grown a mockery, I could
 
 88 SIGISMUND. 
 
 not enjoy, nor thank you for it. You have so entirely 
 destroyed all capability of pleasure, that nothing now 
 can ever make life agreeable/' 
 
 ^ " I would^' said Basilius " I had never given it to 
 thee. I should not now hear thy reproaches. Nor 
 behold thy audacity." 
 
 " Had you not given it," replied Sigismund, " I should 
 not complain of you, but I do for having given, and 
 again taken it away. It may be a generous action to 
 give ; but to give for the purpose of taking away, is 
 worse than withholding altogether." 
 
 To this Basilius replied, " How well dost thou show 
 thy gratitude for my raising thee from a state of hu- 
 miliating captivity, to the dignity which thou now 
 boldest!" 
 
 Sigismund here burst into fury. " What gratitude" 
 he cried, "tyrant of my happiness, do I owe thee ? 
 Old and decrepit as thou art, and about to drop into 
 the grave, what dost thou give me that is not my own, 
 Thou art my father and a king. Then all that dignity, 
 of which thou speakest was given me by nature and 
 the laws. Nay, but thou owest me much that is yet
 
 SIGISMUND. 89 
 
 unaccounted for. What will thy answer be, when I 
 demand of thee, the time of which thou hast robbed 
 me — my liberty so long debarred — my 'hfe — the ho- 
 nour which I might have acquired, had I been left 
 free to seek it ? I owe thee nothing, king, but thou 
 art my debtor, and to a large amount." 
 ;" "Thou art a daring savage," 'said Basilius, ''and 
 the word of heaven has been accomplished. Yet 
 haughty and vain man, I warn thee to beware, for all 
 this which thou seest may be a dream, from which 
 thou mayest e'er long awaken." Saying this he with- 
 drew suddenly leaving Sigismund much startled by 
 the repetition of this singular doubt. 
 
 " A dream," he again exclaimed in a soft voice, and 
 with a look of astonishment and perplexity. " No I 
 do not dream, for I can feel, and see, and I know what 
 I was, and [what I am. Grieve as thou mayest, no re- 
 medy is in thy breast." 
 
 In a little time after, while Sigismund remained per- 
 ple.xed by the parting word of Basilius, his attention was 
 attracted by the entrance of Rosaura who now ap- 
 peared dressed in her own habiliments. She was pro-
 
 90 SIGISMUND. 
 
 ceeding in search of Estrella, anxious at the same time 
 to avoid the sight of Astolpho, Clotaldus having 
 advised her to leave him in ignorance of her presence 
 at the court of Poland. She felt grateful to Clotaldus 
 for the interest which he appeared to take in" her for- 
 tunes, and readily submitted to his guidance. 
 
 " What," said Clarin to Sigismund, " has pleased 
 thee most of all that thou hast seen this morning?" 
 
 " Nothing has surprised me," said Sigismund, " for 
 I have seen nothing here that my education did not in 
 some measure enable me to anticipate. But if my 
 admiration has been really moved at all, it has been by 
 the beauty of the ladies who have left us." 
 
 At this moment perceiving Rosaura about to retire, 
 he started forward and detaining her exclaimed. '' what 
 do I see. I have surely beheld those features before 
 now r 
 
 *' And 1,'^ said Rosaura, *' have seen that pomp and 
 greatness reduced to chains, and a dungeon.^' 
 
 Saying this she attempted to retire, but Sigismund 
 again prevented her. "I must crave your permission 
 to depart, •' said Rosaura, in some confusion.
 
 SIGIS-MUND. 91 
 
 " Going: in such a hurried manner, ''said Sigismund, 
 ** is not asking leave but taking it V* 
 
 At this moment, Clotaldus, whose anxiety had been 
 greatly excited by hearing the voice of Rosaura in dis- 
 putation with Sigismund, hurried into the apartment. 
 " My lord," he exclaimed, ** what is the cause of this? 
 Pray you forbear and suffer the lady to proceed/' 
 
 "Again." exclaimed Sigismund, "again, thou grey- 
 headed madman, darest thou to provoke my anger ? 
 dost thou not fear me yet ?" 
 
 " I was induced to enter,'' said Clotaldus, " by the 
 accents of this voice, to tell thee that thou shouldest be 
 more peaceful if thou desirest to reign. Be not a 
 tyrant because thou thinkest thyself our lord, for you 
 may yet find that thought a dream/' 
 
 The anger of Sigismund was provoked to the 
 highest, by this threat. *' I shall see," he exclaimed, 
 " whether it be a dream by tearing thee to pieces." 
 He grasped his dagger hastily, but Clotaldus arrested 
 his arm and threw himself on his knees, whilst the 
 affrighted Rosaura called loudly for assistance. 
 
 Her cries were heard by Astolpho, who rushed into
 
 92 SIGISMUND. 
 
 the room, and throwing himself between the prince 
 and the object of his anger, " What means this ? 
 that so generous a prince will stain his dagger in 
 blood that is well nigh frozen ? Let thy shining sword 
 return to its scabbard .'* 
 
 " Yes," said Sigismund, '* after I have reddened it 
 in that villain's heart." 
 
 ** Then," replied the pompous Astolpho, " since he 
 has sought protection at my feet, he shall not plead in 
 vain." And seeing the prince about to transfer his 
 anger from Clotaldus to himself, he drew his sword 
 and stood on the defensive. 
 
 The noise attracted to the place, the king, Estrella, 
 snd several of their attendants who interposed between 
 the combatants. Astolpho returned his sword to its 
 sheath and the king, being informed that Sigismund 
 had attempted the life of Clotaldus, said to the former: 
 
 '' Have gray hairs then, no respect in thine eyes ?" 
 
 ^* None," replied Sigismund, "and I trust that one 
 day, I shall see thine own at my feet. Be assured 
 that the opportunity for vengeance shall not be lost." 
 
 " Before that day comes," replied the king, " thou
 
 sigism'gnd. 93 
 
 shall sleep, and waking find that thy boast, and thy 
 ingratitude, real as they seem to thee, are but the 
 phamptons of an idle dream." 
 
 Once more Sigismund started at the words, and 
 remained for some moments as if under the influence of 
 a spell, motionless and silent, while the king, and his 
 guests departed. Astolpho leading out Estrella con- 
 ducted her towards the garden, where the following 
 conversation passed between them. 
 
 " When fortune," said Astolpho, "promises mis- 
 hap, she is seldom false to her word, but whenever she 
 has benefits to confer the issue is doubtful. A de- 
 monstration of this truth may be found in the situa- 
 tion of Sigismund, and of myself. For him evils and 
 crimes were foretold, and they have turned out true. 
 For me on ihe other hand, were predicted, trophies of 
 victory, the applause of men, and happiness, yet 
 though this prophecy has been in part fulfilled, its 
 completion is still doubtful, for although you have 
 favoured me with some encouragement yet your dis- 
 dain I am sorry to say — " 
 
 Estrella interrupted him. " I doubt not," said she,
 
 94 SIGISMUND. 
 
 *^ that you are sincere in those compliments, but, I 
 suspect they are meant for the lady, whose portrait 
 I have seen hanging at your neck. Go," she added, 
 •^* and let her reward you, for it is a treachery not only 
 to break your faith to her, but to make over the com- 
 pliments that were her right, on olher ladies." 
 
 At this moment Rosaura arrived, in her search of 
 Estrella, at the very spot where they were conversing. 
 She arrested her steps however, on perceiving Astol- 
 pho, and concealed herself, while her heart burned 
 with jealousy and anger, behind the arbour where the 
 royal relatives were seated, while the conversation 
 proceeded. 
 
 "Where the sun shines," said Astolpho, "no 
 lesser luminary can appear, neither can darkness lon- 
 ger exist ; but that you may be convinced that you 
 alone reign within this breast I will bring thee that 
 portrait of which thou speakest. Pardon me Ro- 
 saura," he added within his own mind, as he bowed 
 and hurried from the arbour, but absent lovers never 
 keep their vows, any more than I do mine to you." 
 
 The instant Rosaura perceived that he had left the 
 garden, she presented herself before Estrella.
 
 SIGISlvlUND. 95 
 
 " Oh ! I am glad to see thee/' said the princess, " I 
 was longing for a confidant, and to you alone can I en- 
 trust the secret which 1 am anxious to cdmmunicate/' 
 
 " Madam," said Rosaura, " you may rest assured 
 that your confidence shall be honoured.'^ 
 
 '' The little time," said Estrella, '* that I have had 
 the pleasure of knowing you, you have by some 
 means, of which 1 am myself unconscious, found the 
 entrance to my heart. I will therefore confide to you 
 what I have been anxious to conceal from myself. But 
 this it is. My cousin Astolpho, (I said cousin, be- 
 cause there are sume things the mere thought of 
 which is as palpable as the utterance of others,) is 
 about to wed with me, thus compensating by one 
 felicity for a number of misfortunes. I shewed some 
 pique this morning, when 1 saw him on account of a 
 portraitjwhich hung from his neck, and he, who is I am 
 sure very sincere in his professions, has just offered to 
 bring it to me. It would annoy me to receive it from 
 his hand, and I must beg of thee to remain here and 
 obtain it for me. Farewell a little while. I say no 
 more, for I know you are discreet and beautiful, and 
 know I am sure, what love is."
 
 96 SlGlSMUND. 
 
 ** I would," exclaimed Rosaura, '* that I knew it not 
 so well ," and she gazed after the princess with a look 
 of deep sorrow rather than of envy. '* But what," she 
 continued, *'* shall I do in this strange situation ? Does 
 there exist in the world a more unfortunate person 
 than myself? If I discover myself to him, Clotaldus 
 to whom I owe my life and safety here, will have deep 
 reason for offence, for he advised me to expect redress 
 from silence only, but what will my silence avail if he 
 but chance to see me — my tongue — my voice — my 
 eyes — may refuse to inform him, but my soul will 
 contradict them all." 
 
 At this moment Astolpho entered the arbour. 
 
 " I have brought you.'' said he, "^ the portrait which 
 — but what do I see—" and he pau-^ed in deep and 
 sudden confusion. 
 
 '* Why does your highness start ? " said Rosaura 
 calmly, "what is it that surprises you ?" 
 
 '• You Rosaura, here !" said Astolphus. 
 
 •'1, Rosaura" she exclaimed, appearing surprised, 
 *' your highness must mistake me for some other lady. 
 My name is Astrea — far too insignificant a person to 
 occasion so much confusion to your highness.''
 
 SIGIS-MUND. 97 
 
 •* Nay, Rosaura," said Astolpho, " you have carried 
 the faint far enough. I may gaze on thee as Astrea, 
 but I will always love thee as Rosaura.'* « 
 
 " My lord/' Rosaura replied, still with the same air 
 of calmness and surprise, " I do not understand what 
 you have just said, and therefore, I cannot answer 
 you. All I can say is, that the princess commanded 
 me to wait your arrival here, and on her part to re- 
 ceive from you the portrait which you promised ^her. 
 It is just I should obey her even in matters that jar 
 with my own inclinations." 
 
 *• How ill dos't thou dissemble* Rosaura," said 
 Astolpho, " notwithstanding all thy efforts." 
 
 " I wait for the portrait, my lord," Rosaura re- 
 plied extending her hand coldly. 
 
 *' Well ! well!" said the prince, *' since you choose 
 to carry on }our dissimulation to the end, I shall an- 
 swer you in the same manner. Go Astrea, and tell 
 the princess that I love her so truly, that I could 
 not be satisfied with sending her merely the portrait 
 she demands : I will do her a still greater pleasure 
 
 UOL. I. F
 
 98 SIGISMUND. 
 
 by presenting her with the original, which you can 
 easily convey to her in your own person." 
 
 The Jtaunt threw Rosaura off her guard. **I came 
 here/' she said, indignantly, '' to receive a portrait, and 
 although I could convey the original, which as "'you 
 observe is far more precious, I should go slighted to 
 go without the copy; your highness will please to give 
 it me, then, for I ^shall not leave this until I have 
 obtained it." 
 
 " But how shall that be," returned Astolpho, " if 
 I choose to keep it? " 
 
 " Thus ingrate," replied Rosaura, making a vain 
 effort to snatch it from his hand, '* no other woman I 
 am resolved shall ever possess it." 
 
 " How angry you are," said the prince. 
 *' And how perfidious thou." 
 ** No more my Rosaura." 
 '•T thine! villain — it is false." 
 The altercation had reached this point, when Es- 
 Irella suddenly re-entered the harbour. "Astrea!" 
 she exclaimed, ^' Astolpho, what is this.** 1 
 ^ " Here comes Estrella," said Astolpho to Rosaura,
 
 SIGISWUND. £9 
 
 who, after a moment's consideration, addressed the 
 princess. "If you wish to know, madam," said she, 
 *' the cause of our dispute, it was this :-T-The prince 
 has by some means obtained a portrait of mine, and, 
 instead of delivering that which you commanded me 
 to receive from him, he even refuses to give me my 
 own. That which he holds in his hand is mine — you 
 may see if it does not resemble me." 
 
 Estrella took the portrait from the hand of the as- 
 tonished Astolpho, and looking on it, said — "it is 
 prettily done, but a little too highly coloured ; you 
 have grown pale, Rosaura, since you sat for this 
 portrait.^' 
 
 " Na}^ madam," said Rosaura, suppressing a sigh, 
 ** but is it not evidently mine ? " 
 
 " Who doubts it,'* said the princess, handing it to 
 her." 
 
 *' Now," said Rosaura, darting a smile of malicious 
 triumph at the prince as she withdrew, " you may ask 
 him for the other, he may give it to you more readily 
 than he would to me." 
 
 " You heard what Astrea said," said Estrella, ad- 
 
 F 2
 
 100 SlGlSMUND. 
 
 dressing the prince, ** although I intend never again 
 to see or speak to you, yet I will not, since I was so 
 silly as to ask for that portrait, suffer it to remain in 
 your hands." 
 
 Astolpho continued for some time in much per- 
 plexity. '* Beautiful Estrella," he at length said, " I 
 would gladly obey your commands, but it is not in my 
 power to give the miniature, because " 
 
 " Thou art a vile and uncourteous lover," replied 
 Estrella, haughtily, " but I will not now receive it, for 
 I would not thus remind myself that I stooped to 
 require it." 
 
 Saying this she withdrew, and proceeded in high 
 indignation towards the palace, while Astolpho en- 
 deavoured in vain to detain her. " By what en- 
 chantment," said he, " has this Rosaura so suddenly 
 ^ appeared to thrust me back from happiness — what 
 wizard brought her here from Muscovy — Has she 
 come to ruin me and herself?" 
 
 We shall now return to Sigismund. During sup- 
 per the attendants administered to him a second sleep- 
 ing potion. A deep trance succeeded ; during which.
 
 SIGIS»»UND. 101 
 
 by the orders of the king, they restored him to his 
 rude cloathing, his dungeon, and his chains. 
 
 '* Here," said Clotaldus, on beholding him once more 
 stretched upon the sandy floor, <* here, where it first 
 arose, thy haughtiness shall end." 
 
 " Sigismund ! — ha ! — Sigismund !" exclaimed Ciarin, 
 who had accompanied Clotaldus, "awake, and you will 
 find some change in your condition.'' 
 
 Clotaldus, who apprehended some indiscretion from 
 Ciarin, resolved to have him also shut up, and said to 
 the attendants " prepare a room for this gentleman 
 who can talk so loud in the tower, where he can en- 
 tertain himself until his lungs are weary. Stay ! let 
 it be in the adjoining room — this is the man," he ad- 
 ded, pointing to Ciarin. 
 
 The attendants approached and seized him. 
 , ** Me" said Ciarin, quite surprised, " why so?" 
 
 •* Because," replied Clotaldus, my good Ciarin, my 
 clarion, my trumpet, you know some secrets, and sound 
 a' note too loud." 
 
 " But," said Ciarin, " I never yet sought to kill my 
 father, nor have ever I flung a man through a window ;
 
 102 SIGISMUND. 
 
 nor do I ever dream, although I may sleep now and 
 then ; and why should you shut me up like Sigis- 
 mund ? " 
 
 " Come — come — trumpet, come — clarion." 
 
 " Do you call me clarion ! Nay ! but I will be a 
 cornet if you please, and then I shall be silent, for that 
 is a vile instrument/* 
 
 The attendants here dragged him away. Perceiving 
 Basilius approach, whose curiosity had led him to wit- 
 ness the demeanour of Sigismund in his dungeon. 
 Clotaldus pointed him out to the monarch as he lay 
 stretched on the ground. 
 
 " Alas ! unhappy prince,'* said the king, *' born in 
 an unlucky hour. Approach, Clotaldus, and awake 
 him, for the beverage he drank has deprived him of his 
 vigour and his cruelty.**' 
 
 " Sire," replied Clotaldus, *' he seems very restless, 
 he dreams and speaks aloud; let us attend." 
 
 Sigismund here turned uneasily on his back, and 
 murmured :-~" he who punishes tyrants is a pioOs 
 prince ; let Clotaldus die by my sword, and let my 
 father kiss my feet."
 
 S?G1SMUND. 103 
 
 " He threatens my life," said Clotaldus. 
 
 '' He wishes to humble me with the dust on which 
 he treads/' said the king — " but hark.'' « 
 
 " Let me," continued Sigismund, *' put forward upon 
 the great arena of the world the valour that I feel 
 burning in my veins, and let me slake the thirsty 
 vengeance of my soul, by shewing the world prince 
 Sigismund triumphant over his father." 
 
 At these words he awoke ; and Basilius, wishing to 
 avoid him, concealed himself in one of the adjacent 
 passages of the tower. The astonished Sigismund 
 stared wildly around him. 
 
 '' Alas ! " said he, " where am I^ — am I again the 
 same — again do I behold my chains — art thou, oh 
 hated tower again my tomb. It is so — then what 
 dreams have I had." 
 
 Clotaldus went towards him and said, " ever since 
 I left thee soaring in mind with the eagle, in whose 
 track my poor brain could not accompany you, I have 
 been absent from the tower. Hast thou been all this 
 time asleep ? " 
 
 " I have," said Sigismund, " nor can I say that I
 
 104 SIGISMUND. 
 
 am now awake, for if that which passed palpably before 
 me was nothing more than a dream, I may be dreaming 
 still. If I could see while I slept, it may be that I 
 sleep now while I see/' 
 
 "What didst thou dream of, then," ^aid Clotaldus. 
 r " Since it was but a dream," replied Sigismnnd, '* I 
 will tell thee. I awoke as I thought from the sleep in 
 which I was left by thee, and found myself lying on a 
 bed, which by the rich variety of its colours migrht be 
 compared to the flowery couch which the spring 
 spreads upon the mountain. Here hundreds of noble- 
 men came forward, bowing submissively, bestowing on 
 me the title of prince, and presenting me with em- 
 broidered clothes and jewels. My suspense was 
 turned into joy when thou earnest into me and said'st 
 that though I had been in this condition I was never- 
 theless the prince and the heir of Poland.'* 
 
 " No doubt you rewarded me well for my news" 
 said Clotaldus. 
 
 " Not so well," returned Sigismund. ^' I was twice 
 about to put thee to death as a traitor." 
 
 " What 1 did you treat me with so much rigour* '*
 
 SI6ISMUND. J 05 
 
 '* Ah! "said Sigismund, "I was lord of all, and I 
 wrought revenge on all. A woman alone I loved, and 
 this is the only feeling from which I have not yet 
 awoke." 
 
 The king at these words withdrew altogether, and 
 Cloialdus, addressing the prince, said: — " As we had 
 been speaking of the eagle and of the empires of the 
 earth they haunted thee in thy dreams ; but even in 
 thy dreams it would have been well to have had some 
 respect for him who reared and instructed thee, for 
 even in sleep there is a pleasure in doing good.'' 
 
 " It is true,*' replied Sigismund, thoughtfully, " let 
 me then repress this fierceness of temper — this fury — 
 this ambition — in case those dreams should return, 
 which they will surely do, for life is now to me nothing 
 more. Experience tells me that all who live are 
 dreamers, and death the voice that awakens them. 
 The monarch dreams of changes of state and govern- 
 ment, and of power and flattery, but his fame is writ- 
 ten on the wind ; death comes, and his pomp and 
 royalty are crumbled into ashes ; and yet, knowing 
 that death shall wake them, there are men who wish 
 
 F 5
 
 106 SIGISMUND. 
 
 to reign ; the rich man dreams of his wealth, that costs 
 him many a tear ; the poor man dreams of his misery 
 and frets at shadows ; the ambitious man dreams of 
 grandeur and self aggrandisement ; the courtier dreams 
 of rank and office; the injured man dreams of his re- 
 venge ; all, in a word, dream of their several conditions. 
 I dream that I am here loaded with these chains ; and 
 but now I dreamed that I filled a happier station ; 
 life itself is an illusion, a shadow, an empty fiction ; 
 the heaviest sorrow is but light, and the brightest joy 
 but vain, for life is a dream, and there is nothing in it 
 that can boast a foundation." 
 
 In the mean time poor Clarin paced the chamber in 
 which he was confined in much peevishness and dis- 
 content. 
 
 '* Here I am,'^ said he, ** confined in this tower for 
 what I know; what will they do tome then for what I 
 do not know ? I pity myself very much, and people 
 will say that is very natural, and so it is ; for what 
 can be more mournful than for a man who has got such 
 excellent grinders as mine to be left without a morsel 
 to keep them in practice, while I am starving with
 
 SIGISMUND. 1 07 
 
 hunger. "^ Here all is silence around me — me who can 
 never close my lips^ not 'even when I sleep — here am 
 I, a social fellow, without a companion-^no, I tell an 
 untruth, I have plenty ; there are plenty of rats and 
 spiders, pretty robins to chirp about my windows, my 
 head is filled with the frightful visions that have been 
 haunting me, since I entered. I have seen spectres, 
 ghosts, hob-gobblins, elves and fairys ; some mount- 
 ing, some descending and cutting all kinds of strange 
 capers ; but what I feel most particularly is, that I 
 am kept starved ever since I came in here ; yet I de- 
 serve all this, and more for having kept a secret, while 
 I was a servant, which is the greatest infidelity 1 
 could be guilty of to my masters." 
 f His soliloquy was interrupted by the sound of 
 drums and trumpets outside, and by the cries of a 
 multitude of people, who were heard exclaiming " here 
 he is — this is the tower — let us dash the door to 
 pieces." 
 
 " What's this," cried Clarin, " they are looking for 
 me, there is no doubt of that, for they say here I am 
 and that this is the tower. What can they want me 
 for, here they come. Hallo ! there is a crash !*'
 
 108 SIGISMUND. 
 
 At the same instant, the door was forced from its 
 hinges, and an armed mob burst into the room. 
 " That is he," said a soldier. 
 
 "It is not he," replied Clarin, who was apprehen- 
 sive that they might not mean him kindly. 
 
 " Sire'' cried one of the soldiers, " thou art our 
 prince." 
 " These fellows are drunk, "said Clarin,! 
 "Yes, thou art our prince. We will not have a 
 foreign king, while a natural one remains to us. Allow 
 us to kiss your highness' hand." 
 
 At these words all shouted, '' live our prince, long 
 live our prince!" 
 
 " They are in earnest," said Clarin to himself. " I 
 should wish to know if it be the custom of this coun- 
 try, to shut up a man every day in this tower to make 
 a prince of him, and then bring him back to his prison 
 again. Yes, there's no doubt of it, for I saw the same 
 thing done yesterday. Well, well, I shall play my 
 part to day." 
 
 "Sire!" said one of the soldiers, we have all told 
 thy father the same thing, that you alone shall be our 
 king, and not the prince of Muscovy.
 
 J8IGISMUND. 109 
 
 ** What" cried Clarin, " were'ye wanting in'respect 
 to my father ?" 
 *' It was through loyalty for thee," sa^d a soldier. 
 "Then," said Clarin waving his hand, "if it was 
 through loyalty for me, I forgive ye." 
 
 " Come out and regain thy crown," exclaimed the 
 people. Long live Sigismund.*' 
 
 Clarin hearing the prince's name, started in some 
 surprise. " Sigismund they say," he repeated to him- 
 self, *' but what do I care for that. Do I not know 
 that they call every counterfeit prince, Sigismund." 
 
 Sigismund however, who heard his name thus pro- 
 claimed, called aloud from the inner dungeon. " Who 
 calis on Sigismund ?" The soldiers hearing this voice 
 hurried Clarin into the next room, and beholding a 
 man in chains, and so rudely clothed, enquired in 
 some surprise, ** what man is this ?" 
 
 " This man," said the prince, " is Sigismund." 
 N[ •* Sigismund !" exclaimed a soldier, turning hastily 
 to Clarin." Then how hadst thou the audacity to 
 call thyself by that name." 
 " I call myself Sigismund," exclaimed Clarin, /' it is
 
 110 SIGISMUND. 
 
 false, it wae you who had the audacity to nick- name 
 me Sigismund." 
 
 ** Great prince," said a soldier addressing himself to 
 Sigismund, '* we find by the tokens that were given us, 
 that thou art our lord and sovereign. Your father the 
 great king Basiiius, terrified by the prophecy, which 
 says that thou shalt one day wrest the sceptre from 
 his grasp, has resolved to rob thee of thy right and 
 transfer it to Astolpho of Muscovy. For this pur- 
 pose he assembled his court But the people, having 
 learned that they possess a native prince in thee, have 
 refused to submit to the yoke of a foreigner ; they 
 have sought thee therefore in this tower, in the hope 
 that thou wilt use their arms for the recovery of thy 
 birthright — ccme forward then, for in the plains be- 
 neath this mountain, a numerous army waits to pro- 
 claim thee. Liberty attends thy coming. Hark and 
 hear her accent s.^^ 
 
 The cries of " long live Sigismund," had been gra- 
 dually increasing, and now they were heard swelling 
 like the roar of the winter ocean. 
 
 "Again/' exclaimed Sigismund, " must I again hear
 
 JBIGISMUND. Ill 
 
 those sounds, again must I dream of splendour that 
 time shall so soon undo. Must I again stand among 
 shadows, and see majesty and greatness vanish before 
 the wind. It must not be. Ye shall not see me yoked 
 again to fortunes car; and since I know that life is 
 but a dream, vanish ye shadows that pass before my 
 troubled senses, feigning a substance and a sound, 
 which in reality ye do not possess. I wish not for 
 false majesty, vain pomps, fantastic splendours, which 
 at the first breath of morn, will fly and disappear like 
 the early blossoms of the almond tree, which the gen- 
 tlest breeze will scatter on the earth bereft of colour, 
 beauty, brilliancy and /ragrance. I know ye ; yes I 
 know ye ; and know further that the same delusions 
 pass over the minds of all who sleep. Ye can deceive 
 me no longer, for I know that you are dreams.'^ 
 
 " My lord/^ said a soldier, " if you think that we 
 deceive you, turn thy eyes toward yonder mountain, 
 and see the multitude that await thy orders/' 
 
 " Aye!'^ said Sigismund, "that very thing I saw 
 once as clearly and distinctly, [as I now behold it, and 
 yet 1 did but dream. '^
 
 112 SIGISMUND. 
 
 •' Great things my lord, " returned the soldier, " are 
 always ushered in by presages, and those visions you 
 speak of, were the dreams that foretold the reality you 
 now behold." 
 
 ** Rightly, thou sayest rightly," replied Sigismund, 
 " and though they were dreams alone, there can be no 
 harm since life is so short, in dreaming once again, and 
 dreaming with so much prudence and caution, that on 
 my waking I may find no cause for sorrow ; knowing 
 that J must wake at some time, my disappointment 
 will be less when that time arrives. And knowing that 
 my power is merely borrowed and must be restored to 
 its [owner, let me use it worthil}'. Subjects," he ex- 
 claimed aloud starting to his feet, *'I value your loy- 
 alty as highly as it deserves. In me you will find a 
 prince, who boldly, and successfully, will free you 
 from the foreign bondage which you fear. Sound to 
 arms, and should I wake before this is accomplished, 
 and before I have prostrated my father at my feet — 
 but what do I say ; my old passion has returned upon 
 me ; this is not right, it is not right to say it, even 
 though it^ never should be done.'*
 
 S^GISMLND. 113 
 
 As he uttered these words, the shouts were again 
 renewed, and Clotaldus hurried with a look of terror 
 into the apartment. " What shouts are'these,'^ he ex- 
 claimed, "I am lost. Prince," he added throwing 
 himself on his knees before Sigismund, "I am come to 
 receive my death at thy hands." 
 
 '' Not so, my father," replied the prince, " arise from 
 the earth, for thou shalt be the guide of my inexperi- 
 ence in this warfare. I know that to thy cares and 
 anxieties, I am indebted for my education ." 
 
 *' What say you," replied Clotaldus, in astonishment 
 at the mild and altered manner of the prince. 
 
 *' That I am dreaming," replied the latter, '* and that 
 there is a pleasure in doing good even in dreams." 
 
 " Then my lord," said Clotaldus, " if it be thy 
 intention to act according to the dictates of wisdom, 
 let it not offend thee that I should follow those of duty. 
 If you propose making war [on your father, I cannot 
 aid you with my council, for he is my king. I am at 
 thy feet ; give me death." 
 
 " Villian," exclaimed ^Sigismund, /'traitor and in- 
 grate — but," he added, suddenly repressing his anger,
 
 J 14 SIGISMUND. 
 
 ** why do I speak thus when I know not if I am yet 
 awake. I must restrain this violence. Clotaldus," he 
 added mildly, **I admire thy fidelity, depart and 
 serve thy king." 
 
 Clotaldus withdrew bowing respectfullj% and ad- 
 miring the moderation of Sigismund, while the latter 
 exclaimed, " whether or not let me act as virtue directs. 
 If these things be real, I shall have done much good, if 
 otherwise, I shall gain friends for the moment of wak- 
 ing.'' With these words, he departed to place him- 
 self at the head of his troops. 
 
 In the meantime, Basilius and Astolpho, alarmed at 
 the powerful insurrection which menaced the throne, 
 had placed themselves at the head of a large body of 
 forces and taken the field. Basilius was in the act of 
 consulting with the prince on the best measures to be 
 immediately adopted, when Clotaldus arrived, breath- 
 less and exhausted, at the royal tent. 
 
 ''Clotaldus here!" exclaimed Basilius, "what then 
 is become of Sigismund?" 
 
 The old man explained the circumstance which had 
 taken place at the dungeon, and Basilius calling for his
 
 .filGISMUND. 115 
 
 horse, hastened to place his army in a posture fit to 
 receive the insurgents. Clotaldus was about to follow, 
 when Rosaura entered and detained him.' 
 
 "Stay," she exclaimed, "and hear me for a moment. 
 You know that I came to Poland poor and unfriended, 
 until I was fortunate enough to obtain your protection. 
 You commanded me to remain disguised at the palace, 
 and to avoid the sight of Astolpho, but he has seen 
 me and so little regards .the promises he once made, 
 that he is to meet Estrella this very evening in the 
 palace garden. I have obtained the key, and by fa- 
 vouring your entrance that way, we may compel him 
 to do me justice." 
 
 " It is true, Rosaura,'^ said Clotaldus, " that since I 
 first saw you, the interest you excited within me was 
 such, that I would have given my life for yours, if the 
 sacrifice was demanded. I had.then resolved to com- 
 pel Astolpho to fulfil the promise which he had made 
 you, but our position has since been altered. Astol- 
 pho has saved my life, at the risk of his own, when I 
 lay prostrate at the feet of Sigismund. I cannot there- 
 fore lift my sword against him, for it would be a 
 detestable action."
 
 1 16 SIGISMUND. 
 
 '* It is true," replied Rosaura, " that I owe you my 
 life, yet I have heard you say, that he who lives under an 
 
 offence, does not in fact live at all. Then if I still remain 
 
 unredressed, I owe you nothing and my life is my own. 
 
 But if you will prefer your affection to your gratitude, 
 
 I hope yet to receive it from you. Be liberal first, and 
 
 then be grateful." 
 
 '* Thou hast convinced me Rosaura, and I will be 
 liberal. J will give thee my fortune, with which thou 
 mayest retire as thy virtue is yet unspotted to a mo- 
 nastery. I behold my country distracted by civil feuds 
 and must not add to them. Thus I shall be loyal to my 
 king, liberal to thee, and grateful to Astolpho; and 
 I think I could do no more Rosaura," he added 
 speaking with much tenderness, *' were I even thine 
 own father." 
 
 " Were you my /ather," exclaimed Rosaura, with 
 much indignation, " I might endure this insulting 
 speech but not otherwise." 
 
 " What then do you intend ?" said Clotaldus* 
 
 " To redress myself," replied Rosaura. 
 [*' This is madness," exclaimed Clotaldus. J
 
 SiGlSMUND. 117 
 
 "Be it so," replied Rosaura, it is a virtuous mad- 
 ness, and it shall be executed." Saying which she 
 hurried out of the room unheeding the efforts made by 
 Clotaldus to detain her. 
 
 The drums were now heard at a distance, andSigis- 
 mund still attired in his dress of skins, appeared in 
 the adjacent plain attended by Clarin and the soldiers. 
 A trumpet was heard and Clarin addressing the prince 
 said, " I see yonder a courser which if I am not much 
 deceived, bears a woman on his back — here she comes 
 beautiful as the bridal day. It is Rosaura,'" he added 
 with astonishment. 
 
 *• She is restored to me," said Sigismund with rap- 
 ture. Rosaura at the same instant reined in her steed 
 and alighted. 
 
 ** Generous prince,'* she said, "you see before you 
 an unfortunate woman who »finds herself compelled to 
 implore thy protection, lend me thine ear but for a few 
 moments and thou shalt know why it is that I am 
 compelled to trouble thee." 
 
 ;> Sigismund waived his attendants to some distance, 
 and requested Rosaura to proceed.
 
 118 SIGISMUND. 
 
 " I was born," said she " of a noble mother, in the 
 court of Muscovy ; she doubtless was very beautiful, 
 for she was very unhappy. A jealous husband tor- 
 tured her by unfounded doubts, and at length deserted 
 her ; I was the fruit of their unhappy union, and the 
 heiress if not to the beauty at least to the misfortunes 
 of my parent. Astolpho, the prince of Muscovy, for- 
 getting the sacred vows which he once pledged to me, 
 has come hither to Poland to espouse Estrella ; thus 
 have I been left, despised, contemned, forsaken, to 
 mourn in secret the perfidy of the man whose promises 
 I had too readily met by reciprocal vows of attach- 
 ment. I wept over my forlorn condition in a lonely 
 chamber, where no one entered to disturb me ; one 
 day my mother, Violante, suddenly broke into my pri- 
 son, and finding me in tears drew from me the secret of 
 my desertion ; she advised me to follow Astolpho to 
 the court of Poland, and handing me the sword which 
 I now hold, she bade me contrive to show it to the 
 nobles of the court, one of whom would recognize it 
 and afford me protection. I obeyed her, and the issue 
 proved her words true. All my modes of redress have, 
 however, failed me, and I now throw myself at thy feet
 
 BIGISMUND. 119 
 
 to seek the assistance which is necessary to prevent 
 
 the completion of my misery/' 
 
 Sigismund heard this discourse with a mixture of 
 surprise and sorrow. 
 
 "If this be true," said he to himself," "let memory 
 depart, for it is not possible that a dream should com- 
 prehend so many things. What man was ever tor- 
 tured by such a multitude of perplexing doubts. If 
 that day of pomp and splendour was in reality a dream 
 how happens it now that this woman again appears 
 before me, and relates so many perplexing things with 
 such a scrupulous minuteness. It was no dream ; it 
 was reality. Is glory then so like a dream, that the 
 happiest are shadows, and the briefest only real. How 
 like the copy is to the original. Well then, since 
 grandeur, pomp, power, and majesty, shall one day 
 pass like visions, let me profit by the moment of illu- 
 sion, and use them worthily. Rosaura is now in my 
 power. I love her, and might make her mine for ever. 
 I can now dream of happiness, but for that dream I 
 niUSt forfeit my eternal honour. A happiness once 
 passed, is but a dream we hold no more of, than the
 
 120 SIGISiMUND. 
 
 shadow that lingers in our remembrance. Then since 
 I know that pleasure is but a beautiful flame converting 
 into ashes the lofty mansions of virtue, and of glory, let 
 me only strive for that which is eternal; the happiness 
 that never dies^^tid the greatness which never passes 
 away. Rosaura then is safe." 
 
 Saying this he ordered the drum to beat to arms, 
 and prepared to give battle with his undisciplined 
 troops, carefully avoiding Rosaura with his eyes. 
 
 " Does not your highness answer me," exclaimed 
 the latter, " am I then rejected ; you do not even 
 look upon me." 
 
 " Rosaura," said the prince, " I do not answer thee 
 because my deeds must speak fur me, nor can I look 
 upon thee while I wish to preserve thy honour." Say- 
 ing which he hurried out of the tent, leaving Rosaura 
 more perplexed than ever. 
 
 Clarin having remained until now at a distance 
 approached Rosaura, saying, ** am I allowed to see you 
 Madam ?^' 
 
 «' Ah ! Clarin," exclaimed Rosaura, ** where have 
 you been ?"
 
 .GIGISMUND. 121 
 
 " Locked up in a' tower," answered Clarin, '* with 
 death grinning in my face, and ready to die of vexa- 
 tion." 
 
 " Why so/' asked Rosaura. 
 
 " I knew a secret," said Clarin, and had no way of 
 telling it. The fact is, Clotaldus is your — but what 
 noise is this." 
 
 Great shouts were now heard on the adjacent plain, 
 of *' long live our king," " liberty for ever !" 
 
 " King and liberty for ever, "as long as you like," 
 said Clarin, '' for I do not care two straws for either. 
 Provided the one gives me enough to eat, that's all I 
 am anxious about. I never heard so much trumpet- 
 ing, or saw so many bones flying in every direction 
 since I was born. Ha ! here is a fine large rock, from 
 behind which I can safely see the whole affair. It is 
 strong and well concealed ; this little parapet is the 
 best amulet in the w^orld against a wandering arrow," 
 Saying which he ensconced himself behind it. 
 
 The battle which had been raging with great fury, 
 now turned against the king. 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 SIGISMUND. 
 
 "The traitors," exclaimed Astolpho to the latter 
 "are victorious." 
 
 " You are mistaken," replied Basilius, " the epithet 
 of traitor in occasions like these, always applies to the 
 vanquished; but let us fly." 
 
 As the}' passed the rock behind which Clarin lay 
 concealed, a flight-arrow drop'd on the spot and pier- 
 ced the latter. He uttered an exclamation of pain and 
 entreaty. 
 
 "Who is there," demanded the king. 
 
 " An unfortunate man," replied Clarin, " seeking 
 to avoid death among these rocks, where as it happens 
 I am only come to meet it. Whoever thou art, I 
 advise thee to return to the field of battle, where you 
 will be just as secure as in the most secret recess ; for 
 if heaven has decreed thy death, rely on it that your 
 flight is vain," Saying these words the merry Casti- 
 lian expired. 
 
 "How well alas," said Basilius, " does heaven point 
 out to us our error, and our ignorance, by the words 
 of this unhappy jester. 1 will fly no further, for if it
 
 ' SIGISMUND, 123 
 
 is decreed by Providence that I shall die, I should seek 
 in vain to avoid my destin3^^' 
 
 At this moment Sigismund appeared followed by his 
 troops, from whom he dispatched scouts into all the 
 intricacies of the mountain to search for the fugitive 
 king, commanding them not to suffer a tree or even 
 a bush to pass without 'examination. 
 
 Clotaldus and Astolpho. could not prevail on Basi- 
 lius to take horse. On the contrary, so deeply was he 
 impressed with the certainty of his doom that he ad- 
 vanced to meet Sigismund. 
 
 '* Prince," said he, " thou art in search of me, and 
 here I am prostrate at thy feet. Set thy heel upon my 
 hoary head — upon my feeble neck — and on my glitter- 
 ing crown. Regard not the reverence,- which is due to 
 my years — the respect which my rank should inspire. 
 Accomplish thy revenge and make thy father thy 
 slave.'' 
 
 Sigismund paused for a few moments while he gaz- 
 ed on the prostrate monarch. At length addressing 
 the nobles who had crowded round he said .• 
 
 ** Illustrious court of Poland give me your attention, 
 
 G 2
 
 124 SIGISMUND. 
 
 and judge between my father and me. In [order to 
 subdue the native fierceness of my temper, my father 
 had me reared as men rear their captive lions and 
 tigers, and this before he had ascertained other than by 
 his own calculations, what danger might have been 'ex- 
 pected had he left me at freedom. In fact he increased, 
 if he did not create the danger, by his own conduct; 
 or had I been born of an humble and docile mind, the 
 life and education to which he doomed me would have 
 made me such a monster as he believed me to be. 
 Strange way to preserve himself from the consequen- 
 ces^of my infirmity ! If any man had an enemy who 
 sought his life, would he seek to preserve it by waking 
 that enemy up from sleep — If he was told that the 
 sword which he carried at his side should be the occa- 
 sion of his death would he seek to save himself by 
 unsheathing it, and pointing it to his breast? If he 
 was told that the water should be his tomb, would he 
 put ,to sea in a storm? But so it was that Basilius 
 acted, when he sought to tame the fierceness of my 
 temper, by giving me for tutors the beasts of the 
 desart. Let this example then of disappointed pru-
 
 ' SIGISMUND. 125 
 
 dence, shew to th« world, the folly of that wisdom in 
 which Basilius reposed confidence. The will of hea- 
 ven has humbled him even to the feet of his own child. 
 But let the lesson terminate here. Arise my father 
 and give me thy hand ; and if thou art unsatisfied with 
 what thy son has done, behold me at thy feet again, 
 powerless and humble, and ready to obey thee !" 
 
 Basilius made him rise. " My son," said he, " you 
 have again enkindled within me, the affections of a 
 father. You have conquered, and you are again our 
 prince." 
 
 '' Still," said Sigismund, *•' I have a more difficult 
 conquest to achieve over myself. Let Astolpho fulfil 
 his promise to Rosaura." 
 
 The Muscovite started. " It is true," said he, " that 
 I was once bound to her, but you should consider the 
 inequality of our conditions." 
 
 " Hold, '' exclaimed^ Clotaldus, "let that no longer 
 be a bar, for Rosanra is noble as well as Astolpho ; 
 she is my daughter !" 
 
 After the astonishment which Rosaura, as well as
 
 126 SIGISMUND. 
 
 all the rest of the hearers evinced at this intelligence 
 had subsided, Clotaldus continued. " Yes, she is my 
 daughter, although this is not the time to explain why 
 I so long kept this a secret." 
 
 While Astolpho endeavoured to make peace with 
 Rosaura, Sigismund turned to Clotaldus and said, 
 " You who were loyal to my father, though at the 
 hazard of your life, ask now any favour that Sigis- 
 mund can grant." 
 
 A man who appeared to exercise considerable autho- 
 rity amongst the populace, here stepped forward and 
 said, ^* since you are so liberal to your enemies, what 
 do you intend for me who was the cause of the tumult 
 by which you recovered your liberty V 
 
 " The same tower," replied Sigismund, " in which I 
 was myself confined." 
 
 The king and those who were around him could not 
 help admiring the extraordinary change which had 
 been wrought in the character of the prince. 
 
 " What i is it that surprises you?" exclaimed the 
 latter. "I have been taught by a dream, to restrain
 
 .' SIGISMUND. 127 
 
 selfish wishes. I know not but I may yet awake and 
 find myself once more chained within my dungeon. 
 My anxiety now therefore is, to profit? wisely by the 
 illusion while it last?." 
 
 At the conclusion of the Foreman's tale, a long conti- 
 nued round of applause gave gratifying evidence of 
 the interest it had excited. As soon as silence was 
 restored however, he was reminded of the song, which 
 according to his own proposal should follow the story. 
 *' I had almost forgotten,'' said the Foreman, *' and 
 thank you for reminding me of it. As the fickleness 
 of' a lover formed the chief subject of my story, [it 
 will not be inappropriate to make constancy the theme 
 of my song. I cannot pretend to do justice to one of 
 the most beautiful of our ancient Irish meloaies, but 
 venture with it as the best I can offer: — 
 
 AILEEN AROON. 
 I. 
 
 When like the early rose 
 
 Aileen aroon ! 
 Beauty in childhood blows, 
 
 Aileen aroon !
 
 128 SIGISMUND. 
 
 When like a diadem, 
 
 Buds blush around the stem, 
 
 Which is the fairest gem, 
 
 Aileen aroon ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Is it the laughing eye, 
 
 Alieen aroon ! 
 Is it the timid sigh, 
 
 Aileen aroon ! 
 Is it the tender tone, 
 Soft as the stringed harp's moan, 
 Oh, it is truth alone. 
 
 Aileen aroon ! 
 
 III. 
 
 When like the rising day, 
 
 Aileen aroon ! 
 Love sends his early ray," 
 Aileen aroon ! 
 What makes his dawning glow. 
 Changeless through joy or woe. 
 Only the constant know 
 
 Aileen aroon .'
 
 ' SI6I8MUND. 129 
 
 IV. 
 
 I know a valley fair, 
 
 Aileen aroon ! j 
 I knew a cottage there, 
 
 Aileen aroon ! 
 Far in that valleys shade, 
 I knew a gentle maid, 
 Flower of the hazel glade, 
 
 Aileen aroon ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Who in the song so sweet, 
 
 Aileen aroon! 
 Who in the dance so fleet, 
 
 Aileen aroon ! 
 Dear were her charms to me, 
 Dearer her laughter free. 
 Dearest her constancy, 
 
 Aileen aroon. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Were she no longer true, 
 
 Aileen aroon ! 
 What should her lover do, 
 
 Aileen aroon ! 
 Fly with his broken chain 
 
 G 5
 
 130 SIGISMUND. 
 
 Far o'er the sounding main. 
 Never to love again, 
 
 Aileen aroon ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Youth must with time decay, 
 
 Aileen aroon ! 
 Beauty must fade away, 
 
 Aileen aroon ! 
 Castles are sacked in war. 
 Chieftains are scattered far, 
 Truth is a fixed star, 
 
 Aileen aroon ! 
 
 " This gentlemen," said the foreman after slightly ac- 
 knowledging the renewed plaudits of his brother jurors, 
 " you are aware, is the celebrated composition which 
 was imposed upon the English public some years since 
 as a Scotch melody, under the name of Robin Adair. 
 
 It is amusing to witness how coolly our modern 
 composers avail themselves of our ancient stores of 
 melody, without the slightest acknowledgment. It is far 
 easier with them to adapt an old, and far too often
 
 SIGISMUND. 131 
 
 almost forgotten melody, than to trust to their own 
 powers for making a due impression of their capa- 
 bill ties as composers, upon the Public mind. 
 
 " Your remark is just," said one of his brethren, 
 " but as respects Robin Adair, the plagiarism might 
 have been unintentional. I mean that the adaptor 
 might have had no intention of imposing the music upon 
 the world as his own. Aileen Aroon was about that 
 period, too well known for any person thus to risk his 
 reputation. An Italian lady was in the habit of singing 
 it with the original Irish words, at Covent Garden 
 Theatre, and although the adaptor took only two 
 parts of the original air, and adorned the simple 
 melody with some grace notes, it is still probable that 
 he only looked to the words, silly as they are, for the 
 success of the publication. You are of course aware 
 that they are supposed to refer to the attachment of 
 the then Prince of Wales to Mrs. Fitzherbert. That 
 gave them an interest which the melody was certainly 
 not calculated to lessen." 
 
 " If it were a solitary instance,'^ said the foreman 
 *• I might fperhaps think with you ; but the thing is
 
 132 8IGI8MUND. 
 
 common. Indeed it has been ['practised with such im- 
 punity by some modern composers, that they do not 
 confine themselves to ancient airs. They do not hesi- 
 tate to extend their depredations to their more modern. 
 One instance I call to mind at this moment. A song 
 which was noised through London recently, as sung 
 by Madam Vestris at the Olympic Theatre, called 
 " They marched through the town," is neither more 
 nor less than the old rebel air of 1798, ^which you all 
 doubtless are familiar with. I mean, " Green to my 
 Cape." The worst of it is, however, that, in order 
 to conceal the plagiarism ; they spoil the melody, as in 
 this case the composer has destroyed the fine freedom 
 of the second line of the original." 
 
 ** I do not mean to dispute what you have stated,' 
 said the former juryman, "but still plagiarism in 
 music as in poetry, will .sometimes unintentionally 
 occur. A long forgotten strain perhaps recurs to the 
 mind of the composer — he cannot remember that he 
 has heard it before — it haunts him until he begins to 
 persuade himself it is original, and forthwith embodies 
 it in leaden plates, from whence it issues to delight the
 
 *' SIGISMUND. 133 
 
 drawing rooms of the fashionable world. This, I think 
 was the case with a gentleman whom Ireland has rea- 
 son to be proud of; and who, perhaps to this hour, is 
 not aware that one of his most beautiful compositions, 
 " The Angels Whisper," is taken from the old air of 
 the ** Fox's Sleep," to which Moore has written the 
 beautiful words, " When he who adores thee, has left 
 but the name." Indeed the first line of the music of 
 each are identical, and if the plagiarism be caused in 
 the way I have suggested, we have double cause to be 
 thankful to the old air, in as much as it has inspired 
 a new one, nearly equal in beauty." 
 
 '* I could say more on the subject," said the Fore- 
 man, '* but I am detaining you from the amusement 
 which I perceive by his abstracted expression of coun- 
 tenance, our friend next me is preparing for us." 
 
 " I am sorry to say gentleman," said the juryman 
 alluded to, " I have been engaged rather in hunting for 
 a story than in preparing one. My perplexity never- 
 theless has this moment reminded me of a tale which 
 if it possess no other merit, has at least that of being 
 appropriate to the occasion, so I shall relate it without 
 further preamble."
 
 THE SECOND JURYMAN'S TALE. 
 
 THE STORY TELLER AT FAULT. 
 
 " Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will not 
 mend his pace with beating." 
 
 Hamlet, Act. v., So. i.
 
 THE STORY TELLER AT FAULT. 
 
 At the time when the Tuaha Danams held the so- 
 vereignty of Ireland, there reigned in Leinster, a 
 king, who was remarkably fond of hearing stories. 
 Like all the princes and chieftains of the island at this 
 early date, he had a favourite story teller, according 
 to the custom of those times, who held a large estate 
 from his Majesty, on condition of his telling him a new 
 story every night of his life, before he went to sleep, 
 and sometimes with the laudable purpose of lulling 
 him into that blissful condition. So inexhaustible was 
 the [genius of the king of Leinsler's story-teller, that 
 he had already reached a good old age, without failing
 
 138 THE STORY TELLER 
 
 even for a single night to have a new story for the 
 king ; and such was the skill and tact which he dis- 
 played in their construction, that whatever cares of 
 state or other annoyances might prey upon the mo- 
 narch's mind, one of his story-teller's narratives was 
 sure to make him fall asleep. 
 
 In the course of his career, the Story-Teller, had 
 married a wealthy and high-born lady, daughter of 
 a neighbouring lord of that country, with whom he 
 lived in peace and prosperity during many years 
 There is nothing however in this world which is not 
 subject to decay or change, and even the human mind 
 which from its spiritual nature, might well be sup- 
 posed incorruptible, is doomed to share the infirmities 
 of the frame, with which it is so mysteriously united. 
 The progress of old age began to produce a sensible 
 influence on the imagination of the Story-Teller. His 
 fancy grew less brisk and active, and the king obser- 
 ved that he began to diversify his incidents with a 
 greater number of moral and philosophical reflections 
 than he conceived to be necessary to the progress of 
 the narrative. However, he made no complaints as
 
 / AT FAULT. 139 
 
 the Story-Teller's reflections evinced a great deal of 
 judgment, and the grand object in view, that of set- 
 ting the king to sleep, was as perfectly accomplished 
 by his philosophy, as by his wit or invention. 
 
 Matters thus proceeded, the Story-Teller growing 
 older and older and more and more philosophical, and 
 less and less fanciful, but he was yet true to his en- 
 gagement, and never failed to have a new story at 
 night fall for the king's amusement. Every day how- 
 ever brought encreasing indications of an intellectual 
 crisis, which would not be very distant. 
 
 One morning the Story Teller arose early, and, as 
 his custom was, strolled out into his garden, and 
 through the adjacent fields, in order to turn over in 
 his mind some incidents which he might weave into a 
 story for the king at night. But this morning he 
 found himself quite at fault; after pacing hi> whole 
 demesne, he returned to his house, without being able 
 to think of anything new or strange. In vain he sent 
 his fancy abroad, it returned as empty as it left him. 
 He found no difficulty in proceeding as far as " there 
 was once a king who had three sons," or '* there lived
 
 140 THE STORY TELLER 
 
 in the reign of Ollav Folia ;" or " one day the king of 
 all Ireland," but further than that, he found it im- 
 possible to proceed. At length a servant came to 
 announce to him that breakfast was ready and his 
 mistress waiting for him in the house. He went in 
 and found his wife seated at the table, and looking 
 much perplexed at his delay. She was not long ob- 
 serving the air of chagrin, that overspread his coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 " Why do j'ou not come to breakfast, my dear T' 
 said his wife, 
 
 '' I have no mind to eat anything'' replied the Story- 
 teller. " As long as I have been in the service of the 
 king of Leinster I never yet sat down to breakfast 
 without having a new story to tell him in the evening, 
 but this morning my mind is quite shut up and I don't 
 know what to do. I might as well lie down and die at 
 once. I'll be disgraced for ever this evening, when the 
 king calls for his Story-teller." 
 
 " That's strange," said the wife, " can't you think 
 of any thing new at all." 
 
 " Nothing whatever ; the door of my mind is locked 
 against it."
 
 AT FAULT. 141 
 
 " Nonsense," said his wife, " can't you invent some- 
 thing about a giant, or a dwarf, or a Bean Mhor (huge 
 woman) or a baoch (champion) from foreign parts?" 
 
 " Oh it is easy enough to find heroes," replied the 
 Stor}'- teller, " but what am I to do with them when I 
 have thesn." 
 
 "And can't you invent anything at all ?" 
 
 "I cannot; our estate is gone from us for ever; 
 besides the open show that will be made of me to 
 night at the palace." 
 
 When the Story-teller's wife heard this dreadful 
 news, she broke into a fit of cr_ying and weeping, as if 
 all her friends and relations were dead. At length her 
 husband prevailed on her to be composed. 
 
 " Well," said she, " let us sit down to breakfast at 
 any rate ; the day is long yet and may be you'd think 
 of something or another in the course of it." 
 
 '' The Story-teller shook his head as if to intimate 
 his distrust of its contents, but sat down to breakfast 
 as his wife desired. When all was removed, and they 
 had sat for a while in silence. 
 
 "Well," she asked, '* do you think of anything 
 yet."
 
 142 THE STORY TELLER 
 
 "Not a pinsworth," said the Story-teller. '* I might 
 as well lie down and die at once/' 
 
 " Well, my dear," said the lady, " I'll tell you what 
 you'll do. Order your horses and chariot, and let us 
 take a good long drive, and may be something might 
 come into your head." 
 
 The Story-teller complied, and the chariot was pre- 
 pared. Two of his finest horses were harnessed in 
 the carriage, aud three favourite hounds followed them. 
 After driving a long distance, they took the road home- 
 ward once more, and towards evening when they came 
 within sight of their own demesne, the lady again 
 asked her husband if he had yet thought of anything 
 to tell the king ? 
 
 "There is no use in my attempting it," he replied, 
 " I can think of nothing. I'm as far from having any- 
 thing new, as I am when we left home. 
 
 At this moment it happened that the lady saw 
 something: dark at the end of a field at a little distance 
 from the road. 
 
 " My dear,'' said the wife, *' do you see something 
 black at the end of that field?" "I do," replied her 
 husband.
 
 .* AT FAULT. 143 
 
 " Let us drive towards it," said the wife, '* and per- 
 haps it might be the means of putting something into 
 3?our head which it would answer to tell the king/' 
 
 *' I'll do as 3'ou desire," replied the Story-teller, 
 '* though I am sure it is no use for me." 
 
 They turned the horses heads and drove in the 
 direction pointed out by the lady. When they drew 
 nigh, they saw a miserable looking old man lying on 
 the ground with a wooden leg placed beside him. 
 
 *' Who are you my good man V asked the Story- 
 teller. 
 
 " Oh, then, 'tis little matter who I am, I'm a poor, 
 old, lame, decrepid miserable creature, sitting down 
 here to rest awhile." 
 
 '* And what are you doing with that box and dice I 
 see in your hand?" 
 
 *' I am waiting here to see whether any one would play 
 a game with me," replied the old bococh (beggar man.) 
 
 " Play with you .'" exclaimed the Story-teller. " Why 
 what has a poor old man like you to play for ?" 
 
 " I have one hundred pieces of gold here in this 
 leathern purse," replied the old man.
 
 144 THE STORY TELLER 
 
 " Do you go down and play with him," said the 
 Story-teller's wife, " and perhaps you might have 
 something to tell the king about it in the evening." 
 
 He descended, and a smooth stone was placed be- 
 tween them as a gaming table. They had not cast 
 many throws, when the Story-teller lost all the money 
 he had about him. 
 
 "Much good may it do you, friend," said the Story- 
 teller. " I could not expect better hap in so foolish an 
 undertaking." 
 
 " Will you play again?" asked the old man. 
 
 " Don't be talking, man ; you have all my money." 
 
 " Haven't you a chariot and horses and hounds 1" 
 : •' Well, what of them ?" 
 
 " I'll stake all the money I have against them." 
 
 '* Nonsense, man !" exclaimed the Story-teller, " do 
 you think for all the gold in Ireland, I'd run the risk 
 of seeing my lady obliged to go home on foot ?" 
 
 " May be you'd win," said the bococh. 
 
 *' May be I would'nt," said the Story-teller. 
 
 " Do play with him husband," said the lady. " It 
 is the second time and as he won before, you might 
 win now. Besides I don^t mind walking."
 
 ,• AT FAULT. 145 
 
 " I never refused you a request in my life that it 
 was possible to comply with," said the Story-teller, 
 *'and I won't do so now." ' 
 
 He sat down accordingly, and in one throw lost 
 houses, hounds, and chariot. 
 
 " Will you play again? asked the bococh. 
 
 "Are you making game of me, man ?" said the 
 Story-teller, " what else have J to stake." 
 
 "I'll stake the whole money and all against your 
 lady," said the old man. 
 
 Now, gentlemen of the Jury, although these were 
 pagan times, the Story-teller could not help thinking 
 the bococh had a great deal of impudence to make him 
 such a proposition. However he only looked at him 
 with an expression of great surprise and was turning 
 away in silence, when his wife spoke to him again : 
 
 " Do, my dear," said she, " accept his offer. This 
 is the third time and how do you know what luck you 
 may have? Besides, if j^ou lose your estate to night 
 as you are afraid, sure I'd be only a bother to you all 
 our life." 
 
 ** Is that the wa}' you talk!" said the Story teller, 
 
 VOL, t. H
 
 146 THE STORY TELLER 
 
 " you that I never refused a request to since first I 
 saw you." 
 
 " Well," said she '* if you never refused me a re- 
 quest before, don't refuse me this one now, and may be 
 it would be better for us both. You'll surely win the 
 third time." 
 
 They played again and the Story-teller lost. No 
 sooner had he done so, than to his great astonishment 
 and indignation, he beheld his lady walk over and sit 
 down near the ugly old bococh. 
 
 '*Is that the way you're leaving me?" said the 
 Story-teller. 
 
 "Sure I was won my dear," said the lady *'you 
 would not cheat the poor man, would you?" 
 
 " Have you any more to stake ?" asked the old 
 man. 
 
 " You know very well I have not," replied the 
 Story-teller. 
 
 " I'll stake the whole now, your lady and all, against 
 yourself," said the old man. 
 
 " Nonsense, man \" said the Story-teller, " what' in 
 the world business would you have of an old fellow 
 like me ?"
 
 •* AT FAULT. 147 
 
 "That's my own affair, said the bococh, "I know 
 myself what use I could make of you ; it is enough 
 for you if I am willing to cons der you a sufl&cient 
 stake against all I have." 
 
 ^' Do, my dear," said the lady ; '* surely you do not 
 mean to leave me here after you." 
 
 The Story-teller complied once more and lost. 
 
 ''Well," said he with a desolate look, '' here I am 
 for you now and what do you want with me ? You 
 have the whole of us now, horses and carriage and 
 mistress and master, and what business have you of 
 usl" 
 
 *'fll soon let you know what business I have of 
 you at any rate,'' said the old man, taking out of his 
 pocket a long cord and a wand. " Now/' he continued, 
 as I have possession of your property, I do not choose 
 to be annoyed by you any longer, so I propose trans- 
 forming you into some kind of an animal and I give 
 you a free choice to be a hare, or a^ deer, or a fox, 
 which ever of the three best hits your fancy." 
 ' The Story-teller in dismay looked over towards his 
 wife. 
 
 H 2
 
 J48 THE SlORy TELLER 
 
 '' My dear," said she, *^ do not choose to be a deer, 
 for if you do, your horns will be caught in the bran- 
 ches and you will be starved with hunger ; neither 
 choose to be a fox, for you will have the curse of 
 every body down upon you, but choose to be an ho- 
 nest little hare, and every one will love you, and you 
 will be praised by high and low." 
 
 ** And is that all the compassion you have for me?" 
 said the Story-teller, '* Well, as I suppose it is the 
 last word 1 have to say to you, it shall not be to con- 
 tradict you at any rate." 
 
 So he made choice of a hare, and the old man im- 
 mediately threw the cord around him and struck him 
 with the wand, when the transformation was effected. 
 Scarcely had the poor hare taken a skip or two in 
 order to divert himself, when the lady called the 
 hounds, and set them after him. The hare ran, the 
 dogs followed. The field in which they happened to 
 be was enclosed by a high wall, so that the course con- 
 tinued a long time in the sight of the old man and the 
 lady to the great diversion of both. At length the 
 hare panting and weary, ran to the feet of the latter
 
 , AT FAULT. J 49 
 
 for protection. But there was witnessed a singular 
 instance of the caprice and mutability of the sex, for 
 the Story-teller's wife forgetful of all his kindness 
 experienced during a long course of years, unfeel- 
 ingly kicked him bock again towards the dogs, from 
 whence arose the proverb long current in after times, 
 caith se a glab na con, (she threw him into the 
 hound's mouth), as applied to all who act with similar 
 ingratitude. They coursed him a second and a third 
 time, and at the end of each, the lady acted with the 
 same heartlessness, until at length the old man struck 
 the hounds, and took the hare into his lap, where he 
 held him for some time, until he had sufficiently re- 
 covered his strength. He then placed him on the 
 ground, and putting the cord around him struck him 
 with the wand, on which he immediately re-assumed 
 his own form. 
 
 "Well," said the old man, "will you tell me how 
 you liked that sport V* 
 
 *'It might be sport to others," replied the Story-^ 
 teller looking at his wife, "but I declare I don't find 
 it so enticing, but I could put up with the loss of it.
 
 150 THE STORY TELLER 
 
 You're'a droll man, whoever you are. Would it be 
 asking an impertinent question to know from you who 
 you are at all, or where you came from, or what is 
 your trade that you should take a pleasure in 
 plaguing a poor old man of my kind in that manner V 
 " Oh," replied the stranger, " I'm a very odd kind 
 of man — a sort of a valking, good-for-little fellow — 
 one day in poverty — another day in plenty — and so on 
 — but if you wish to know anything more about me 
 or my habits, come with me in some of my rambles 
 and perhaps I might show you more than you would 
 be apt to make out if you were to go alone/' 
 
 "Fm not my own master to go or stay,^' replied the 
 Story-teller with a resigned look. 
 
 When the stranger heard this, he put cine hand into 
 the wallet which he carried at his side, and drew out of 
 it before their eyes, a-well looking middle-aged man to 
 whom he spoke, as follows : 
 
 I command you by all you heard and saw since I 
 put you into my wallet, to lake charge [of this lady 
 together with the carriage and horses and all, and 
 have them ready for me at a call whenever I shall re- 
 quire them/'
 
 I AT FAULT. 151 
 
 He had scarcely said these words when all vanished 
 from the Story-teller's sight, and he found himself on a 
 sudden, transported he knew not how, 'to a place which 
 he recognized as the Fox's Ford, well known as the 
 residence of Red Hugh O'Donnell. On looking 
 around he saw the old man standing near him in a 
 dress still more grotesque than before. His figure 
 was now erect, though tall and lank, his hair grey, and 
 his ears sticking up through his old hat. The greater 
 part of his sword was exposed behind his hip ; he 
 wore a pair of tattered brogues which at every prodi- 
 gious stride he made over the marshy ground, sent the 
 water in jets up to his knees; and in his hand he car- 
 ried three green boughs. It happened on this very day 
 that O' Donnell and his followers and kinsmen were 
 partaking of a splendid banquet in his house. They 
 were very merry feasting and drinking together, and 
 as the Story-teller and his companion drew near, they 
 heard one of the guests exclaim in a loud and com- 
 manding tone: 
 
 " Who will say he ever heard finer music than that? 
 Is it possible that twenty two musicians could be
 
 152 THE STORY TELLER 
 
 found from this to the shores of Greece, better skilled 
 in'their art than the twenty two who are here to-day ; 
 I mean Darby Mc Gillagan, Cormad O'Cregan, Timo- 
 thy O'Cunningham, and many more whom I do not 
 mention now by name?'^ 
 
 " We do not suppose," said several of his hearers, 
 " that any such thing is possible." 
 
 At this moment the Caol Riava (thin grey man) and 
 the Story-teller entered the house: 
 
 " Save all here !" said the Caol Riava. 
 
 " And you likewise," replied O'Donnell, " where do 
 you come from now ? " 
 
 '* I slept last night," replied the stranger, " in the 
 palace of the king of Scotland." 
 
 ' Call the door-keeper before me," said O'DonneU. 
 
 He was summoned accordingly, 
 ' " Was it you let in this man ?" asked O'Donnell. 
 
 " I give you free lave to whip the head from my 
 two shoulders," replied the door-keeper, '' if ever I laid 
 eyes upon him before this present moment." 
 
 "Let it pass," said the Caol Riava, "for it would 
 come just as easy to me to go out as to come in, whe- 
 ther the door was open or shut."
 
 AT FAULT. 153 
 
 Then turning to the musicians : 
 
 "Play something for us," said he, "that I may 
 judge whether all that I have heard in ^our praise be 
 merited or otherwise." 
 
 They began to play, first successively, and then in 
 full concert, all kinds of airs and elaborate pieces of 
 music, both on wind and stringed instruments, and 
 when they had concluded, all looked to the new comer 
 to learn his opinion of their performance. 
 
 ** I assure you," said the Caol Riava, "that since I 
 first heard of Belzebub and Moloch and Satan and the 
 rest of their infernal compeers, and of the hideous 
 noise and upro;ir compounded of rage and lamentation 
 which prevails in the dreary region of the demons and 
 in the court of the sable princes of Hell, I never could 
 imagine worse music than what you are just after 
 playing." 
 
 *' Play something for us yourself then," said 
 O'Donnell. 
 
 " May be I will, and may be 1 wont," replied the 
 Caol Riava, " fur you may be certain I will do exactly 
 what I like myself and nothing else.'' 
 
 H 5
 
 164 THE STORY TELLER 
 
 "I donH doubt you." said O'Donnell. 
 
 The Caol Riava then teok a harp and began to play 
 in such a manner that the dead might have come out 
 of their graves to hear him without occasioning any 
 astonishment to those who knew the cause they had 
 for so doing. As to the company who were present, 
 sometimes he would make them weep, sometimes 
 laugh, and at other times he could lull them asleep 
 with the power of his enchanting strains. 
 
 '* You are a sweet man, whoever you are," said 
 O'Donnell. 
 
 " Some days sweet and some days bitter," replied 
 the Caol Riava. 
 
 " Go higher up and sit in company with O'Donnell 
 and eat along with him," said one of the attendants. 
 
 " I will do no such thing," replied the Caol Riava, 
 " for a pleasing accomplishment in an ugly fellow like 
 me, is like honey in the body of a man who is going 
 to be hanged ; so I will go no higher up then where I 
 am ; but let me see his goodness here, if he has a 
 mind to shew it at all.'* 
 
 He kept his place and O'Donnell sent him by the
 
 AT FAULT. ]55 
 
 hands of an attendant a suit of attire, consisting of a 
 cloak of many colours, a fine tunic and other garments 
 to match. 
 
 " Here," said the attendant, " is a full suit that 
 O'Donnell sends you." 
 
 "I will not accept it," replied the Caol Riava, "for a 
 good man shall never have to say that he lost so much 
 by me." 
 
 " He is either an enemy or something more than 
 mortal," said O'Donnell, when he heard that the stran- 
 ger had refused his gifts. "Let twenty horsemen in 
 full armour keep guard outside the house, and as 
 many foot soldiers be stationed inside to watch his 
 movements." 
 
 " What are you going to do with me ?" asked the 
 Long Grey Man, when he saw the soldiers gathering 
 round him. 
 
 ^' We mean to have a sharp eye on you, that you 
 may not not give us the slip 'till dinner is over," said 
 O'Donnell. 
 
 You are very hospitable," Veplied the Caol Riava 
 ** but I give you my word, if you were as good again 
 it is not with you I'll dinejo day."
 
 166 THE STORY TELLER 
 
 " Where else will you dine?" asked O'Donnell. 
 
 " Far enough from you, you may be satisfied," repli- 
 ed the Caol Hiava. 
 
 *' I pledge you my word," said one of the galloglas- 
 ses on guard, " if J find you attempting to stir against 
 O'Donnell's wish I'll make pound pieces of you with 
 my battle axe." 
 
 7'he Caol Riava made no reply but took an instru- 
 ment and began to play as before, in such a manner 
 that all within hearing were all enchanted with his 
 music. He then laid aside the harp and stood up in 
 his place. 
 
 " Now," he said, " look to yourselves, you who are 
 minding me, for I am off!" 
 
 The instant he uttered these words, the soldier who 
 before had menaced him raised his battle axe, but in- 
 stead of wounding the stranger as he intended, he 
 struck a heavy blow on the harness of the man who 
 stood next him. The latter returned the stroke with 
 the best of his will, and in a few moments the whole 
 score of foot guards were hewing at each others heads 
 and shoulders, with their battle axes until the floor was
 
 AT FAULT. 157 
 
 strewed with their disabled bodies. In the midst of 
 this confusion the Caol Riava came to the door keeper 
 and said to him : 
 
 "Go to O'Donneli and tell him that for a reward of 
 twenty cows and a large farm rent free, you will un- 
 dertake to bring his people to life again. When he 
 accepts your proposal (as I know he will be glad to 
 do) take this herb and rub a little of it to the roof of 
 each man's mouth, and he will be presently in perfect 
 health again.'' 
 
 The door-keeper did as he directed, and succeeded 
 perfectly, but when he returned to thank his benefac- 
 tor, to his great astonishment he could discover no 
 trace of either him or the Story teller. 
 
 It happened at this very time that a worthy man, 
 nanied Mac Eocha, of Leinster, a doctor in poetry, had 
 been laid up with a broken leg more than eighteen 
 weeks without receiving the least relief, although he 
 had sixteen of the ablest surgeons in Leinster in con- 
 sultation upon it. Happening to lift up his eyes as he 
 sat before his door, he saw the Caol Riava [and the 
 Story-teller approaching the former having only one
 
 158 THE STORY TELLER 
 
 large garment around him, and an Irish book in his 
 hand out of which he read aloud in one monotonous 
 humming tone. 
 
 *' Save you, Mac Eocha." said the Caol Riava. 
 
 " And you likewise !" replied Mac Eocha " may I 
 ask you what is your profession." ■ 
 
 *' Why," replied the Caol Riava, " I am what you 
 may call the makings of a physician from Ulster." 
 
 *'And what is your name'?" 
 
 "Call me Cathal 5 Gein and I will answer to it," re- 
 plied the stranger. " I understand you are of a very 
 churlish and inhospitable disposition, and if you 
 changed your conduct, I would be apt to cure your 
 leg for you." 
 
 " I acknowledge my failing," said Mac Eocha, " I am 
 as niggardly as any miser until I take my third cup, 
 but from that out I am easy as to what others may 
 do. But I promise you if you cure me that I will not 
 be guilty of that fault again." 
 
 While he was speaking the sixteen Doctors who 
 were in attendance on him came up, to enquire how 
 he was getting on, upon which he told them of the 
 offer made by the Caol Riava.
 
 AT FAI'LT. 159 
 
 The Doctors looked at the stranger, and at the 
 Story teller and then laughed immoderately. 
 
 " 'Tis verv well," said the Caol Riara, but wait a 
 little. Rise up now," said he to Mac Eocha, " and 
 let me see which can you or your sixteen physicians 
 run fastest." 
 
 Up started Mac Eocha, and away went the sixteen 
 doctors after their patient, but he left them far behind, 
 and came back in great spirits to his house, while they 
 remained panting and puffing at a distance. 
 
 ** Now, you Mac Eocha," said the stranger, '^ do not 
 be guilty of inhospitality or churlishness from this 
 this time forward, or if you do, I'll come to you again, 
 and break your leg worse than it was before, and not 
 only that, but the other leg also I'll break in such a 
 manner that all the surgeons in the Fenian hosts will 
 not be able to cure it for you. As for these sixteen 
 impostors that pretended to treat it for you, not one of 
 them shall ever walk without a limp from this time 
 forward." 
 
 '* 1 promise you I will remember what you say," re- 
 plied Mac Eocha, "and to make a beginning come in
 
 160 THE SrORY TELLER 
 
 now and partake of a magnificent banquet which shall 
 be prepared on the instant, for you and your compa- 
 nion. 
 
 They entered the house and were followed by the 
 sixteen physicians who shortly after came limping 
 across the threshold. However, while Mac Eocha was 
 ordering the banquet, an attendant ran to tell him that 
 the Ulster doctor was running down the hill, which 
 sloped away from the door, faster than a greyhound 
 with a hare in his eye. Mac Eocha was so much sur- 
 prised at his abrupt departure that he made these lines 
 which were often repeated after him : 
 
 Though my trust in his skill and his learning is high, 
 I'd have liked him the better for bidding good bye: 
 If the doctors of Ulster have all the same breeding, 
 T'were fitter they stuck to their cupping and bleeding. 
 
 Meanwhile the Story teller and his strange master 
 found themselves on a wild heath in Sligo, where they 
 beheld O'Connor of Connaughtat the head of a power- 
 ful army with a vast herd ^of cattle and other spoils, 
 which he had driven from the bondsmen of Manster. 
 The Caol Kiava went up and saluted him ; 
 <* Save you O'Connor," he said boldly.
 
 AT FAULT. Ifil 
 
 . *'And you likewise," replied the monarch, ''what is 
 your name ?" 
 
 "Call me Giolla De," said the Caol Riava, /' what is 
 the cause of the confusion which I observe amongst 
 your forces ?" 
 
 " We are expecting an attack from the Munster 
 men," replied the king, " and are at a loss how to drive 
 the spoils and repel the enemy at the same time." 
 
 '' What made you drive them at all ?" said the Caol 
 Riava. 
 
 '* You know," replied the king, " that a monarch 
 ought always to be ready to redress the shghtest 
 grievance of his subjects. Now it happened that a 
 Connaught woman lent a basket to a woman of her 
 acquaintance in Munster who refused to return it at 
 the appointed time. I heard of the injury and imme- 
 diately raised an army to avenge it. I am now re- 
 turning with the spoils, a portion of which I intend to 
 bestow on the poor woman who lost her basket." 
 
 •* And what will you do with the rest?" inquired the 
 Giolla De. 
 
 " I will keep them myself," said the king, •' to sig-
 
 162 THE SrORy TELLER 
 
 nalize my victory, and enhance the national glory, 
 after the way of all great kings." 
 
 " I'm afraid it will give you enough to do," replied 
 the Caol Riava, " for before you leave this heath, 'you 
 will have more Munster men to meet you, than there 
 are purple bells all over it." 
 
 '• That's what I fear," said the king. 
 
 *'What will you give me if I help you," said ^the 
 Caol Riava. 
 
 " You !" cried one of O'Connor's men with a burst 
 of laughter, *' it cannot make much difference to 
 O'Connor, whether you go or stay." 
 
 *' What reward would you require V asked O'Con- 
 nor. 
 
 "A share, little or much, of anything you may get 
 while I am with you ;" replied the Giolla De. 
 
 " Agreed," exclaimed the king. 
 
 ** Very well/' said the Giolla De, " do you hold 
 on your journey driving your spoils, while 1 coax the 
 Munster men home again." 
 
 The king proceeded and saw nothing of the men of 
 Munster until he reached his own domain where he
 
 AT FAULT. 
 
 163 
 
 arrived before any of his retinue. As he did so he 
 perceived the Giolla De, and the Story teller again by 
 his side. Wearied from the fatigue of the expedition, 
 after welcoming them he entered a shieling by the way- 
 side, and called for a drink. It was brought and he 
 drank it of without even thinking of the Giolla De. 
 
 " I am sorry to see you forget your agreement," 
 said the latter. 
 
 " Do you call that trifle a breach of my agreement V 
 said the king. 
 
 *' Ah," replied the Giolla De, " it is trifles that show 
 the mind. You went to war for a basket, and you 
 call a cup of wine a trifle." And he immediately 
 spoke these lines : 
 
 The wrong a king doth, were it huge as a mountain 
 He weighs it no more than a drop from the fountain. 
 The wrong a king suffers; though light as a bubble. 
 Sends fools to the slaughter, and kingdoms to trouble. 
 Thenceforth I'll not swear by the weight of a feather 
 Nor the firmness of ice in the sunny spring weather 
 But I'll swear by a lighter, more slippery thing. 
 And my troth shall be plight, by the word of a king. 
 
 The instant he had uttered these lines the Caol Riava 
 and the Story-teller vanished from the eys of O'Con-
 
 164 THE STORY TELLER 
 
 nor who looked around for them in vain in all directions. 
 But what astonished him still more was, that not a 
 particle of all the spoils he had driven from Munster 
 remained with his host, nor could anything- be found 
 throughout the whole army but an old basket which 
 the Connaught woman already spoken of, recognized 
 as the one she had lent to the Munster woman. While 
 all were wondering at those strange events, the Caol 
 Riava and the astonished Story teller approached the 
 house of a man 'named Thady O'Kelly who at that 
 moment happened to be sitting at his own door, in the 
 midst of his friends aud dependants. The Caol Riava 
 drew near dressed [in the same tattered garments as 
 usual and bearing a white crooked \A'and in his hand. 
 
 "Save you Thady O Kelly," said the Caol Riava, 
 
 "And you likewise,*' replied Thady, " from whence 
 do you come V 
 
 •' From the house of O'Connor, Sligo " answered the 
 the Caol Riava. 
 
 '' What is your occupation?" asked Thady. 
 
 " I am a travelling juggler," replied the stranger. 
 ** and if you promise to give me five pieces of silver, I 
 will perform a trick for you.*'
 
 AT FAULT. 165 
 
 •• 1 do promise you," said Thady. 
 
 The Caol |Riava then took three small siveens or 
 leeks and placed them lengthwise on his hand, and 
 said he would blow out the middle one and leave the 
 two others in their places. All present said that such 
 a feat was perfectly impossible, for the three siveens 
 were so light and lay so close together that the breath 
 which carried away one, must necessarily take the two 
 others also. However the Caol Riava put his two fin- 
 gers on the two outside It eks, and then blew away that 
 which was in the middle. 
 
 " There's a trick for you, Thady O'Kelly," said the 
 Caol Riava. 
 
 " I declare to my heart," said Thady, "'tis a good 
 one." And he paid him the five pieces of silver. 
 
 " Why then, that he may get good of your money, 
 himself and his trick," said one of CKelly's men. 
 *' If 3'ou gave me half what you nave him, I'll engage 
 Vd perform the same trick as well as he did it." 
 
 " Oh 'tis easy enotigh to do it'" said Thady. 
 
 " Take him at his word," said the Caol Riava, " Fd 
 wager anything he fails, for I never yet saw a boaster 
 succeed in any thing he attempted."
 
 166 THE STORY TELLER 
 
 Thady commanded him to proceed and the fellow- 
 placed three siveens on his hand, and laying his two 
 fingers on the outside ones was about to blow away 
 that in the centre. However he had scarcely done so 
 much, when his two fingers went down through the 
 palm of his hand in such a manner that the tips ap- 
 peared at the back, and would have remained so in all 
 likelihood to the day of his death if the Cleaiaiye, or 
 
 juggler had not rubbed an herb upon the place and 
 healed it. 
 
 " Well/^ said he " you perceive that every thing is 
 not easy that looks so. But if 3'ou Thady O'Kelly 
 will give me five pieces more, I'll do another trick for 
 you as good as the last." 
 
 " You shall have them," answered Thady, " if you 
 let us hear what it is to be. " 
 
 •* Do you see my two ears?" said the juggler, 
 thrusting his head forward. 
 
 *' What a show they are !" said Thady, *' to be 
 sure we do." 
 
 "Well, will you give ms the five pieces, if I stir 
 one of my ears without stirring the other."
 
 AT FAULT. 167 
 
 " Indeed I will," said Thady, " that is impossible at 
 all events, for you can only move the ears by moving 
 the whole scalp of your head, and then both must 
 move together." 
 
 The juggler put up his hand and catching hold of 
 one ear stirred it. 
 
 " Upon my word," said Thady, " you have won 
 my five pieces again, and that is a very good trick.'* 
 
 " He's welcome home to us with his tricks," said the 
 same man who spoke before, " if he calls that a trick. 
 Only I was so hasty and so awkward while ago, \ 
 could have done the trick well enough, but there's no 
 great art required for this at all events." 
 
 So saying, he put up his hand and stirred^ his ear 
 but to his astonishment and terror it came away be- 
 tween his fingers! However the juggler rubbed an 
 herb once more to the place, and healed it as before. 
 
 " Well, Thady O'Kelly," said the juggler, " J will 
 now show you a more curious trick than either of those 
 if you give me the same money.'' 
 
 *' You have my word for it,*' said Thady. 
 
 The juggler then took out of his bag a large ball of
 
 168 THE STORY TELLER 
 
 thread, and folding the end around his finger, flung it 
 slantwise up into the air. Up it flew unrolling as it 
 proceeded, while all gazed after it, lost in wonder until 
 it disappeared amongst the clouds. He next took 
 out of his bag a fine hare which he placed on the 
 thread, when to the increasing astonishment of the 
 beholders, the animal ran up the line with as much 
 dexterity as if she had been all her life at Astley's or 
 Vauxhall. He next took out a greyhound, which he 
 placed on the thread in like manner, when the animal 
 stretched away after the hare with as much zest and 
 security as if both were on the Curragh of Kildare on 
 a March morning. 
 
 •* Now," said the Caol Riava, " has any one a mind 
 to run up after the dog and see the course ?'' 
 
 " I will," said the man who had spoken twice be- 
 fore. 
 
 " You are always ready,"' said the juggler, '^ but 
 I fear you are lazy, for you are almost as broad as you 
 are lazy, and I'm afraid you'll fall asleep on the way 
 and let the hound eat the hare." 
 
 •* There is not a more active man in the known
 
 AT FAULT, 169 
 
 world than the very individual who is talking to you 
 
 now," said the fat man. 
 
 < 
 " Up with you then," said the juggler, " but I warn 
 
 you if you let my hare be killed, I'll cut off your head 
 
 when you come down." 
 
 The fat fellow ran up the thread and all three soon 
 disappeared. After looking up for a long time, the 
 Coal Riava said : 
 
 " I'm afraid the hound is eating the hare, and that 
 our fat friend has fallen asleep." 
 
 Saying this he began to wind the thread and found 
 the case as he had suspected it to be, the fat man fast 
 asleep, and the grey hound with the last morsel of 
 the hare between his teeth. He immediately drew 
 his sword and cut off the young man's head at a blow. 
 
 At this Thady O'Kelly stood up and said he did 
 not relish such conduct and that it was not a thing he 
 could ever sanction to see a young man murdered in 
 that manner under his roof. 
 
 "If it grieves you," said the juggler, "I think as 
 little of curing him now as I did before; but I must 
 
 VOL I. I
 
 170 THE STORY TELLER 
 
 leave him some mark to make him remember his rash- 
 ness." 
 
 ■• So saying he placed the head upon the shoulders 
 again and healed them, but in such a manner that the 
 countenance looked the wrong way, after which he 
 spoke these lines : — 
 
 What I take at my ease, at my ease I restore, 
 
 It becomes him much better I'm sure than before, 
 
 If any man says I have wronged him thereby. 
 
 Tell that man from me that I give him the lie. 
 
 For an insolent braggart is odder to see 
 
 Than a fool with his face where his poll ought to be. 
 
 The Coal [Riava had scarcely uttered those lines when 
 he and the Story-teller disappeared, nor could any 
 person present tell whether they had flown into the air 
 or whether the earth had swallowed them. The next 
 place the Story-teller found himself with his whim- 
 sical master, was in the palace of the king of Leins- 
 ter, where the customary evening banquet was on the 
 point of being prepared. The Story-teller wa? grieved 
 and perplexed to hear the king continually asking for 
 his favorite Story-teller, while no one present was able 
 to give any account of him.
 
 AT FAULT. 171 
 
 " Now," said the Caol Riava turning to him, " I 
 have rendered you invisible in order that you may 
 witness all that is about to take place here, without 
 being recognised by any of your daily acquaintances. 
 
 So saying, he sat down close to the musicians who 
 were playing in concert at the time. Observing the 
 attention which he paid, the chief musician said when 
 they concluded : 
 
 " Well my good man, I hope you like our perform- 
 ance ?" 
 
 '•Vi\ tell you that," replied the Caol Riava. "Were 
 you ever listening to a cat purring over a bowl of 
 broth V 
 
 " I often heard it," replied the chief musician. 
 
 " Or did you ever hear a parcel of beetles buzzing 
 about in the dusk on a summer evening ?" 
 
 ** I did," said the chief musician. 
 
 *• Or a bitter faced old woman scolding in a pas- 
 sion r 
 - " I did often," said the chief musician^, who was a 
 
 married man. 
 
 I 2
 
 172 THE STORY TELLER 
 
 •♦ Well then," said the Caol Riava, " Td rather be 
 listening to any one of them than to your music." 
 
 " You insolent ragamuffin," said the chief musician, 
 " It well becomes you to express yourself in that 
 manner." 
 
 
 ^You are the last that ought to say so," replied 
 the Caol Riava, *' for though bad is the best of the 
 whole of you,^ yet if I were to look out for the worst 
 I should never stop 'till I lighted on yourself.'' 
 
 At these words the chief musician arose, and drawing 
 his sword made a blow at the Caol Riava, but instead 
 of striking him, he wounded one of his own party who 
 returned the blow forthwith, and in a little time the 
 whole band of musicians were engaged in mortal con- 
 flict one with another. While all this confusion pre- 
 vailed an attendant came and awoke the king who had 
 been taking a nap while the music played. 
 
 '« What's the matter ?" said the king. 
 
 " The harpers that are murthering one another, 
 please your majesty." 
 
 "Please me!" cried the king of Leinster, " it does 
 not please me. They ought to be satisfied with mur-
 
 * AT FAULT. 173 
 
 deringall the music in my kingdom, without murdering 
 the musicians too. " Who began it ?'* says his ma- 
 jesty. 
 
 '* A stranger that thought proper to find fault with 
 their music/^ replied the attendant. 
 
 ''Let him be hanged," said the king, ."and do not 
 disturb me again about him." 
 
 Accordingly some of the king's guards took the 
 Caol Riava, and carried him out to a place where they 
 erected a gallows, and hanged him without loss of time. 
 However on returning to the palace, they found the 
 Caol Riava within, sitting among the guests without 
 having the least appearance of having been ever hanged 
 in his life. 
 
 *' Never welcome you in," cried the captain of the 
 guard, '' did'nt we hang you this minute, and what 
 brings you here ?" 
 
 '* Is it me myself you mean ?" said the Caol Riava. 
 " Who else V said the captain. 
 " That the hand may turn into a pig's foot with you 
 when you think of tying the rope," said the Caol 
 Riava, '* why should you speak of hanging me V
 
 174 THE STORY TELLER 
 
 They went out in alarm, and to their horror, found 
 the king's favourite brother hanging in the place of the 
 Caol Riava. One of them went to the king and woke 
 him up. 
 
 " What's the matter now ?" cried the king, yawning 
 and stretching himself, 
 
 ** Please your majesty we hanged that vagabond ac- 
 cording to your majesty's orders, and he's as well as 
 ever again now in spite of us.'' He was afraid of 
 telling him about his brother. 
 
 " Take him and hang him again then,^' and don't be 
 disturbing me about such trifles,^' said the king of 
 Leinster, and he went off to sleep again. 
 
 They did as he recommended, and the same scene 
 was repeated three times over, and at each time, some 
 near friend or favourite kinsmen of the king was 
 hanged instead of the Caol Riava. By this time the 
 captain of the guard was fairly at his wit's end, 
 
 " Well," said the Caol Riava, " do you wish to hang 
 me any more ?" 
 
 I ** We'll have no more to say to you/' said the cap- 
 tain, " you may go wherever you like and, the sooner
 
 .* AT FAULT. 175 
 
 the better. We got trouble enough by you already. 
 May be 'tis the king himself we'd find hanging the 
 next time we tried it.'* 
 
 " Since you are growing so reasonable," said the 
 Caol Riava, *' you may go out now and take your 
 three friends down again. They will not be so much 
 the worse for their experience, but they can thank you 
 for finding them more comfortable quarters ; and I 
 give you a parting advice, never while you live again 
 to interpose between a critic and a poet, a man and his 
 wife, or a mother and an only child," after which he 
 spoke these lines : 
 
 He who censures the strain, which a minstrel composes, 
 Must lie upon something less grateful than roses ; 
 He who takes up a quarrel begun by a poet, 
 
 May at bottom have wit, but lacks wisdom to show it. 
 For than him a worse ninny, will rarely be found, 
 i Who would peril his nose for a dealer in sound. 
 
 Immediately after he had uttered these verses, he 
 disappeared, and the Story-teller found himself in com- 
 pany with him on the spot where they had first met, 
 and where] his wife with the carriage and horses were
 
 176 THE STORY TELLER 
 
 awaiting-, ihem, under the care of the man to whom the 
 Coal Riava had entrusted them. 
 
 *'Now," said the latter, ''I will not be tormenting 
 you any longer.'* There are your carriage and horses 
 and your dogs, and your money, and your lady, and 
 you may take them with you as soon as you please 
 for [ have no business in life with any of them at all." 
 
 The Story-teller paused for some moments to col- 
 lect his thoughts before he made any reply. 
 
 *' For my carriage and horses and hounds," he «aid 
 at length, *'I thank you, but my lady and my money 
 you may keep." 
 
 " No," replied the Bococh, *' I have told you that 
 
 I do not want either, and do not harbour any ill will 
 
 against your lady on account of what she has done, 
 for she could not help it.'* 
 
 " Not help it !'* exclaimed the Story-teller. " Not 
 
 help kicking me into the mouth of my own hounds ! 
 
 Not help casting me off after all my kindness to her in 
 
 favour of a beggarly old 1 beg pardon," he said, cor- 
 recting himself, '* I ought not to speak in that way, 
 but a woman's [ingratitude will make a man forget his 
 good manners.''
 
 AT FAULT. 177 
 
 * 
 
 " No offence in life," said the Bococh, '* lor these 
 terms are very just and apply not to my own real form 
 but to that which I have assumed for the purpose of 
 befriending you. I am Aongus of Bruff, for whom 
 you obtained many a favour from the king of Leinster. 
 This morning I discovered by my skill in things hid- 
 den that you were in a difficulty, and immediately 
 determined to free you from it. As to your lady, do 
 not blame her for what has passed, for by the same 
 power which enabled me to change the form of your 
 body, I changed the alfections of her mind. Go home 
 therefore as man and wife should do, and now you 
 have a story to tell the king of Leinster, when he calls 
 for it." 
 
 Saying this he disappeared, and the lady bursting 
 in tears begged her husband's forgiveness and assured 
 him that she would sooner die a thousand deaths than 
 act in such a manner, if some extraordinary influence 
 had not possessed her. 
 
 This explanation proving entirely satisfactory to the 
 Story-teller, they proceeded homeward happily toge- 
 ther. Notwithstanding all the speed they could make 
 
 I 5
 
 I'?8 tHfi Story TfiLtER 
 
 it was so late when the Story-teller arrived at the 
 king's palace, that his Majesty had already retired to 
 his sleeping chamber. When the Story-teller entered, 
 the king enquired the cause of his delay. 
 
 •' Please your Majesty," said the Story-teller, " there 
 is nothing like the plain truth, and I will tell it to you 
 if you desire it." 
 
 The king commanded him by all means to do so. 
 Accordingly, the Story-teller began, and gave a de- 
 tailed account of the adventures of the day, his diffi- 
 culty in trying to invent a story, the benevolence of 
 the friendly Draoidhe (or Druid) and the ingratitude 
 of his wife remarkable in itself and still more so in 
 the singular manner in which it was explained. When 
 it was ended the king laughed so heartily and was 
 so diverted with his narrative that he commanded 
 him to commence the whole again and relate it from 
 beginning to end before he went to sleep. The Story- 
 teller obeyed, and when he had concluded, the king 
 commanded him never again to go to the trouble of 
 inventing a new story, but to tell him that one every 
 night, for he never would listen to another story again 
 as long as he lived.
 
 AT FAULT. 179 
 
 A general murmur of approbation followed the con- 
 clusion of the Second Juryman's Tale, after which a 
 call arose for his *^ song," with which he complied as 
 follows : — 
 
 fl. 
 
 When filled with thought of life's young day, ] 
 
 Alone in distant climes we roam 
 And year on year has roU'd away 
 
 Since last we view'd our own dear home. 
 Oh then at evening's silent hour, 
 In chamber lone or moonlight bow'r, 
 How sad on memory's listering ear, 
 Come long lost voices sounding near! 
 Like the wild chime of village bells 
 Heard far away in mountain dells. 
 
 II. 
 
 But oh ! for time let kind hearts grieve, 
 
 His term of youth and exile's o'er, 
 Who sees in life's declining eve 
 
 With alter'd eyes his native shore ! 
 With aching heart and weary brain, 
 Who treads those lonesome scenes again ! 
 And backward views the sunny hours 
 When first he knew those ruin'd bow'rs, 
 And hears in every passing gale 
 Some best affection's dying wail.
 
 180 THE STORY TELLER 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh, say, what spell of power serene 
 
 Can cheer that hour of sharpest pain, 
 And turn to peace the anguish keen 
 
 That deeplier wounds because in vain ? 
 'Tis not the thought of glory won, 
 Of hoarded gold or pleasures gone 
 But one bright course, from earliest youth. 
 Of changeless faith — unbroken truth. 
 These turn to gold, the vapours dun, 
 That close on life's descending sun. 
 
 The song was received with as much applause as 
 the story on the part of the company^ after which the 
 the person who sat third in succession, was called on 
 to choose the alternative of paying the fine, or com- 
 plying with the requisite conditions : 
 
 " Genflemen," said the third juror, rising from his 
 place, '^ apart from the satisfaction, I must ever feel in 
 striving to contribute to your innocent entertainment, 
 I confess that shillings are not so plentiful with me 
 that I could feel myself warranted in neglecting any 
 honourable occasion '^of avoiding their expenditure. I 
 will therefore endeavour to imitate the example of our 
 worthy Foreman, hoping you will bear in mind, that a 
 man can only do his best in your service."
 
 AT FAULT. 181 
 
 Loud cheers announced the assent of the company 
 to this favourable proposition, after which the third 
 Juryman resumed his seat, and commenced his narra- 
 tive in the following words.
 
 THE THIRD JURYMAN'S TALE. 
 
 THE KNIGHT WITHOUT REPROACH. 
 
 Honour that is ever living, 
 
 Honour that is ever giving; 
 
 Honour that sees all and knows, 
 
 Both the ebbs of man and flows ; , 
 
 Honour that rewards the best, 
 
 Sends thee thy rich labour's rest ! 
 
 Valentinian.
 
 THE KNIGHT WITHOUT REPROACH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 At the time when Francis the First, of heroic me- 
 mory, was marching against the united forces of the 
 Italian states, and that Sovereign who was in those 
 days emphatically styled the Emperor, he was sudden- 
 ly recalled to France, by the revolt and desertion of 
 the Constable of Bourbon. Accordingly he returned 
 homeward, relinquishing with regret his dream of Con- 
 flicts, leaving the Milanese, which was already overrun 
 by his troops, in the hands of the Admiral Bonnivet, 
 who so far from adding anything to what his master
 
 186 THE KNIGHT 
 
 had already won, found it more than he could accom- 
 plish to retain possession of what the latter had ac- 
 quired with so much ease and rapidity. His army 
 composed of the flower of the French chivalry, was 
 found far less efficient when the ardour of the men 
 was restricted to purely defensive measures, than it 
 had been when they rode triumphant on the very 
 ridge of conquest, with the dauntless Francis at their 
 head. 
 
 Jt was while the camp remained in this state of in- 
 activity, that a knight, tall and well built, and having 
 that in his aspect and demeanour which immediately 
 attracted the attention and regard of the beholder, 
 sauntered idly towards a tent, the shady interior of 
 which looked cool and inviting in the glare of an Ita- 
 lian mid-day sun. The heat had thinned the camp ; 
 the greater portion of the officers and men having re- 
 tired within the tents. The field in which they stood, 
 a few days before a grassy plain, was now beaten into 
 a parched and dusty level, by the [continual tramp of 
 men and horses. Banners drooping in the noon-tide 
 air, amd revealing but partial glimpses of some device
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 187 
 
 renowned in history and song, distinguished the tents 
 of the admiral, of La Pal ice, of Suffolk, of Lorraine, 
 D^Aubigni Chabanes, and others, wh6se names shed a 
 lustre on the French nobility. In front of these a senti- 
 nel paced slowly to and fro, broiling in his heavy armour 
 and arquebus, and occasionally giving the salute to a 
 small body of horsemen as they gallopped hastily bj"" 
 on some mission from the Admiral, half observed by the 
 grey cloud which arose from the horse's feet as they 
 proceeded. At intervals one or two soldiers of the 
 Black Bands, that infantry renowned throughout all 
 Europe, were seen pacing leisurely along, discoursing 
 in quietly murmured tones, of their past victories and 
 the comparative merits of their leaders, Occasionally 
 too, the shrill pipe of a vivandiere, complaining of some 
 real or feigned injustice suffered in the disposal of his 
 goods, interrupted the summer stillness of the camp. 
 *• What sayest thou Le Jay ?" exclained the Knight 
 already spoken of as he entered the tent in which a 
 single equerry was occupied in arranging his master's 
 armour, " how are we to spend these scorching days in 
 which our cautious admiral will not allow us to retreat 
 or to advance V
 
 188 THE KNIGHT 
 
 " It is a heavy time indeed, my lord/' replied the 
 ecuyer, with a modest air. 
 
 '• I maj' speak freely with thee, Le Jay," said the 
 chevalier. *' It will I doubt end worse than it has 
 begun. The men are disheartened, and the Confederates 
 as they loiter in our rear, seem to pick up the spirit, 
 which along with other more substantial good things, 
 we are compelled to leave behind us. Francis and 
 Badnivat ! — Fire and snow — The one by his excess of 
 energy, hurries us into the very midst of danger and 
 then leaves us in the hands of the other, who by his 
 lack of that quality, is unable to take us out of it. 
 These two extremes meet very punctually and I fear to 
 our grievous loss." 
 
 " I could name one," said the equerry, *' to whom it 
 is agreed on all hands, the post of commander in chief 
 might have been entrusted on this occasion with 
 better advantage." 
 
 " And who is that Le Jay V enquired the Knight. 
 
 " Why my lord," replied the retainer, " 1 do not 
 consider it safe to name him, and it is no easy matter 
 to describe him."
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 189 
 
 " That's a strange speech for thee/' interposed the 
 chevalier. " I never yet found thee at a loss for words, 
 whatever other deficiencies thou hast to answer for. 
 Is itJFrancis de Lorraine ?" 
 
 " No/^ 
 
 " No ;-- -Le Tremouille, then V 
 
 '* No." 
 
 *1De Suffolk?" 
 [ "No.^' 
 
 *' Chabanes ?— or La Palice ?" 
 
 •* No.'^ 
 
 " Still no ! D'Aubigne, then ? What thou shakest 
 that ^knavish head of thine again. Nay, [then, thou 
 must perforce do thy endeavour at word-painting, for 
 my guesses are run out.^' 
 
 " Why sir," said the ecuyer, smoothing his neatly 
 trimmed beard for an instant with his hand, "it is a 
 difficult task you set me, but it is my duty to obey. 
 Were his temper tinged with ever so slight a hue of 
 malice, it were easy enough to sketch his portrait ; 
 but the subject is -without even so much shade as 
 might serve the purposes of contrast without which
 
 190 THE KNIGHT 
 
 I need not tell my gifted master, both the poet and the 
 painter are as much at fault, as one of our own Black 
 Band would be without his arms.'^ 
 
 " Thou art right ; any dauber may paint a devil, but 
 not all the art of Italy, hath ever furnished the world 
 with even a poor idea of an angel." 
 
 " Imprimis," said the ecuyer, since thou talkest of 
 angels, he is most religious." 
 
 "I like him not the worse for that, if he wear it 
 modestly, and it b« sincere in him." 
 
 ** Sincere ? lie holdeth a swearer and a poltroon at 
 equal distance. In the da\' of battle, he is not sim* 
 ply ^the boldest chevalier under arms, but the most 
 moving ghostly counsellor ; two seperate beings en- 
 closed in the same suit of armour ; half knight — half 
 friar — the one demohshing bodies like a tempest ; the 
 other rescuing souls — he will in the same instant, spit 
 a Spanish grandee upon his lance, and in the next, 
 fetch him a confessor.'* 
 
 " Thou wouldst have him put the steel through 
 body aud soul together if it were possible." 
 
 " Is is doubtful which of the two feelings predomi-
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 191 
 
 nate in his mind, his contempt for the cuirass and 
 helmet of an armed enemj^ or his veneration for the 
 bald head and hempen girdle of a mendicant friar." 
 
 " Why, I wonder who thou meanest, for there are 
 few such that I know of in the camp, much less at 
 Court. But let us see a little of the shade if thou 
 have it, for the picture begins to grow oppressive with 
 all this light. Remember we are in Italy, and it is a 
 summer noon." 
 
 " Ah, there my pallet fails me," replied the ecuyer. 
 
 " What, has this paragon no fault ?" 
 
 '* But one, that I can speak of." 
 
 "And what is that?" 
 
 " That he sometimes bears too hard a hand .upon 
 the errors of a devoted follower who would die to serve 
 him." And the ecuqer bowed low to his master. 
 
 <*Chut-chut-chut-chut-chut; thou wert speaking of 
 myself all this while," said the chevalier, neither of- 
 fended nor gratified by the flattery of his follower, 
 **thou talkest of one pretended fault, and I could have 
 furnished you with a hundred real ones, the least of 
 which were enough to incapacitate him, though he had 
 no other, for the high trust of which we speak. But
 
 192 THE KNIGHT 
 
 a truce with such folly, and set thy wits to work to 
 answer \my first questioh — how are we to consume 
 these broiling hours V 
 
 *' What say you to tennis ?" 
 
 "In this weather?" 
 
 " Or a quiet ^we de houle V 
 
 «< Worse and worse." 
 
 " Then there remains but one resource which I have 
 learned too much discretion in my good master's ser- 
 vice to name without permission." 
 
 " What is it, Le Jay ? Thou hast it/' 
 
 **|And yet it was but yesterday morning I received 
 a pointed chiding for the mention of it/' replied the 
 ecuyer. 
 
 '* Oh ho ! V Amour V said the chevalier, yet withont 
 displeasure. 
 
 Years — ages have rolled by since the gallant knight 
 in question, in common with his other brother cheva- 
 liers, ceased to do or to speak, either good or evil for 
 this world : — 
 
 The Knights are dust, 
 
 Their good swords are rust, 
 
 Their souls are with the saints we trust,
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 193 
 
 The hand and tongue that were his instruments either 
 for the one or the other, have been for centuries resolv- 
 ed to dust. In the words of one of his own histo- 
 rians, this " chevalier sans ^reproche" was not at all 
 times "un chretien sans defaut." The truth must be 
 spoken, but let it be enough to speak the truth. Let 
 us add no censure. Far be it from us to extenuate the 
 faults which history has ascribed to him : still farther 
 to suffer that they should obscure the unfading lustre, 
 which his heroic virtues have shed upon the history 
 of his times, and of his countrv. 
 
 At this period, when the heroism of the youthful 
 Francis had revived the sinking chivalry of France, and 
 brought back the days of Charlemagne in all but the 
 consummate prudence, which usually directed the en- 
 terprise of that imperial hero of song and tale, there 
 were few names, even at this brilliant period, which 
 might bear comparison with that of the gallant knight 
 whom for the present it shall suffice to designate as the 
 chevalier. Is has been remarked indeed, that the 
 court never entrusted him with the important function 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 THE KNIGHT 
 
 of Commander in chief, and even on this disastrous 
 expedition, all his fame and his services had not pre- 
 vented his' being overlooked in favour of the feeble 
 Bonnivet. The chevalier, however, had a spirit inca- 
 pable of resentment, or of jealousy. He could not 
 avoid seeing and lamenting the incapacity of the 
 Admiral, but he never thought of murmuring against 
 the free choice of his king, for whom he entertained a 
 pure and disinterested loyalty worthy of the early 
 days of chivalry. Even in those courts where merit is 
 most highly favoured, it is not always independent of 
 intrigue, and as those were means which the chevalier did 
 not desire to use, it happened that at the hands of the 
 great Francis himself, he merited honours more fre- 
 quently than he received them. The enterprises in 
 consequence, which were entrusted to his management 
 were often of that kind which rather demands ability, 
 than confers distinction : and in these he displayed a 
 quick and w^ll governed genius, and an intrepidity of 
 mind which nothing could disturb. From the age of 
 seventeen years, at which he for the first time carried 
 arms, to the close of his glorious career, his fame as a
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 195 
 
 soldier and a knight, continued to extend from day to 
 day, until it filled a space in individual history, fully 
 equal to that of the chivalrous monarch whom he serv- 
 ed with so disinterested a fidelity to his latest breath. 
 But his portrait is to be sought in history, and enough 
 has been already sketched to answer the purposes of 
 my narrative. 
 
 A few days before that on which the foregoing dia- 
 logue took place, the two individuals between whom it 
 passed were walking together at a short distance from 
 the camp when the chevalier complained of thirst. A 
 cottage apparently belonging to a farmer of the very 
 humblest class, stood with the door invitingly open. 
 A middle aged country woman, meanly clad, and a 
 young girl whose beauty both of form and features, 
 received additional grace from the modest gentleness 
 of her demeanour, were the only persons whom they 
 found within. The elderly woman complained much 
 of the ruin which the continuance of the war had 
 brought upon the country while her daughter listened 
 with a grieved and downcast look. It was this picture 
 which came before the mind of the chevalier (not for 
 
 K 2
 
 196 THE KNIGHT 
 
 the first time since he had looked upon it,) on the re- 
 mote suggestion of his attendant. 
 
 " Hast thou learned any thing further, Le Jay," he 
 asked after a pause, '* of those people ; that queru- 
 lous mother, and her well-shaped daughter?" 
 
 ** I have not, my lord," replied the ecuyer, " nor 
 sought it." 
 
 " And wherefore, tell me, good Le Jay ? Thou 
 knowest what a time I have spent since I entered that 
 cottage." 
 
 " In good truth, my lord, I will take no pains about 
 it. A poor ecuyer hath a body and a soul to save as well 
 as a chevalier, and I have heard too much good coun- 
 sel in your worship's excellent service to be ready to 
 fling mine away, for no better hire perchance than a 
 round half hour's lecture for my pains." 
 
 *' Tush," said the Knight, " I was in the sour vein 
 that morning. I had been with the Admiral, who has 
 the flattering knack of always soliciting another's coun- 
 sel, and always following his own ; and his fears, and 
 his wavering, and his shifting to this side and to that 
 lighting on every measure, and resting upon none —
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 197 
 
 neither bold enough to be victorious, nor cautious 
 enough to be secure, were such that it soured my 
 spirit to speak with him, and as he was Commander 
 in chief and thou wert but the ecuyer of an insig- 
 finicant chevalier, I made thee compliment of the full 
 measure of chagrins which it were more just than 
 seemly to bestow upon the Admiral." 
 
 The ecuyer acknowledged the preference by a 
 grateful bow. 
 
 " Therefore dost thou hear? — prosecute this matter, 
 and speak of it no more unless to tell me thou hast 
 succeeded; I trust all to thy discretion; of thy geni- 
 us I have had proofs in many ways, so I d«ubt not of 
 its efficiency in this, and the sooner thou hast executed 
 thy commission the better.'* 
 
 The third Juror here paused to replenish his tum- 
 bler, which had insensibly become exhausted since he 
 commenced speaking. We will take advantage of the 
 pause to close this first chapter of his narrative.
 
 198 THE KNIGHT 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Le Jay required no more. As the day declined, 
 he left the company and hastened in the direction of 
 the cottage of Francesca Pacheco. The sound of a 
 voice high in anger made him pause, as he drew nigh, 
 and remain for a time concealed by some intervening 
 shrubs, as one might wait the passing of a shower. 
 
 '* Don't tell me — don't tell me !" exclaimed the 
 voice tremulous with passion ; " it is little wonder 
 we should be poor and hungry and needy. At thy 
 rosary truly? And I must drudge like a plough horse 
 while thou art chapel-hunting. What with masses and 
 rosaries there is nothing done in the house, from sun- 
 rise to sunset as it should be, except what I am ob-
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 199 
 
 liged to do myself, to the sacrifice of the little remains 
 of health, that old age and care have left me." 
 ^ " I thought I had left nothing undone, mother," 
 
 •* What hast thou to do with masses and rosaries? 
 and pious sodalities ? It is for those who are at their 
 ease, and have a heavy purse and a well stocked cellar 
 to spend so much time upon the concerns of their 
 soul, and not for poor wretches like us, who know 
 not when we rise in the morning, where we are to 
 provide the means of subsisting until nightfall. 
 
 " I was wrong, I know mother/* 
 
 " Thou art ever so when we differ. I ask thyself, 
 had I ever to reprove thee yet, that in the end thou 
 had'st not to make the same confession ? Is it not the 
 invariable termination of all our disputes, that in the 
 end thou art compelled thus to entwine thy hands 
 together, and cry bitterly, and say, 'I was wrong 
 mother V Is it not, I ask thee ?" 
 
 ** I believe it is indeed mother." 
 
 " Do — crj' away — did'st thou ever once hear me 
 make such an acknowledgement ?" 
 
 " Never indeed that I remember."
 
 200 THE KNIGHT 
 
 " To thee, or to any one else." 
 
 *' Never I believe." 
 
 ** Did'st thou ever see me thus fold my hands together 
 and burst out a crying, and say " I was wrong, daugh- 
 ter V No, I warrant you, nor any one else in the 
 parish. I am four and thirty years old come next 
 Assumption, (Dame Francesca had come to a halt at 
 four and thirty, for fifteen years past at least,) and no 
 one can say that since 1 first learned the use of my 
 tongue, I ever yet was heard to acknowledge myself 
 on the wrong side in a dispute ; — never.'' 
 
 There was a brief pause, as if intended to allow 
 this triumphant assertion to make a due impression. 
 
 " But thou art ever in the wrong," the voice con- 
 tinued, " and the proof of it is, that thou art always 
 thyself compelled to acknowledge it. Aye, cry — it may 
 do thee good — though I cannot say that it ever hath 
 produced that effect upon thee yet, any more than any 
 thing else. But it is no fault of mine. I am sure I 
 say enough to thee. Do I not ? Do I suffer a day to 
 pass without talking myself hoarse in striving to make 
 thee sensible of thy misconduct ? Do 1 1"
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 201 
 
 There was an answer in the negative, almost inau- 
 dible for timidity, 
 
 " And what is my return ? the reward for all my 
 counsels? to find thee day after day repeating the 
 same scene, listening without a word to say in thy 
 defence, and in the end, bursting out a crying and ac- 
 knowledging thy fault. But I cannot help it — I can 
 but give my counsel if thou wilt not follow it, the 
 guilt be upon your own head. Yes — thou addest the 
 black crime of ingratitude to all thy other offences, for 
 I do think that never was so pains-taking a mother 
 afflicted with so disobedient, so idle, so self-willed a 
 daughter." 
 
 Dame Francesca Pacheco had by the force of con- 
 tinual iteratian asserted herself into the conviction, that 
 she was indeed the very paragon of mothers, and the 
 young Rosalia, anything but the paragon of daugh- 
 ters ; — nay, such is the power of eloquence, that she 
 had by the same persevering strength of asseveration, 
 persuaded her daughter likewise intp the full belief 
 that her mother was a very model of goodness as a 
 mother, and that she was herself one of the most
 
 202 THE KNIGHT 
 
 worthless and disobedient, and incorrigible daughters 
 in all Milan. So in answer to the foregoing invective, 
 she could only multiply her penitent tears. 
 
 " But did'st thou tell me all V the louder of the two 
 voices resumed. "Hast thou been no where else than 
 to the convent ?" 
 
 "No where indeed, mother, I did but wait until 
 the Angelus had ended." 
 
 " Nor staid to gossip or ask questions by the way ?" 
 
 '* I — oh, yes — I spoke for a few moments, with one 
 person only." 
 
 :"l thought so. O this art! I could forgive any- 
 thing but art and cunning. But I promise thee clever 
 as thou art, and simpleton as thou thinkest me, thou 
 shalt not find me simple enough to be thy dupe.'' 
 
 Rosalia, who was the last person in the world to 
 make a dupe of anybody, could onl}'^ weep afresh at 
 this new charge. 
 
 '•And who was this person with whom you had the 
 heart to remain idly gosipping, while you knew that 
 your poor feeble widowed parent was wearing out 
 her existence, to find the means of prolonging your*s 
 at home V
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 203 
 
 " It was Maria Pecchio." 
 
 " Umph ! I might have guessed as much, -"^ And 
 what was the important subject of your conversation ? 
 No artifice ! no hiding of the truth ! Thou mightest 
 as well speak plainly, for I shall be sure to find it out. 
 Thou knowest that when I once have got fairly a-foot 
 to track a secret, there is not a hole in the Duchy of 
 Milan in which it can escape me," 
 
 "Indeed, dear mother, I have no desire to hide it 
 from you. She did but stop me on the iye-path near 
 Rencio Ceri's vineyard, to tell me that — that — Jacopo 
 had returned/' she added blushing and looking down 
 at her sandels. 
 
 " So — so — so — so — bit after bit, the whole plot is 
 coming forth. I see the whole at length — Maria Pac- 
 chioli came to tell thee that Jacopo had returned, and 
 thou and Maria went together by the vineyard to 
 Pacchioli's house, and thou remainedst talking with 
 Jacopo, while I supposed thou wert piously joining in 
 the Angelus." 
 
 " Me, mother ! / remain talking with Jacopo I / 
 go to Jacopo's house ! Indeed I did not — I scarcely
 
 204 THE KNIGHT 
 
 stopped to hear Maria say he had arrived, when I 
 hurried back. 
 
 *' Umph ! And you did not go to Pacchioli's 1" 
 " Me ? Not I, indeed." 
 
 " Well, in that part at least thou didst right for 
 once in thy life. This Jacopo might very well have 
 remained where he was. We are poor enough in 
 ourselves without tying his poverty to our own. But 
 we will talk of this hereafter, go in and try to make 
 up by a little exertion before night closes, for the 
 shameful indolence and artifice, with which thou hast 
 disgraced the day." 
 
 Rosalia entered the cottage without reply, and 
 Dame Francesca remained without, deliberating some 
 matter silently in her own mind. She was not so 
 blind to her daughter's merits, as to suppose that 
 apart from all which had relation to herself, Rosalia, 
 was already destitute of any claim to esteem on ad- 
 miration. Her beauty spoke for itself so plainly, that 
 it was not to be called in question, like her unseen 
 graces of character and disposition. It is true there 
 were few young men of their rank in the neighbour-
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 206 
 
 hood, who could afford in the choice of a wife to be 
 influenced by ornamental, rather than useful qualities, 
 but the case might do otherwise, wKenJboth were com- 
 bined as they actually were in Rosalia, in a sufficient 
 degree to render her worthy the esteem of any indi- 
 vidual, with the exception of so unparalleled a mother. 
 These reflections which had their weight with even 
 Dame Francesca herself, had led her to look with less 
 approving eyes than hitherto, upon the long projected 
 union between Jacopo Pecchioli, one of the many 
 younger sons of a neighbouring farmer, and her daugh- 
 ter ! Whatever prospect Jacopo had a year before of 
 being able to provide for a wife and family, was now 
 entirely annihilated, in Francesca's eyes at least, by the 
 sudden irruption on the country, of conflicting armies, 
 and she had accordingly in her own mind determined 
 to see, whether Rosalia's good qualities, both of mind 
 and person might succeed in obtaining for her a settle- 
 ment, more conducive to their common advantage. It 
 was true Jacopo had been their friend from childhood, 
 and at all times regarded Francesca with the feelings 
 of a son. But circumstances had changed, and one's
 
 206 THE KNIGHT 
 
 feeling's must not be put in the balance against an 
 imperative necessity. There were several comfortable 
 young farmers in the neighbourhood, who when they 
 should understand that Rosalia was at liberty, and — 
 Francesca had proceeded so far in her train of 
 thought, when it was suddenly interrupted by a voice 
 so near, that she started as if her silent reflections 
 were liable to observation. In justice to the good 
 lady, it should be stated that the tone of severe anim- 
 adversion, in which she conceived it her duty almost 
 invariably to address her daughter, was not extended 
 indiscriminately to all who had the happiness of en- 
 joying her acquaintance. She could upon occasion be 
 gracious and affable to an extreme, more especially 
 when the individual she addressed, was one wholly 
 beyond the sphere of her authority, and who, either 
 by superior rank or wealth, or an influential interest 
 with those who possessed either, might possibly have 
 it in his power to gratify her taste for some of the good 
 things of this life, for which Francesca was said to en- 
 tertain a fondness, that sometimes interfered painfully 
 with her stricter notions of morality. Such an indivi-
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 207 
 
 dual was he, who now stood before her, for she had 
 little hesitation in recognising the esquire of the cava- 
 lier, whom she had the honour of receiving in her 
 cottage a few days before. Accordingly, the close 
 knit eyebrows relaxed, the contemptuous curve, de- 
 scribed by the protruded lips, making them resemble 
 those of a frog emerging from his pond, and prudently 
 reconnoitering the country before he will venture ashore, 
 or the arch of a lofty bridge spanning a very narrow 
 stream, now became smilingly inverted to a semblance 
 of the same arch, reflected in the glassy stream be- 
 neath ; the likeness of a battered dollar vanished 
 from the chin, and Dame Francesca returned [the pa- 
 risian greeting of the ecuyer with one of her most 
 condescending courtesies. 
 
 '' Ah, signor, you are welcome ! Will j'ou please 
 to come in ?" 
 
 Le Jay had lost nothing of his confidence, by the 
 conversation which he had overheard. Determined to 
 make the most of his time, he politely declined the 
 invitation, and signified to Francesca that he had a 
 communication to make to her from the *' chevalier/'
 
 208 THE KNIGHT 
 
 his master, which he had rather dehver in some place 
 where they might not be liable to interruption. 
 
 *^A message for me?" Francesca exclaimed over- 
 flowing with sudden curiosity, as she led the ecuyer 
 to a little distance from the house. 
 
 "In the first place," said Le Jay, " the cavalier 
 presents his respects to you and to the charming don- 
 zella, and begs that you will accept the enclosed, as 
 a trifling mark of his esteem." 
 
 " Me, Signer ! me accept money from the noble — 
 the generous cavalier ! Never ! never ! It shall not 
 be said that Francesca Pacheco receives money in re- 
 turn for the ordinary offices of hospitality." 
 
 As she uttered these words, by way of evincing 
 her determination, she turned her back directly on the 
 ambassador, placing one hand behind it, in order to 
 add to the dignity of her movements. 
 
 " But as a mark of esteem, merely Signora," said 
 the ecuyer. *' Surely you would not occasion my 
 master so much pain, as he must feel when he hears 
 that you have refused him V And saying this in his 
 most insinuating tones> he ventured to slip the purse
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 209 
 
 into the hand just spoken of, and with gentle violence 
 to close the fingers on the treasure. 
 
 " In that case indeed, Signor, " said Francesca 
 slowly withdrawing the hand as she turned gradually 
 round, "as a mark of esteem as you say, and to avoid 
 
 wounding the feelings of the dear, noble cavalier " 
 
 here she shot a downward glance at the purse, ere 
 she plunged it into her capacious side pocket. "And 
 yet, Signor, to lay pride apart,'^ she continued in a 
 mournful voice, *' if you did but know the miserable 
 state of mind in which the war has left me at this mo- 
 ment, not knowing how soon this cottage in which I 
 spent the happiest years of my life," here the good 
 lady laid hold of the corner of her apron, " may pass 
 into other hands, and I be cast upon the world with- 
 out a home or a resting-place." 
 
 As she said these words, she lifted the apron to her 
 eyes and turned her head aside, to indulge her grief 
 without restraint. 
 
 " This cottage ! What a pity !" exclaimed Le Jay, 
 with a commiserating air, *' and where as you observe 
 Signora, the happiest days of your life were spent !
 
 210 THE KNIGHT 
 
 Alas! and can nothing be done to prevent such a mis- 
 fortune ?" 
 
 This imprudent question drew from the old lady a 
 copious history of a whole catalogue of grievances 
 and oppressions, complaints of creditors, who were 
 heard-hearted enough to come looking for their money, 
 and sundry other unmerited afflictions, which notwith- 
 standing all the prudence and foresight and industry 
 which it was metaphysically possible for human beings 
 to use, and a degree of heavenly patience and gentle- 
 ness of conduct, which were quite astonishing under 
 the circumstances, had brought her daughter and her- 
 self to the very verge of ruin. 
 
 " But I ought to ask your pardon, Signor," she said 
 when the torrent had flowed by, " for troubling you 
 about our grievances — but you and the good cavalier 
 are so compassionate, that it encourages one to be over 
 bold. You must find the cavalier an excellent mas- 
 ter, Signor." 
 
 " The kindest in the world.'' 
 
 *' [Je is rich too, I doubt not V 
 
 Le Jay nodded his head in assent.
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 211 
 
 " Long may he live to enjoy it, and happy were it 
 for the work), if all the rich were inclined to make as 
 good an use of their wealth. But, my poor head ! 
 I had forgot. You told me that the cavalier had en- 
 trusted you with a private message. Will it please 
 you to step this way for a moment?" 
 
 She led the way to a small gate, and Le Jay followed 
 her into a little garden, where, now sufficiently master 
 of the ground on which he trod, he proceeded to un- 
 fold his preposition. The poor woman, though no 
 saint, was honest, and when she was made to under- 
 stand the views of the profligate messenger, was for 
 some moments really horror-stricken. The thought 
 of extricating herself from her distresses by delivering 
 her daughter up to infamy, had in her moments of 
 wildest impatience, never yet entered her imagination. 
 Rage first, then grief rendered her incapable of uttering 
 her thoughts with any coherence, and for a long time 
 both feelings alternately governed her mind and. speech. 
 Le Lay however, though somewhat stunned by the 
 first burst of indignation, had his confidence in some 
 degree, restored by observing that her reproaches
 
 212 THE KNIGHT 
 
 were vented with a degree of superfluous vehemence, 
 and that in the tumult of her anger, the simple pro- 
 cess which he at first expected at every instant, of 
 showing him to the other side of the gate, seemed to- 
 tally to have escaped her recollection. Accordingly, 
 he awaited in apparent humility, the passing of the 
 storm, and suffered the old lady to exhaust the whole 
 stock of invective, without attempting to interpose a 
 word by way of apology. 
 
 **Alas,^' she continued, as her passion gradually 
 subsided into! grief — ''there was a time, when I 
 could not be insulted — but there is no one to stand up 
 for the poor widow. Ah, villian, that thou art, if my 
 poor Fornaso Pacheco were alive, he would teach thee 
 to come of such errands to this house — but well thou 
 knowest that he is where my voice cannot reach him, 
 or thou durst not for thine head, have spoken so. 
 
 The artful emissary, did not think it prudent to 
 make any reply. 
 
 " But I will see whether there is justice to be had 
 in your camp," said Francesca, " the Admiral shall hear 
 of it."
 
 "WITHOUT REPROACH. 213 
 
 " The Admiral ?" Le Jay exclaimed with a care- 
 less laugh, *• you know not who my master is Signora, 
 when you menace him with the 'displeasure of the 
 Admiral t" 
 
 '' And who may he be then. Signer Impudence ?" 
 
 The ecuyer mentioned the name of the knight, and 
 had the satisfaction to observe that it produced its full 
 effect upon the mind of the angry widow. 
 
 " What ! he ?'"' she exclaimed, " he send thee on 
 such an errand ? Impossible !" 
 
 " Thou wilt find it true, however.'* 
 
 " Why they say, he has more of the monk about 
 him, than the soldier, although he be as brave a knight 
 as ever mounted steed. Thou wilt never persuade me 
 that he gave thee such a commission. He bears too 
 high and too fair a name to soil it with such a deed 
 as this. They say he is a very father to the poor, and 
 will go disguised about the streets in his own country 
 in order to discover those who are ashamed to beg, and 
 to scatter his gold amongst them without being re- 
 cognised." 
 
 '* They may say what^^they will Signora, and thou
 
 214 ' THE KNfGHT 
 
 mayest imagine what thou wilt, but I assure thee it 
 was he and no other who spoke with thee in this cot- 
 tage some days since, and who this day commissioned 
 me to make on his behalf a proposal, which any ratio- 
 nal mother in Europe would have received as one of 
 the highest honours which fortune could bestow/' 
 
 Francesca paused. Had the tempter been less esti- 
 mable, she would in all probability have continued to 
 spurn the guilty proposition of his ambassador, but 
 the high reputation of the Chevalier effected what all 
 the arts of a known profligate might have failed to 
 accomplish. The horror of the offence became dimi- 
 nished to her eyes, when she found it recommended 
 by so admirable an example. She did, not, however 
 think it proper immediately, to allow the alteration in 
 her sentiments to become apparent. She contented 
 herself for the present, with uttering a new volley of 
 reproaches in a somewhat less angry tone, and ex- 
 pressing her determinaton to ascertain, without loss 
 of time whether the unprincipled ecuyer were not 
 audaciously calumniating one of the noblest and most 
 exemplary knights in Christendom. Le Jay took his
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 215 
 
 departure, it being understood that he was to return 
 on the following day, merely for the purpose of ascer- 
 taining whether Francesea had satisfied herself as to 
 the truth of his mission, and Francesea consenting to 
 allow him another interview with the same harmless 
 object.
 
 216 THE KNIGHT 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 In the mean time Rosalia was busy spinning in the 
 cottage. She was timing the movement of the wheel 
 with the low hum of her own voice, (for it was only in 
 Francesco^s presence that she ever felt unhappy or 
 uncomfortable,) when a knocking at the door attracted 
 her attention. She opened it and beheld Jacopo Pa- 
 chioli. Rosalia received [him with a modest joy, yet 
 not without an expression of fear and embarrassment 
 on her features. 
 
 ** Is it thou, indeed, Jacopo ? I did not think we 
 should have seen thee so soon V 
 
 "^Why, since yon would not come to visit me, Rosa- 
 lia, I came to visit you. But you look embarressed 
 and perplexed ; what is the cause of it ? ''
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 217 
 
 ** Oh Jacopo, I am afraid to tell thee — I am afraid 
 to think of my mother returning and finding thee 
 here." 
 
 ** Here ? Why it is not the first time she has found 
 me here Rosalia." 
 
 > "No, surely; but I know not how it is, she is 
 greatly altered of late. I believe it is the war and our 
 continued difllculties, that have disturbed her mind, 
 but it is not a quarter of an hour since she spoke so 
 terribly to me for having staid to hear from Maria, that 
 you had arrived." 
 
 ''Oh that is nothing. We shall be very good 
 friends when we meet, notwithstanding.'* 
 
 " But she said more than I wish to repeat to you, 
 and not at all passionately. She spoke very seriously 
 about our distresses and our poverty and — " 
 
 "I doubt it not — I doubt it not — you know it is 
 her way. Let us talk of something more agreeable 
 for the present. You have not asked me a word 
 about my journey to Milan. See, I have brought you 
 a remembrance of my travels," 
 
 " What a beautiful medal !" exclaimed Rosalia, 
 
 VOL. I, L
 
 218 THE KNIGHT 
 
 gazing with a naive expression of admiration on the 
 figure of the Madonna and child which were represen- 
 ted in low relief upon the little trinket. "It is very 
 kind of you to procure it for me. 
 
 While she was placing it around her neck, Fran- 
 resca entered, full of the conversation which had passed 
 between herself and the ecuyer. The sight of Jacopo 
 Pecchioli in her present mood, was by no means the 
 must agreeable on which it was possible for her eye to 
 rest. Accordmgly there was abundance of coolness in 
 her manner, as she returned his plain and friendly 
 greeting, A significant look sent Rosalia to her 
 sleeping room, when her mother, whose mind was every 
 moment becoming more and more determined with 
 respect to the course she should persue, prepared to 
 unfold to Jacopo as much of her views as it was neces- 
 sary he should be made acquainted with. 
 
 *' So Jacopo, you have returned from Milan." 
 
 "Yes, signora, and with good news." 
 
 ''Indeed?" 
 
 " 1 have been entirely successful." 
 
 "Well, for your sake Jacopo, I am glad to hear it."
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 219 
 
 " I have brought you a little token of friendship," 
 said Jacopo, unfolding a gaily coloured head dress, 
 "which I hope you will dome the favour to accept." 
 
 Francesca, who was exceedingly fond of dress, was 
 for a moment dazzled with the beauty of the gift and 
 returned thanks for it, in her most gracious manner. 
 When the first burst of admiration, however, had sub- 
 sided, her gravity returned, and she listened with a 
 cold and somewhat formal attention to Jacopo's 
 account of his adventures in Milan, 
 
 "Well Jacopo," she said when he had ended, *' I am 
 very glad that you have succeeded, but affairs have 
 taken such a turn of late, that I fear we had better 
 look upon this business as entirely at an end." 
 
 *' At an end!" Jacopo repeated with a look of per- 
 plexity — " 1 do uDt understand you." 
 
 " I mean to say, Jacopo, that I have, and always 
 had, as you well know, a very great esteem and regard 
 for you, but circumstances are strangely altered. 
 Nothing indeed would give me greater happiness than 
 to see you and Rosalia happy together — but I fear it 
 cannot be. There are too many difficulties in the way, 
 
 L 2
 
 220 THE KNIGHT 
 
 We have enough to struggle with already without ad- 
 ding new embarrassments to the old," 
 
 Jacopo immediately proceeded to combat the fears of 
 the widow with all the energy which might be ex- 
 pected from him, in a case which so closely involved 
 his own prospects of happiness in life, but he was 
 arguing against a predetermined mind. Francesca 
 heard him to the end, shaking her head at every sen- 
 tence and now and then replying to his projected 
 schemes of happiness and comfort by a groan of in- 
 credulity, When he had done, she repeated what 
 she had already said as to the necessity of breaking 
 off the union, without thinking it expedient to bring 
 forward any fresh argument, or to show the insuffici- 
 ency of those which Jacopo had advanced, 
 
 " Jacopo," she said, all this is very fine, and you 
 perceive that I have listened to you with all the pa- 
 tience which you could desire, but it does not convince 
 me. They are all dreams on which no dependance 
 is to be placed, and the sooner you dismiss them from 
 your mind altogether, the better for your own peace, 
 for, once for all, I tell you this union never can 
 take place/'
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 221 
 
 " Never can take place V exclaimed Jacopo. " Dis- 
 miss it from my mind! How easily you talk ! That 
 hope or dream, if you will have it So, which has sup- 
 ported and encouraged me in every effort 1 have been 
 making since I was capable of making any. Do you 
 tell me now that it is never to take place V 
 
 " Never, Jacopo, I have made up my mind upon it 
 and I am determined that it never shall," 
 
 ** You are determined ! Then it is merely a reso- 
 lution of your own which is to be executed with or 
 without reason." 
 
 "It is my resolution, Jacopo, and your rudeness 
 and violence shall not hinder me from carrying it into 
 effect," 
 
 "And you have resolved on this ?" 
 
 *' I am resolved," 
 
 '' Then 1 can tell you that I never will assent to 
 forego our positive engagement," cried Jacopo passion- 
 ately. " I know not what new plan or schemes may 
 have entered your head during my absence at ^Jilan, 
 but I promise you I never will be a party to them." 
 
 *' Go on — say what you please, Jacopo ! be as rude
 
 222 THE KNIGHT 
 
 as yon will ; I am all patience. I can be calm," she 
 continued in a loud and shrilly voice, while her frame 
 trembled with emotion, '' but you will find that I can 
 be firm as well as cool," And she concluded by strik- 
 ing the ground violently with her cane in illustration 
 of what she said. 
 
 "And you will find,'' said Jacopo, "that I can be 
 equally resolute on my side. I have jour promise 
 and I will see whether engagements of this kind are 
 to be made and broken at will. The whole neigh- 
 bourhood shall hear of it," 
 
 "Go on, you know the whole neighbourhood is 
 aware already that there is not so passionate a man in 
 Milan, but I can tell you your passion shall not terrify 
 me. I am a poor unprotected widow,'' she continued 
 in a loud and furious tone, which did not sound like 
 that of a person who stood much in need of protection, 
 " but your violence shall not compel me to deliver up 
 my orphan child to misery and want in the very morning 
 of her days. There is no use in your looking so 
 furiously at me; you may strike and kill me if you 
 please, but you shall not shake my resolution*"
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 223 
 
 Jacopo made no reply, Moved as he was, he saw 
 the folly of adding anything further to what he had 
 already said, while Francesea continued in her present, 
 mood. It was plain enough that some new project 
 was at the botton of this sudden alteration, but 
 what it might be he found it impossible to conjec- 
 ture. Discovering therefore at length that he was 
 nothing the gainer for his vehemence, he wisely chose 
 the part of silence, and shortly after took his depar- 
 ture from the cottage in a condition of mind very 
 different from that in which he had entered it. 
 
 When he had gone, Francesea once more summoned 
 her daughter from her sleeping room. The latter had 
 heard high words passing outside, but knew nothing 
 of their import, The very sound however had some- 
 thing about it of ill omen. Accordingly she appear- 
 ed now before her parent with a fearful and downcast 
 look, like one who is endeavouring to prepare for un- 
 welcome news. 
 
 •* Schemes and plans indeed!'' Francesea exclaimed 
 walking to and fro with an impatient air ! '^ this is 
 your work, young impudence! This comes of the
 
 224 THE KNIGHT 
 
 encouragement which you are so ready to give to any- 
 body that chooses to gratify his spleen on your aged 
 mother. What business had you encouraging this 
 beggarly Jacopo about the house? Answer me !" 
 
 "Surely, mother, I never gave him the least en- 
 couragement that was not in compliance with your 
 own wishes/' 
 
 Now there is nothing which a person of an over- 
 bearing temper dislikes so much as to be answered by 
 one of his, or her victims, more especially, if that an- 
 swer be so perfectly in accordance with truth and 
 reason, as to leave no possibility of reply. The 
 common resource in such cases is to fly into an ex- 
 travagant passion, so as to make up in fury, what is 
 wanted in argument, and this resource Francesca now 
 used in its perfection, by heaping such a quantity of 
 abuse on her daughter, as the latter had never even 
 heard of in the whole course of her life. From the 
 seven capital or deadly sins, down to the sins which 
 cry to heaven for vengeance, there was scarce a shade 
 of iniquity, the guilt of which, either direct or in- 
 direct, her eloquent parent did not impute to her.
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 225 
 
 ''And now'* she added at the close of her oration, 
 
 "I have but one piece of information to give you. 
 
 Never let me hear you speak of this Jacopo more." 
 
 Rosalia looked astonished. 
 
 ** Well i have I three heads on me ? I tell you, he 
 
 must be a stranger here in future. To say nothing of 
 
 his violent and overbearing disposition, to which in 
 
 conscience I could not entrust your future happiness, 
 
 his poverty alone is a sufficient obstacle to the union 
 
 which he seeks.'' 
 
 " But, my dear mother, is it not now too late to 
 
 think of this ? Should it not have been spoken of, at 
 
 least, before Jacopo's journey to Milan ?" 
 
 " Better late than never." 
 
 ** Yes — if not too late — but too late and never are 
 
 alike. It is surely too late after our solemn promise 
 
 is engaged to the contrary." 
 
 " Circumstances are altered, and more seriously than 
 
 you are aware of" 
 
 " But do you consider, dear mother ? The very 
 
 day was fixed. The whole neighbourhood look upon 
 
 it as a thing already'' performed. Why it is not more 
 
 L 5
 
 226 THE KNIGHT 
 
 than two days to that which was named for the cere- 
 mony. What will be thought of it ? What will be 
 said of us ?" 
 
 •^^ It well becomes you, madam modesty, to show so 
 much vivacity upon the subject, I think it might be 
 Just as decorous, if you would leave the arrangement 
 of such affairs as this to your elders. I tell you it is 
 not to be ; let that suffice. In three days hence you 
 and I must leave this cottage, and be cast as beggars 
 upon the world, unless before that time we can amass 
 a sufficient sum to pay the three hundred florins which 
 we owe to Andrew Bartelo, now so many years. Where 
 we are to get it, heaven knows ! Certainly not out of 
 Jacopo Pecchioli's coffers." 
 
 There was a silence of some minutes, which was 
 broken by Francesca. 
 
 " There is one way, indeed, of safety still remaining 
 to us, which if I were blest as other mothers are with a 
 daughter, capable of using her reason, might be em- 
 ployed effectually even now." 
 
 " If it be anything that depends on me, as you seem 
 to intimate — '* Rosalia said with an enquirin 
 look. 

 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 227 
 
 " It does depend on you — unfortunately," replied 
 her mother, " if it were not so, ( would have better 
 hope of its success." 
 
 " What is it mother ?" 
 
 " Do you remember the noble Chevalier, who did us 
 the honour to accept a drink of water from our hands 
 the other day in the cottage ?" 
 
 *' I do, very well, I have seldom seen a countenance, 
 so full of goodness and condescension." 
 
 *' Well there is no accounting for the tastes of great 
 folks. That same Chevalier, who is one of the weal- 
 thiest and most celebrated knights in all Europe, has 
 taken it into his head to entertain a fancy for your own 
 dutiful self, and has actually condescended to speak of 
 sharing his riches and his honours with you, when the 
 loftiest ladies in his own or any other country might 
 justly think themselves honoured by his hand." 
 
 " Me ? ' With me, mother ?" Rosalia exclaimed 
 with a mixture of simplicity and alarm, "'surely this 
 must be a mistake. There was good sense in every 
 thing he looked and said and did. It is surely impos- 
 sible that he could think ^of making a poor vulgar
 
 228 THE KNIGHT 
 
 country girl his bride even if she were free to accept 
 such an honour." 
 
 " Umph !" ejaculated Francesca, hesitating as she 
 felt the disclosure approach a climax. 
 
 "Some unthinking person has been making himself 
 merry with you, mother/' resumed Rosalia, " this is 
 too ridiculous an idea to carry any probability with 
 it." 
 
 '* You mistake the matter, Rosalia. It was not 
 by making you his bride as you imagine, that the 
 noble Chevalier deigned to admit you to a share in 
 his wealth and happiness/' 
 
 "In what way was it, then?" 
 
 Francesca having already surmounted the difficulties 
 which presented themselves in her own mind, to the 
 fulfilment of what was now become her own scheme, 
 had little further hesitation in laying it plainly before 
 her daughter, whose mind she was accustomed to 
 mould and govern as she pleased. She was aware, 
 however, that with all Rosalia's docility and simphcity 
 of character, there were points of right and wrong on 
 which she was intuitively clear-sighted, and on which
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 229 
 
 she could be resolute ; so that it was not without a 
 considerable misgiving as to the success of her own 
 powers of persuasion in the present instance that she 
 unfolded the plot of infamy which had been woven 
 for her ruin. Rosalia listened with a look of amaze- 
 ment and naive horror, which did not give much en- 
 couragement to the speaker. 
 
 *' And now," Francesca added, in concluding her 
 statement, "you have heard the whole, and are at 
 liberty to form your own decision. You know how 
 we have lived for years — we have never known 
 what it was to possess abundance, even for a single 
 day — and many a day have I risen in the morning 
 without knowing where we should turn to procure 
 even so much food as might enable us to subsist until 
 evening. Must we consume all our days in the same 
 miserable uncertainty ? We have no rich friends to 
 relieve us with their ' money, — nor poor ones to 
 assist us with their labour. Yet what we have hitherto 
 endured, is prosperity itself in comparison with the 
 destitution we shall suffer within the next few days. 
 All this it is in your power to avert from us if you 
 desire it."
 
 230 THE KNIGHT 
 
 ' The principal sentiment which had filled Rosalia's 
 mind since first her mother had unfolded her criminal 
 wishes, was that of surprise and grief at the change 
 which misfortune had wrought in the feelings of the 
 latter. She could hardly imagine it possible, that 
 Francesca, before whom she had never dared to com- 
 mit the slightest fault without well grounded terror, 
 could now be herself the person deliberately to pro- 
 pose to her a crime at the thought of which she 
 shuddered. 
 
 ** Well what is your answer? Will you do as I 
 desire ?" 
 
 '' Surely mother you are not serious." Rosalia an- 
 swered, gently, but firmly- — "certainly not. If there 
 be no other course than this, to save us from destitu- 
 tion, then welcome be it, and death, or worse if it 
 should happen to us." 
 
 *' I know the cause of this,'' cried Francesca, burst- 
 ing into rage — " but I tell you it shall not succeed 
 with you. I see through all your cunning, but your 
 arts shall not impose on me, I will baffle your designs, 
 be sure of it."
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 231 
 
 " What designs, mother ? I solemnly declare/' 
 
 said Rosalia calmly, yet with a crimsoned countenance 
 
 f 
 and laying her open hand upon her bosom. " I have 
 
 not a thought or wish in my heart in refusing to obey 
 you, but the dread of disobeying heaven." 
 
 '' It is a falsehood !" cried her mother, " and you 
 know it is, you caro not what becomes of me, because 
 you know, as soon as we are turned adrift on the world 
 you are sure of a home with Jacopo Pecchioli, which 
 would be denied to me, and. which f would not accept 
 if it were offered." 
 
 Rosalia attempted to fling herself upon her mother's 
 neck, and assure her of her affectionate fidelity, but 
 the latter [rudely repelled her. Clasping Francesca's 
 hand and kissing it repeatedly with a burst of tears, 
 she addressed her with a fervour so unusual, that her 
 mother, taken somewhat by surprise, listened in si- 
 lence. 
 
 "Dear mother, will you never know me? Will 
 you never know your child ? How could you think 
 me capable of so much baseness ? Do you suppose, 
 whatever becomes of us, that I would ever act so un-
 
 232 THE KNIGHT 
 
 grateful, so unnatural a part as to forsake you in your 
 sorrow ? I would deserve to be myself forsaken by 
 heaven, if I did so. No, indeed, let your fate be what 
 it may, I am resolved to share it, and I now solemnly 
 promise you that I never will be the wife of Jacopo 
 Pecchioli, nor of any one else, without your full and 
 • free consent." 
 
 " Then if you can be so far reasonable," said Fran- 
 cesca, somewhat softened, ''why will you refuse to be 
 so altogether? To what purpose your offering to 
 share my wretchedness ? It were more to the point 
 if you would promise to relieve it in the manner I tell 
 you/' 
 
 •' Mother, do not deceive yourself on that subject. 
 You give me pain, without prevailing in the least. As 
 solemnly as I have promised you that I will never ful- 
 fil my engagement to Jacopo, without your consent, 
 so solemnly do I declare to you that I will never for 
 an instant even entertain the thought of obeying you 
 in this ? 
 
 " Then quit my house while it is mine I" cried 
 Erancesca, bursting with redoubled fury. '' Out !
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 233 
 
 (ramp! Begone! Do you hear me? and this instant 
 too. I tell you now that whatever the consequence to 
 myself may be, if you will not obey me in this, you 
 never shall know me more. You may go where you 
 will, but it must be apart from me — " 
 
 " Mother '."— 
 
 " Do you wish me to swear it ? It is as certain to 
 you as if it were already sworn. I know well what 
 misery awaits me, but I will not give you the satis- 
 faction of beholding it. 
 
 '* What dreadful words, dear mother ! What fear- 
 ful thoughts !" 
 
 ** Therefore make your choice at once. Either say 
 you will be guided by my wishes, or there is the door ! 
 You must declare either for the one or the other.'^ 
 
 " Mother,'^ Rosalia said weeping, " do but consider 
 for a moment. Is it possible that I hear you command- 
 ing me to break the positive law of heaven, which I 
 first heard from 3'our own lips V 
 
 " What business have you to ask such questions, 
 madam pert ? Do you think the noble Chevalier him- 
 self does not know what is lawful or honourable, a
 
 234 THE KNIGHT 
 
 thousand times better than poor ignorant countr}'- 
 folks like us, who have hardly learning enough to see 
 our way an inch beyond our noses." 
 
 *'The Chevalier? Who is he then T Rosalia 
 asked. 
 
 Francesca named him. 
 
 ''He!" exclaimed the astonished Rosalia clasping 
 her hands with a start of surprise. " He send such a 
 message! What! the gallant, the chivalrous, the 
 heroic Chevalier ! The protector of the oppressed — 
 the ready and the tender friend of the widow and the 
 orphan ? the very mirror of chivalry ! The glory and 
 the boast of France — of — Europe, he, of whom all 
 tongues speak nought, but eulogy, who is blessed when 
 he is named even by the hearts and lips of his enemies; 
 The heroic Chevalier ! He, who ever on the field of 
 battle is more the angel of mercy, than of death ! On 
 whom kings rest for aid, and of whose glorious name 
 even the Church herself is proud ! He seek to lay 
 snares in the path of the lowly, and to urge a poor 
 friendless girl to trample on the holy law of heaven, 
 and on the first grace of her own nature! He send
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 235 
 
 this message? Impossible! Some vile impostor, some 
 dastard, envious of his glory, has assumed his name 
 for the purpose of debasing what he could not rival/' 
 
 " 1 tell you it is Ae." Francesca insisted with vehe- 
 mence. " It is not an hour since his messenger spoke 
 with me upon the subject." 
 
 "Then if it be," said Rosalia, "it behoves us the 
 more to tremble for ourselves. No, mother, once for 
 all, I will never hear more of this even from you." 
 
 "Then quit my house,!" exclaimed her mother again 
 rising into fury — " if you can be obstinate, so can I." 
 
 " Do not speak so cruelly, dear mother ! Ask any- 
 thing you will but this." 
 
 " I ask nothing from you, impudence! I desire no- 
 thing from you. I desire to have nothing to say or 
 do with you. But hear me now. In consideration of 
 all the pains 1 have wasted on you from your cradle, 
 and in consideration of my own affection for you, un- 
 worthy as you are of such a sentiment, I leave you 
 this one night to consider of what I have said. This 
 night you can remain and sleep in your room, but if 
 I find vou not more reasonable, when we meet to-mor-
 
 236 THE KNIGHT 
 
 row morning, your head and mine shall never rest a 
 night again beneath the same roof. This is sure to 
 you as the sunrise, so think well upon the matter to 
 night, I recommend to you.'' 
 
 So saying and violently rejecting the proffered parting 
 caress of her daughter, she withdrew to her own room. 
 Rosalia returned at the same time to spend a night 
 of agony, such as she had never felt in her life be- 
 fore.
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 237 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 In the morning Rosalia was up with the dawn, de- 
 termined to go and make the whole transaction known 
 to her confessor, a friar of great repute in her neigh- 
 bourhood. Making as little noise as possible, lest her 
 mother should awake, she fastened on her simple 
 walking dress, and opening the cottage door, and as 
 softly closing it behind her, she hurried across the 
 fields in the direction of the convent of San Ambrosia. 
 Waiting until the gate was opened, for it was scarce 
 yet broad day when she arrived there, she asked to 
 speak with Father Paolo. The porter who was her 
 relative, procured her admission, and she soon found 
 herself in the presence of the reverend father.
 
 238 THE KNIGHT 
 
 Father Paolo, though one of the most esteemed was 
 by no means looked upon an one of the most learned 
 brothers of the community of San Ambrosia. He had 
 embraced his present vocation late in life, consequently 
 without having sufficient time to make himself master 
 of a greater extent of erudition than was barely suffi- 
 cient to enable him to execute its ordinary functions. 
 He had however what was of much more value to him 
 than a mere acquaintance with books, an intuitive in- 
 sight into the heart, which enabled him to discover, as 
 if instinctively, the true remedy for the various disor- 
 ders of the mind and of the passions with which it 
 was his province to deal. When Rosalia entered, he 
 was engaged in pacing to and fro reading a portion of 
 his daily office. He observed the change which 
 anxiety and want of sleep (for she had not closed an 
 eye throughout the night) had wrought in her appear- 
 ance. Returning her low courtesy by a slight inclina- 
 tion of the head, he continued to walk to and fro 
 reading in a low voice until his task was concluded. 
 He then laid aside the book and enquired her business. 
 When she had told him all, he said :
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 239 
 
 *' Well, surely there seems no difficulty in this. 
 You could not have .acted otherwise than you have 
 done.^' 
 
 " But what is to become of me "^'^ Rosalia said with 
 a deplorable look, " I know not where to turn." 
 
 **0h ! your mother will not actually do what she has 
 threatened." 
 
 '* Ah, but she will, I am sure/' said Rosalia, " I 
 never knew her to fail in executing what she resolved 
 to do in that manner." 
 
 " Why then, my child. Heaven must be your friend 
 for you cannot have a second thought about the course 
 you are to take. And Heaven will be your friend, no 
 doubt, since you are ready to suffer for its sake." 
 
 *' I dread the very thought of returning home," said 
 Rosalia weeping, "it is strange to me that a person 
 who bears so high a reputation as the Chevalier could 
 bring himself to occasion so much misery to poor 
 beings who never injured him." 
 
 "The Chevalier?" repeated Father Paolo, '^ what 
 Chevalier do you speak of V 
 
 Rosalia named him, with some hesitation.
 
 240 THE KNIGHT 
 
 " He !" exclaimed the clergyman with a look of sur- 
 prise and doubt. '' Do you mean to say that he is the 
 person who has made this proposal ?" 
 *y *' I fear to say it," replied Rosalia, " yet not because 
 '[J^oubt of its being true, but in imputing evil to such 
 aTiame as his even on the clearest grounds, I feel as if 
 1 were committing some unpardonable offence." 
 
 *' Father Paolo paused, and then said : 
 
 *' And have you those clear grounds for judging that 
 it was he who sent the message V 
 
 Rosalia hesitated for some moments and then replied, 
 ^' I believe I have — I am convinced that it was he.'' 
 
 The friar lifted his hands and eyes in silence for a 
 moment. 
 
 " Alas !" he said, " how seldom is it that even the 
 best and purest virtue on earth, is wholly free from 
 stain ! O War ! thou hast other evils beside those 
 which threaten human life and health !" 
 
 After reflecting for some time, in silence, he turned 
 to where Rosalia stood, and said to her: 
 
 " I have been thinking of what is best for you to do, 
 and my advice is that you go back without delay to
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 241 
 
 your mother's cottage. She will probably urge you 
 again upon this subject, and do, you say nothing 
 against her wishes, but content yourself with expres- 
 sing your willingness to go to the Chevalier with his 
 messenger when he shall arrive — '' 
 
 Rosalia used a gesture of surprise. 
 
 " Fear not to do as I direct. This will satisfy her 
 for the present, and save you from further annoyance 
 on her part. When the messenger comes return with 
 him—" 
 
 "Go with him, father 1'' 
 
 " Go with him to the Chevalier — I know his charac- 
 ter — he may be frail, as we all are — but he is not 
 wicked — tell him your whole story simply and briefly 
 as you have told it to me, and trust to Heaven for the 
 event. Have you courage to act as I advise." 
 
 *' I will do it," said Rosalia, " if you think it the 
 best course." 
 
 The friar returned to his occupations, and Rosalia to 
 her mother's cottage. The latter was delighted at the 
 change which she found in her daughter, and for the 
 first time in her hfe overwhelmed her with praise. Le 
 
 VOL. I M
 
 242 THE KNIGHT 
 
 Jay did not fail to present himself at the appointed 
 hour, when all arrangements were speedily brought to 
 a conclusion, and Rosalia prepared to go with him to 
 the camp. 
 
 In the meantime mischief had been brewing in ano- 
 ther quarter. After parting with Francesca in the 
 unpleasant manner already related, Jacopo returned to 
 his house, perplexed to think what could be the cause 
 of this sudden alteration which had taken place in the 
 intentions of Francesca. Now it happened that he 
 communicated his perplexity to a neighbour who was 
 a near relative, and one of the most notorious [busy 
 bodies in the parish. This venerable personage had 
 been, for some time before Jacopo spoke with her, per- 
 plexed in no slight degree upon her own account, and 
 with her eye out on all sides in search of an elucida- 
 tion. She had been present when the Chevalier and 
 his ecuyer first entered the cottage of Francesca, and 
 although she was in the act of departing, having actu- 
 ally bidden her farewell when they approached, she 
 loitered long enough to observe that they had made a 
 more prolonged visit than could be necessary for any
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH 243 
 
 ordinary purpose in her power to conjecture. As this 
 good lady's thirst for information yas comprehensive 
 enough to include all kinds of affairs in her vicinity, 
 embracing the most important, and not rejecting the 
 most insignificant, at one time aspiring to an insight 
 into the bishop's household, and at another not dis- 
 daining to watch the movements of the humblest 
 peasant girl who had a character to be destroyed, she 
 did not fail now to brood long and deeply over all the 
 possible causes of this mysterious visit. Like most 
 persons who are gifted with a similar zeal for science, 
 her conjectures did not always put the most charitable 
 interpretation on what she heard and saw. The first 
 conclusion therefore which she came to in the present 
 case, was, that this was not the first visit of the 
 knightly stranger to her humble neighbours. It was 
 but an easy step from thence to the motives of the 
 parties concerned, and having once set it down that 
 the chevalier was a frequent visitor of Francesca and 
 her daughter, Dame Arabella Cari became suddenly 
 inflamed with a violent zeal for the welfare of her poor 
 friends, and with restless alarms for their reputation. 
 
 M 2
 
 244 THE KNIGHT 
 
 Having no important business of her own to divert 
 her attention from that of any neighbour in whose 
 affairs she was kind enough to take an interest, this 
 worthy lady spent the whole of the day and most part 
 of a sleepless night in devising some means of rescuing 
 her poor infatuated friends from the gulf which she 
 saw opening at their feet, or of delivering them out of 
 it, if, as was alas, but too probable, they had already 
 fallen. That they were already guilty, she had indeed 
 no doubt remaining. The case was but too plain ; yet 
 she was too charitable to abandon them, without an 
 effort, to utter ruin. Their reputation was yet un- 
 touched, and she kindly resolved to take it forthwith 
 exclusively into her own patronage. Besides, there 
 was poor Jacopo ' He must not be suffered to run 
 blindfold into the snare which was laid for him. 
 
 He would have been a dexterous thief who could enter 
 Francesca's house at any tiaie during the succeeding 
 week, , unobserved by the vigilant eyes of Arabella 
 Cari. Accordingly Le Jay did not escape her notice, 
 either on his first or second visit, nor was she with- 
 out forming her conjectures on the nature of the
 
 WITHOUr REPROACH. 245 
 
 conversation which passed between him and Francesca 
 during their long interview in ihe garden. It was when 
 she had brought the train of discovery so far, that 
 Jacopo made her acquainted with the scene which had 
 passed, between Francesca and himself, and the menace 
 she had thrown out, for he could not yet bring himself 
 to look upon it as anything more, of breaking off the 
 intended union. All thai he said was too complete a 
 verification of her own suspicions to allow her to con- 
 tinue to entertain the slightest shade of doubt. Ac- 
 cordingly it became her duty to place the poor deluded 
 Jacopo upon his guard, but as no one dissected a 
 reputation with greater tenderness than herself, she 
 resolved to introduce the subject with caution. 
 
 " Ah, my poor Jacopo,"' she said, " I wish you had 
 not gone to Milan." 
 
 ** Why do you say so ?" 
 
 " I do not like to tell you. I am afraid of making 
 you uneasy.'* 
 
 " I am uneasy already, heaven knows,'\ said Jacopo. 
 
 •* That is true indeed — you seem so — and besides 
 there are cases when one's feelings must be put en-
 
 246 THE KNIGHT 
 
 tirely out of the question. It is painful to me to 
 speak what I know, particularly where it has the 
 appearance of injuring another's character — but there 
 are cases — I remember to have once heard a doctor of 
 divinity say from the altar, that there are cases when 
 it becomes a positive duty of charity to tell the evil 
 one knows of one's neighbour when it is necessary in 
 order to prevent injury to others — " 
 
 " For heaven's sake, Arabella, what do you mean ?" 
 "Ah, there now, you are so vehement! That is 
 what I feared. Nothing — I mean nothing — that is, I 
 mean nothing which I think it would be prudent to 
 tell while your passions are inflamed as they are at 
 present. Heaven only knows what you might do if I 
 were to tell you all I have seen. No; wait till you 
 are cool, and we may speak upon the subject with 
 greater safety." 
 
 " 1 assure you, I am not in the least excited,^' said 
 Jacopo, " nor am 1 inclined to injure any one whatso- 
 ever. I am vexed indeed, and more than half mad 
 with myself for letting my unfortunate temper run 
 away with me when it would have been much more 
 adviseable to have held my peace."
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 247 
 
 " Well J am glad to hear you speak in that way, 
 and indeed if I did not know how rational you can be 
 when you please I would not venture to breathe a 
 word to you of what has taken place in your absence, 
 but found some other way of saving you from ruin. 
 Nor would I even now for all the world utter a syllable 
 of what I am going to say, to any other than yourself. 
 Ah my dear Jacopo, this war! this war !" 
 
 "What of it, Arabella?" 
 
 "Ah, the camp — the camp is such a school for 
 wickedness ! — and the French especially are of such a 
 licentious turn ! — The best of us, Jacopo, are open to 
 temptation. Even Lucifer, the brightest — " 
 
 " For pity's sake, cousin, confine )'Our thoughts to 
 the world we are in for the present, and do not torment 
 me by holding me any longer in suspense." 
 
 " Well then, since you desire it so earnestly. Fran- 
 cesca and Rosalia have made a new acquaintance in 
 your absence." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 "Yes, and a great one too. One of the leading 
 officers of the French camp."
 
 248 THE KNIGHT 
 
 ** Do you know who he is V 
 
 " I do, for I made it my business to ascertain as 
 
 soon as I discovered on what an intimate footing he 
 was at Francesca's cottage. I went to the camp my- 
 self on pretence of selling fruit, and I was not long in 
 learning his name and that of his ecuyer, who accom- 
 panied him." 
 
 " And what was his name?" 
 
 Arabella told him. 
 
 " Uraph I" said Jacopo emphatically. " And how 
 often now might he have visited at the cottage in raj' 
 absence?'' 
 
 '* Why, I positively know — but of — once." said the 
 informant hesitating, "^ 1 did not actually see him come 
 oftener; but you know there can be no doubt he did 
 so." 
 
 " Umph !" ejaculated the hearer once again. And 
 this is all?'' 
 
 *' All ?" exclaimed Arabella with a look of disap- 
 pointment, *' is it not enough ?" 
 
 "Poh, poh, it is too ridiculous." 
 
 "Ridiculous indeed?" ridiculous? Very well; is
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 249 
 
 it ridiculous to have a nobleman of his degree enter 
 the cottage of a poor widow and her daughter, in that 
 suspicious manner ? What could he want there V 
 
 " Poh, poh ; a drink of water, in all likelihood." 
 
 "Umph; very good; a drink of water. Was it a 
 drink of water that kept him a good half hour within ? 
 Was it a drink of water his servant wanted there in 
 so many days after ? Was it for a drink of water he 
 went] into the garden with Francesca, and remained 
 there for more than an hour ? Was there not as good 
 water at any other cottage on the way, as at Fran- 
 cesca^s ?" 
 
 " My good Arabella, you are too suspicious, and 
 the extravagance of your surmises has effectually 
 cured me of my own resentment. Good bye to you. 
 If this was all vou had to tell me, there was no neces- 
 sity for so much charitable hesitation as you showed in 
 making it known.'' 
 
 " But Jacopo— '' 
 
 " Teach your eyes and your ears a little charity, 
 cousin. Neither the one nor the other will be a whit 
 the less sharp for it. Farewell?" 
 
 M 5
 
 250 THE KNIGHT 
 
 " But Jacopo— " 
 
 He hurried off, leaving his busy relative not a little 
 disappointed at the effect of her awful communication. 
 Whatever doubts Arabella might have been willing to 
 entertain before, as to the amount of criminality alrea- 
 dy contracted by her neighbours, her own reputation 
 for sagacity, was now interested in the reality of their 
 guilt, and accordingly she redoubled all her vigilance 
 to place it beyond question. 
 
 She was not disappointed in her aim. On the fol- 
 lowing day she saw Le Jay return to the cottage. He 
 entered, remained for a considerable time, and then 
 re-appeared, followed by a figure which Arabella had 
 no difficulty in recognizing. It was Rosalia. The 
 downcast head, the timid motion, the features closely 
 hidden, all spoke to the active mind of the observer, 
 of guilt resolved upon, and shame not wholly yet dis- 
 missed. She waited but to see them take the road 
 which led to the camp, and hurried away brimful of 
 her tidings, to Jacopo Pecchioli's cottage. Beckoning 
 him to follow her to a little distance from the house 
 she looked in his countenance for a moment with an 
 air of ill-suppressed triumph.
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 251 
 
 "^Well," she said, " I am too suspicious, am I ?" 
 
 " Have you seen anything further then ?" 
 
 ^'Have I not seen it ? Have I not seen your mirror 
 of perfection in the act of setting out for the camp in 
 co|Tipany with this disinterested admirer of Francesca's 
 cold spring water? Eh ? Perhaps the Chevalier has 
 taken such a fancy to it, [that she is carrying him a 
 pitcher full to his tent." 
 
 " What do you tell me ?'' exclaimed Jacopo, his 
 doubts for the time really aroused. " Did you see 
 Rosalia going to the camp "^'^ 
 
 " Oh, it is impossible — I am too suspicious — if I 
 were to sharpen my eyes by teaching them a little 
 charity, I might indeed have seen some such thing. 
 But as you have such a charitable pair, so free from 
 all the mists of suspicion, you can easily satisfy your- 
 self by hastening across the fields, so as to meet them 
 at the turn of the road." 
 
 Without uttering a word in reply, Jacopo hurried 
 away in the direction, indicated by the speaker. 
 
 " M? suspicious !'' the latter exclaimed to herself 
 as she gazed after him, me uncharitable I when the
 
 252 THE KNIGHT 
 
 whole neighbourhood knows that an excessive blind- 
 ness to the faults of my acquaintances is one of my 
 chief feelings. I wonder if he find this piece of in- 
 formation as ridiculous as the last. Me uncharitable ! 
 of all the people in Milan — me suspicious !" 
 
 Rosalia, in company with Le Jay, had just arrived at 
 a turn in the road leading to the camp, when the form- 
 er was startled by hearing her own name pronounced 
 in a loud tone, and presently after Jacopo breathless 
 and heated, sprung upon the road before her. Le 
 Jay surveyed him with a supercilious air. 
 
 " Rosalia!'^ he exclaimed, '* is it possible that I see 
 you here ?" 
 
 " It is Jacopo." 
 
 " What are you doing ? Where are you going ? 
 What are you about V 
 
 *' I do not wish to satisfy you now, Jacopo, Let me 
 beg of you to let us pass and wait until I can do so." 
 
 " But you must satisfy me — " 
 
 ''Must " 
 
 '* I mean to say," cried Jacopo, " that I cannot but 
 have an answer, I cannot bear to see you in such com- 
 pany without knowing to what purpose it is.''
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. ' 253 
 
 "As to her company, sirrah," said Le Jay, "you 
 will please to reserve any remarks upon that point 
 until they are called for, and a^ the young woman 
 does not seem to desire your conversation, you will do 
 wisely by drawing aside, and allowing her to continue 
 her journey at peace. Otherwise, I shall be com- 
 pelled " 
 
 " If you say a word," exclaimed Jacopo, clenching 
 
 his fist as he saw Le Jay lay a hand upon his sword 
 hilt, " I will send you home to your master, with the 
 
 making of four noses, besides the one you have al- 
 ready. You are a despicable fellow, beneath my 
 notice, and you had better continue so, by remaining 
 silent." 
 
 *' Jacopo " Rosalia exclaimed in alarm. 
 
 " Insolent clown," Le Jay exclaimed, grasping his 
 sword hilt. 
 
 " Jacopo, I entreat of you ! hear me, Jacopo !" 
 
 " I will not hear you,'^ cried Jacopo, passionately ! 
 "What business have you here, away from your mo- 
 ther's cottage? Answer me that! What business 
 has any modest girl walking alone with a strange man
 
 254 THE KNIGHT 
 
 SO far from her home ? and that stranger, a despicable 
 
 you would never walk alone with me, Rosalia — 
 
 you were so modest and discreet, that I was often 
 vexed with you, for an excess of it. Oh, Rosalia, is 
 it possible? you! you!" 
 
 "But wont you hear me, Jacopo?" 
 
 " Come with me home, and I will hear you there.-^ 
 
 There is no use in your talking now. I tell you I will 
 not hear you well, I will " 
 
 " Jacopo," Rosalia said with a look of agony, " I 
 wish I could make you understand what 1 feel at this 
 moment, I cannot now explain to you the cause of your 
 finding me here, but I entreat of you to say no more, 
 but let me pass — do you doubt me- do you doubt my 
 intentions ?" 
 
 •* I do not," replied Jacopo, ** but I know that clever 
 people have been deceived. 1 know that you may be 
 sacrificed with the best intentions in the world. An- 
 swer me one question. Are you not going to the 
 camp ? Do you hesitate to tell me V 
 
 '* Jacopo " 
 
 " 1 tell you, you shall not go there — perhaps I know
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 255 
 
 more of what awaits you, than you do yourself. I 
 know who sent for you, and to what purpose." 
 
 Jacopo, will you not trust me V 
 
 " I will if I see you return, but if you will go, re- 
 turn me that medal which I gave you — you can have 
 no use of that at the camp." 
 : " Do not take it from me Jacopo." 
 , *' Will you return with me ?" 
 
 " No.^' 
 
 " Then give it me at once."" 
 
 Rosalia used a gesture of distress and perplexity. 
 At this moment Le Jay, who notwithstanding the su- 
 periority his weapon gave him, did not care to trust his 
 slight figure to the chance of a collision, with so burly 
 a shape as that of the Milanese peasant, perceived a 
 foraging party approaching them at some distance. 
 Accordingly he suddenly became valiant. 
 
 "Give place, sirrah, this instant," he exclaimed, 
 drawing his sword, " and let the young woman pass 
 or take the consequences." 
 
 Without hesitating an instant Jacopo rushed upon 
 him, armed as he was, and parrying with one hand an
 
 266 THE KNIGHT 
 
 irresolute thrust, which slightly grazed his arm, in the 
 next moment he laid the ecuyer on his back upon the 
 ground. Setting one knee upon his breast, he strove 
 to wrest from his grasp the sword which he still firmly 
 held ; Rosalia shrieked aloud ; in the next moment 
 some of the soldiers ran up and dragged Jacopo, 
 heated, dusty, and bleeding, from the fallen^ ecuyer 
 whom he still regarded in silence with looks of disap- 
 pointed passion. Some of the men were going to dis- 
 patch Jacopo on the spot, as a matter of course, when 
 Rosalia rushed with outstretched arms and piercing 
 cries of terror between him and the uplifted weapons. 
 
 '' Don't kill him — don't kill the scoundrel,'^ cried Le 
 Jay, arising from the earth, re-adjusting his disordered 
 apparel, and wiping the dust from it with much sang 
 froid, " don't kill him — only bring him along — we 
 shall find a question or two to put to him when he 
 arrives at head quarters." 
 
 "Villain," said Jacopo, "if my voice can reach him 
 your king shall hear of it. He did not enter the Mi- 
 lanese to gratify the ruffianly passions of his followers 
 — or if he did, and he refuse me justice — then I say,
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 257 
 
 heaven speed the arms of the Confederates upon his 
 
 rear/' 
 
 " Hear the traitor ! " cried Le Jay, " drag him along 
 soldiers." 
 
 They resumed their journey to the camp. On reach- 
 ing it, Jacopo was committed to the guard-room, while 
 Le Jay conducted Rosalia to his own quarters until he 
 should have an opportunity of making his master aware 
 of her arrival.
 
 258 THE KNIGHT 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 When Le Jay entered his master's tent, he found 
 the latter engaged at chess with a brother officer. The 
 appearance of the ecuyer was enough to put an end to 
 any interest which the Chevalier had hitherto taken in 
 the game. Accordingly he suffered himself to be 
 check-mated as speedily as he decently could, and al- 
 lowed his visitor to depart without making any effort 
 to detain him. 
 
 " Well, Le Jay, what news ? " 
 
 " She is in the camp, my lord." 
 
 " Indeed, and where ? " 
 
 ** I thought it prudent, my lord, that she should re- 
 main at my own quarters until I had apprized you of 
 her arrival." 
 
 '•s
 
 WITHOUT REPROACl/. 259 
 
 « It was well done. Hasten now and devise some 
 means of bringing her here with as little notice as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 It is not necessary to say what thoughts divided the 
 mind of the Chevalier, as he paced to and fro in his 
 tent awaiting the return of Le Jay. In some time 
 after the latter arrived, accompanied by Rosalia, wrap- 
 ped in a military cloak. When Le Jay had retired the 
 Chevalier approached Rosalia, and took her hand with 
 a familiar boldness, which became him far less than the 
 air of noble condescension which she had remarked on 
 his first entering her mother's cottage. On removing 
 the hood from her countenance, the Chevalier seemed 
 astonished and perplexed to find her bathed in tears. 
 He was embarrassed by her grief and her silence, and 
 seemed for some time at a loss how to interpret it. 
 
 "What is the matter?" he asked at length, in an 
 encouraging tone, " what is it terrifies you ? '' 
 
 " Ah, signer,'' said Rosilia, " is it possible ? I could 
 not have believed it. Is it you indeed who sent for 
 
 me?" 
 
 ** Why do you ask, Rosalia ? Do you repent of 
 having come already ? "
 
 260 THE KNIGHT 
 
 " Oh, sir," she exclaimed, clasping her hands and 
 kneeling- before him' with a convincing earnestness 
 of manner, "not all that this world could bestow 
 would bring me here with my own will ! But ever since 
 your servant delivered your first message, my mother's 
 heart was changed. I have not known a moment's 
 peace since then. She has been urging me in the cruel- 
 est manner to do what my heart abhors — and at last 
 enjoined me to come hither on pain of becoming an 
 outcast for ever from her presence. F came then, signor, 
 confiding in your mercy, in the character which you 
 bear in all countries, to beg of you to have pity on 
 yourself and me, and to desist from a pursuit that is 
 bringing misery on a poor being who never injured you." 
 
 The Chevalier had suffered her to kneel until this 
 moment, surprised and touched by what she had said. 
 He now raised her gently from the attitude of suppli- 
 cation, and said in a kind voice : 
 
 '' And you tell me then, Rosalia, that it was your 
 mother forced you to come hither." 
 
 "Indeed, signor it was." 
 
 '* What was her reason now, for urging you so 
 strongly against your will."
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 261 
 
 ** Alas, signor," replied Rosalia with a fresh burst of' 
 tears, ** I know not unless it wa$ our extreme poverty 
 that must have drove her beside herself." 
 
 " And you are so poor then," said the Knight : " tell 
 me all — conceal nothing of your circumstances from 
 me. 
 
 In compliance with this desire, Rosalia related all — 
 the projected marriage — the poverty and distraction of 
 her mother — the encounter on the road with Jacopo — 
 all that was natural, with a simplicity and innocence 
 of manner, that carried conviction with every sen- 
 tence — 
 
 " — And I pray you, signor," she added, ** not to let 
 this Jacopo suffer for what was solely occasioned by 
 his love for me. I am sure he had not the least inten- 
 tion of injuring any one until his passions were roused 
 by seeing me, as he thought, in^^anifest danger. He 
 was indiscreet, but he never yet was malicious." 
 
 "And you like this Jacopo, Rosalia 1" asked the 
 Knight. 
 
 "I — I — we were betrothed, my lord." 
 
 " Where is he now V*
 
 262 THE KNIGHT 
 
 " I believe they keep him 'a prisoner in the guard 
 room. I am very sorry, signor, that he affronted your 
 servant.'^ 
 
 The Chevalier remained for some moments silent, 
 and then advancing to where Rosalia stood, he took 
 her hand and addressed her with as much delicacy as if 
 he had been accosting one of the high born ladies of 
 his sovereign's court : 
 
 '' Fear nothing, Rosalia," he said, "you shall have 
 no cause to repent your confidence. Whatever senti- 
 ments I may have eniertained towards you heretofore, 
 I am not ashamed to acknowledge those which I feel 
 at present. Your grace and ^your beauty attracted 
 my admiration, and I believed I loved you, but I can 
 judge by my present feelings how far I was from 
 thinking of you as highly as you deserve. You have 
 had proof sufficient of my weakness and my wicked- 
 ness, but I am not wicked enough to 'rob j'ou of a 
 virtue which is so dear to you," 
 
 Rosalia was about to sink at his feet, but the Cheva- 
 lier prevented her. 
 
 " May your last end be happy, signor !" she said 
 with tears, '' I can wish you no greater blessing."
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 263 
 
 *' And now," said the chevalier, " is there any female 
 friend whom you wish to see before your return V 
 
 Rosalia named the sister of Jacopo. 
 
 " Retire," said he, for some time into that 'room, 
 until she arrives. Fear nothing ; no one shall intrude 
 upon you there. For Jacopo, he must remain in the 
 camp to-night, but no harm shall come to him." 
 
 Rosalia entered a small division of the tent, and the 
 Chevalier summoned Le Jay to his presence. When 
 he appeared, the Knight looked fixedly in his counte- 
 nance for some moments and said : 
 
 "Le Jay, you have deceived me in this matter, but 
 no more of that. The offence was mine rather tiian 
 yours. Go now to the cottage of Jacopo Pecchioli and 
 bring Maria, his sister, hither. Tell Francesca like- 
 wise to come here early to-morrow morning." 
 
 Le Jay executed his commission. Rosalia went 
 with Maria Pecchioli to pass the night at the house of 
 a relative of the latter. In the morning all had assem- 
 bled at the tent of the Chevalier, when he ordered the 
 prisoner to be brought before him. 
 
 Jacopo had passed a night of cruel perplexity. He
 
 264 THE KNIGHT 
 
 could not suspect Rosalia of acting wrong, but he 
 was passionate, and her seeming want of confidence 
 annoyed him. There was added to these causes of 
 vexation, a misgiving of his own prudence in trusting 
 so fully to Arabella, and a doubt that Rosalia after all 
 might have had sufficient reasons for what seemed so 
 extraordinary in her conduct. Unable, however, to 
 arrive at any satisfactory conclusion, he continued in 
 the same mood of resentment against all parties up to 
 the moment when he |was summoned to the presence 
 of the Chevalier. 
 
 *' So, young man," said the Knight, '^ you have been 
 apprehended in the act of assaulting one of his most 
 Christian Majesty's servants. I have brought your 
 friends here in order to afford you an opportunity of 
 bringing forward any evidence you may think useful 
 in your defence.^' 
 
 Jacopo looked round upon the assembly with asto- 
 nishment, until his eye rested on Rosalia, who stood 
 with hef head drooping, in what might be a feeling 
 either of modesty, or of conscious guilt. At first his 
 bearing and his look, had been those of a person suf-
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 265 
 
 fering under gross injustice, and violently excited: 
 but the sudden apparition of Rosalia, in that place, 
 and the undefined expression of her attitude and 
 countenance, appeared to give a new direction to his 
 feelings. He covered his face with his hands, and 
 gave vent to a silent flood of tears, in which many of 
 the spectators shared. After some moments, he ap- 
 proached Rosalia with a look and action expressive of 
 anxiety and tenderness. 
 
 **^ Rosalia !" he said in a voice tremulous with emo- 
 tion, " will you for the sake of old times — for the sake 
 of hopes that are now lost for ever — will you answer 
 me one question ?" 
 
 " What is it Jacopo ?" Rosalia said, turning away 
 her head, and speaking in accents that were almost 
 inaudible. 
 
 " Why did you refuse to return with me last 
 night?" 
 
 "You must recollect, young man," said the Cheva- 
 lier, '' that you have first to answer the charge which 
 is made against you." 
 
 "Villain!" cried Jacopo, addressing the Chevalier 
 
 VOL. I, N
 
 266 THE KNIGHT 
 
 with a burst of passion, **you have the power to do 
 evil, but that shall not prevent 'my calling you by 
 your right name. You talk of your King, but he 
 shall hear of you. Do what you will with me, I care 
 not ; you have already done your worst. As to you," 
 he said, addressing Rosalia, '* the fault is more than 
 half yours — had you returned with me yesterday, all 
 this might have been prevented." 
 
 ''What can you mean, Jacopo?" exclaimed his 
 sister, " how can you address Rosalia and the Cheva- 
 lier in such a manner V'J 
 
 "Ask her," said Jacopo, "what was it that brought 
 her to the camp?" 
 
 " The same which brought me," replied Maria, " we 
 came together in obedience to the summons of the 
 Chevalier." 
 
 *' Together?" said Jacopo. 
 
 " Yes, this morning, we' are not an hour arrived. 
 She left the camp with me yesterday evening and re- 
 turned with me this morning." 
 
 "And is she — is she innocent?" he asked, sinking 
 his voice.
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 267 
 
 *' Innocent? Of what ?" exclaimed Maria. 
 
 Jacopo looked round with a l?ewildered air, until his 
 glance rested on the Chevalier. 
 
 " She is, Jacopo," said the latter, " rely on my sin- 
 cerity, when I tell you that your mind on that subject 
 may be perfectly at rest. At another and more fitting 
 time you may hear all that ha? seemed perplexing to 
 you in the conduct of Rosalia. For the present let it 
 suffice to assure you in her presence, and in that of 
 her respectable friends, that there is not the slightest 
 foundation for the uneasiness you seem to feel." 
 
 Jacopo gazed around him in astonishment. His 
 thoughts now rushed to the other extreme, and he 
 became as impetuous in gratitude as he was in resent- 
 ment. 
 
 "If I have wronged you," he said addressing the 
 Chevalier, •' and surely it is — it must be so, for who 
 ever heard the name you bear, mentioned except in 
 praise. I hope you will forgive me; but I was told 
 tales, for which 1 thought good reason was shown why 
 I should believe them, and I did so. I was told that — 
 but it must be false; it is impossible so renowned a
 
 268 THE KNIGHT 
 
 knight, could act so wicked a part. I was too cre- 
 dulous, and I am ready to suflfer any punishment 
 which you may think my offence deserves/' 
 
 " Rise, young man," said the Chevalier as Jacopo 
 knelt before him, I do not merit the good opinion you 
 have expressed of me — but in supposing that any- 
 thing has happened, or is likely to happen that can 
 make Rosalia less dear or less estimable to you, you 
 err widely and most injuriously to her and to yourself. 
 And now tell me, are you satisfied." 
 
 *' I am fully so," replied Jacopo, ''I freely declare 
 it.'' 
 
 " Then take her hand," said the Knight, **and be 
 sure you have a treasure in it which many a sovereign 
 might envy you.'' 
 
 *' One moment, signor," said Rosalia, " I cannot con- 
 sent to give Jacopo a hand which only yesterday I dis- 
 covered he does not value. He refused to trust me, 
 and demanded from me this medal," she added, taking 
 it from her neck, " which I chiefly valued as a gift from 
 himself. I did not like to give it to you then," she 
 said, "because it might seem like acknowledging the
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 269 
 
 justice of your doubts ; but now I freely return it, 
 and I hope you will find some person on whom you 
 can bestow it, and what is of greater value, your con- 
 fidence along with it." 
 
 "You have done enough in your own vindication 
 Rosalia," said the Knight " to persist would be re- 
 sentment and not dignity." 
 
 " Then, signor," replied Rosalia, with a modest 
 hesitation, " since I must not return it fo the giver, 
 Jacopo will forgive me if I bestow it where it is better 
 deserved than by either of us. I am poor, my lord," 
 she said addressing the Chevalier with a smile, " and 
 have httle more than thanks to ofl^er you; but you 
 have given happiness this morning to many hearts — 
 Will it please you to accept this humble remembrance 
 in return?" 
 
 So saying she placed the medal on the neck of the 
 Chevalier, with a grace and modesty which charmed 
 the beholders. The eyes of the warrior glistened as 
 he raised the medal to his lips. Without making any 
 reply, he directed all to withdraw except Francesca 
 whose feelings were not the most enviable when she 
 found herself alone with the Chevalier.
 
 270 THE KNIGHT 
 
 ** And now/' he said with a look and tone of unu- 
 sual severity, " in what way shall we speak of your 
 conduct on this occasion? If you have anything to 
 say, which can palliate it, I am willing to hear you, for 
 to me your behaviour, considering the character of 
 your daughter, seems to have been something worse 
 than censurable." 
 
 " Alas, signor," exclaimed Francesca, kneeling at 
 his feet, " I can only offer our poverty as my apology. 
 We were on the brink of ruin, and I thought you so 
 good and so renowned a cavalier — " 
 
 " You are right," replied the knight, " the offence 
 began with me. Tell me now how much is the debt 
 which 3'ou have to pay." 
 
 " Six hundred florins, Signor — Indeed it is a sum — '' 
 
 " There,'* said the knight handing her a purse, 
 " you will find in that two hundred crowns which 
 are more than sufficient to pay your debt. The re- 
 mainder will serve to purchase a dress for the bride. 
 Here are a hundred crowns more for a wedding por- 
 tion, and now the sooner this marriage is concluded 
 the better. Not a word more !" he exclaimed, as Fran-
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 271 
 
 cesca, with expanded arms, was about to burst forth 
 into a torrent of gratitude, '' iet all return hither, 
 Le Jay !'^ 
 
 ' The ecuyer appeared, and in compliance with his 
 master's desire, summoned the whole parly into the 
 presence of the Chevalier. 
 
 ** My good friends," he said, " all now 1 hope is 
 happily arranged, and we may bid each other farewell 
 without ill feelings on either side. Jacopo, your ho- 
 nesty will never suffer if you learn to abate something 
 of your vehemence. Le Jay at my request will I am 
 sure think no more of what has passed." 
 
 Le Jay answered by a low bow, delighted that he 
 had anything to forgive in a case, where the odds were 
 so much against him. 
 
 " For you, Rosalia," continued the knight, *' I thank 
 you for your gift." He pressed her hand. " Fare- 
 well, — and sometimes in your prayers remember the 
 poor Chevalier Bayard." 
 
 ** It is not said how long after the event just de- 
 tailed, the Chevalier received his death-wound in one 
 of those fatal skirmishes with the army of the Con-
 
 272 THE KNIGHT 
 
 federates, which attended the retreat of the French 
 troops. But as he sat bleeding on the ground, his 
 back placed against a tree, and his face according to 
 his own directions, turned towards the enemy, with no 
 other companion remaining than his ecuyer, it may be 
 supposed that the remembrance of this morning, was 
 not the least consoling, which presented itself to the 
 mind of the dying hero. 
 
 The third juryman having concluded his story, 
 which was listened to with much attention, there was 
 a general call for the song, with which after a few 
 moments recollection, he complied as follo\ys • — 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh, weeds will haunt the loveliest scene, 
 
 The summer sun can see, 
 And clouds will sometimes rise between, 
 
 The truest friends that be ! 
 And thoughts unkind may come perchance. 
 
 And haply words of blame, 
 For pride is man's inheritance, 
 
 And frailty is his name.
 
 WITHOUT REPROACH. 273 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet while I tread this leafy vale, 
 
 That nursed thine infanoy, 
 And hear in every passing gale, 
 
 A whispered sound of thee. 
 My nighted bosom wakes anew, 
 
 To feeling's genial ray, 
 And each dark mist on memory's view 
 
 Melts into light away. 
 III. 
 The flowers that deck this shaded spot. 
 
 Low, lovely and obscure, 
 Were like the joys thy friendship brought, 
 
 Delicious, calm and pure. 
 Now faded is their genial glow, 
 
 And changed their simple hue. 
 Ah ! must it e'er be mine to know. 
 
 Their type is faded too ! 
 IV. 
 Yet should those well remembered hours, 
 
 Return to me no more. 
 And like those cuU'd and faded flowers. 
 
 Their day of life be o'er. 
 In memory's fragrant shrine conceal'd, 
 
 A sweeter scent they give, 
 Than aught the world again can yield, 
 
 Or I again receive. 
 N 5
 
 274 THE KNIGHT 
 
 It was admitted by all present, that the third juror 
 had fulfilled all the conditions of the common agree- 
 ment without rendering himself liable to any demand 
 on his purse. The call next passed to the fourth 
 juror, who after some hesitation took from his lips the 
 cigar with which he had been regaling himself, and 
 after indulging in a preliminary draught of the gener- 
 ous ale which stood beside him commenced the fol- 
 lowing narrative.
 
 THE FOURTH JURYMAN'S TALE 
 
 THE MISTAKE. 
 
 " Tell, why the sepulchre, 
 Wherein we saw thee quietly inurned 
 Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaw9 
 To cast thee up again ! What may this mean ?" 
 
 Hamlet, Act I. Scene iv.
 
 fjti
 
 THE MISTAKE. 277 
 
 THE MISTAKE. 
 
 There was no happier man in the wide world, than 
 Phelim O'Rourke, from the longest day he could remem- 
 ber, until that on which he was married, and alas, that 
 we should have to record it, no one so miserable ever 
 after. His fate was the more pitiable, that he was 
 unusually cautious in entering on a state which was 
 to fix the good or evil fortune of his future life. He 
 did not embrace it as a mere boy, he was verging fast 
 beyond manhood at the time, he had known the object 
 of his choice from childhood, and he devoted a fortnight 
 of deep contemplation to the affair before shrovetide. 
 But after the inextricable knot was tied, the grounds 
 upon which his unfortunate attachment rested, proved
 
 278 THE MISTAKE. 
 
 beyond all conception unsubstantial. The gay good 
 humour of little Anty O'Donnel, the tender look, the 
 glad welcome and above all the winning obsequious- 
 ness of manner, which first caught his heart, one by 
 one, faded, like fairy gifts away, in the person of Mrs. 
 O^Rourke, until at the end of five or six months, he 
 began almost to call in question, the fact of their 
 having ever had any existence. He sometimes thought 
 to himself, that he must have been juggled by witch- 
 craft, or his imagination deluded by some love potion, 
 perhaps privately administered by Anty. When he 
 went from home in the morning, instead of the fond 
 farewell look, which, in his young fancy, he imagined 
 would daily follow him to his early labour, he had to 
 endure the frowning glances of his helpmate, and her 
 oft repeated charges about his tarrying out after work 
 time; for the joyous welcome home, he met a reception 
 that would have augured a change for the worse, in 
 the wife of Rip Van Winkle? and for the fond anxi- 
 ety to please in their frequent communings, a total 
 disregard to every wish of his heart, and a determined 
 resolution to have every thing her own way.
 
 THE MISTAKE. 279 
 
 Phelim was happily for himself, of a very elastic 
 temperament. If he was easily depressed by his evil 
 fortune, he was also easily elated when his better star 
 seemed to be in the ascendant ; and perhaps if the 
 settled cloudiness of Anty's countenance, had been 
 ever so rarely visited with a gleam of sunshine, he 
 might have considered his fate, though a very che- 
 quered one, as not quite insupportable. But the 
 season of her ill-humour sat in after wedlock like a 
 polar night to the northern mariner, long and hopeless 
 and with no promise of a future day. " I have heard 
 tell/' he used to mutter to himself, in his moments of 
 bitterness, " of a woman's leading a man the life of a 
 dog, but sure a dog has a fine life of it compared to 
 mine. He's up with the sun, delighting himself with 
 his sports in the grassy fields, and there's no living 
 eye takes envy at his amusement ; he gets his mess 
 in peace in the chimney corner, twice in the day, with- 
 out toil or trouble, and he sleeps like a kitten, by the 
 fireside all night, without dramin or startin as I do, 
 thinken of the day's doens; if he gets an odd kick or 
 a batin, he knows tis'nt out of any ill will, and it
 
 280 THE MISTAKE. 
 
 doesn't dwell on his mind a minute after the pain is 
 gone ; and if he hears a tongue equal to Anty's, tis'nt 
 expected he^Jl understand it. Oh ! mo leare ! the life 
 of a dog is a fine life. " 
 
 Time, which it is said wears down the edge of the 
 sharpest evil, did very httle in his weary course for 
 Phelim O'Rourke, when the cholera suddenly reached 
 his neighbourhood, and committed awful havoc in every 
 direction. There was the greatest consternation 
 throughout the district, and the visitation was met by 
 every one in fear and trembling, except by those for 
 whom misery had already stript death of his terrors. 
 Phelim could not be altogether placed among the 
 latter class, nor said to be wholly devoid of apprehen- 
 sion, yet anticipating some respite to his torments, 
 from the very natural hope, that Anty's temper would 
 be mollified by the universal panic, he was much less 
 depressed than the multitude. Even a furtive smile 
 might be sometimes detected playing about his mouth, 
 on the announcement of some new and appalling stroke 
 of the destroyer, when he observed the smooth and 
 pallid fear overspreading the brow of his partner, and
 
 THE MISTAKE. 281 
 
 a silence, sudden as the palsy arresting her conver- 
 sation. It at length unfortunately attracted Anty^s 
 notice, and as may be conjectured, convinced from 
 that moment, that he was felicitating himself on the 
 prospect of her seizure with the disease, her rage knew 
 no bounds. Every thrill or start of terror she ex- 
 perienced, as the danger encreased about her, furnished 
 new ground for suspicion ! his very looks were watch- 
 ed, and examined with a metaphysical acuteness, and 
 the faintest expression traced home to its iniquitous 
 source, until all his anticipations, of even temporary 
 repose, were buried in the darkest disappointment, the 
 spring by which he thought to lie down for awhile and 
 drink the sweet waters of contentment, pouring out 
 for him only new draughts of bitterness. 
 
 When we mention that five years had already rolled 
 over the heads of this ill-starred pair, and they were 
 still living in one house, and partaking of the same 
 meals in so decorous a manner, as to keep their domes- 
 tic agreements in some degree hidden from the public, 
 it will be admitted that Phelim was a man of the most 
 enduring patience. With whatever amount however,
 
 282 THE MISTAKE. 
 
 of Christian resignation, he suffered this sort of life, 
 he could not always avoid indications of peevishness 
 and vexation at his lot. He was often heard to say, 
 " I wish to Heaven I was taken off at once be the sick- 
 ness, and 'twould be an ease to me," sometimes indeed, 
 it must be confessed, another alternative floated dimly 
 in the perspective, when his wicked angel whispered 
 the question in his ear, " wouldn't it answer as well 
 Phelim, if it took off little Anty/' His better feelings 
 nevertheless always ^discountenanced those evil sug- 
 gestions, as well as the contingent results of such an 
 occurrence, which his busy imagination was ever ready 
 to disport in when permitted to go at large. 
 
 It happened one morning, as they were sitting to 
 breakfast, that they heard a cry next door, and in a few 
 minutes after a person ran in and informed them that 
 the woman who lived there, and her three children had 
 been carried off by the cholera in the night, leaving 
 the disconsolate husband alone in the world. Mrs. 
 O'Rourke's eye, after she had recovered from the 
 shock which the first announcement of the news had 
 occasioned, 6xed itself instinctively on Phelim, and
 
 THE MISTAKE. 283 
 
 again she saw or fancied she saw, instead of the na- 
 tural expression of countenance at such awful ac- 
 counts, a shrouded dehght beaming in his looks, which 
 was very badly concealed in his awkward semblance of 
 sympath}' for the sufferers. Her ire was instantly 
 kindled, and after a pause of a few minutes during 
 which she was endeavouring to subdue the up- 
 bursting violence into, what she hoped might even for 
 its newness prove more cutting, a bitter irony she 
 observed. 
 
 " Pleasant news this fine mornen Misther O'Rourke ; 
 the loss of so many poor innocent craythurs at a 
 sweep is enough to delight the heart of any one !" 
 
 "What do you mane be that Anty returned Phelim, 
 'twould be a strange bizness, if I wasnt sorry for poor 
 Davy in his trouble?" 
 
 Trouble enough ! retorted Anty, I b'lieve you'd 
 give a thrifle to be in his case, for all, 'twould be the 
 glory of your heart, you murthering crocodile, if the 
 sickness come into us to day, and that^ you saw me da- 
 cently laid under the sod in the even. I know your 
 thoughts you villian, for all your long faces, I know
 
 284 THE MISTAKE. 
 
 how you laugh in your heart within, when you hear 
 of a poor woman dying, hopen it may come to my 
 turn at last ; but Til disappoint you ; wid the blessin 
 of Heaven, I tell you, I'll disappoint you." 
 
 Phelim in vain protested against these accusations, 
 and much more to the same purport passed betwen 
 them, until the dispute reached a pitch, that he found 
 by experience, it was not safe it should long maintain. 
 He accordingly struck his colours and was hanging 
 his head, after his usual fashion, in profound silence, 
 waiting for the storm to subside, when the suddenness 
 of that occurrence caught his attention and looking up 
 into his wife's face, he thought he observed it sin- 
 gularly pale and grave. She was evidently struggling 
 with some sudden terror, and on recovering her speech 
 which she did at once, from the moment she saw 
 Phelim fix his looks upon her, she exclaimed : 
 
 You have your wish you murtherer, if 'tis of any 
 good to you, but 'tis your bad angel done it. If you 
 had'nt sold yourself the wicked longing couldn't thrive 
 with 3^ou." 
 
 " What's the matter nowf answered Phelim.
 
 THE MISTAKE. 285 
 
 '•I'm off," cried Anty, "that's all— run for the 
 priest — run I tell you, and take your eyes off of me/' 
 
 "Erah, what's the matter darlen," asked the hus- 
 band again with as strong an expression of anxiety 
 as he could summon up. 
 
 *' Don't, darlen me you villin," returned Anty, " I'm 
 off and you know it — tis all your doens — tis out of the 
 passion you put me into I got it — my death will be at 
 your door." 
 
 "Got what, avourneen?^' 
 
 " Lave off your palaveren again, and get me the 
 priest. Oh ! the Lord help me. I'm off I believe — 
 the cramp — the cramp. I'm done for in earnest — rub 
 me — rub me — will any one get me the priest ?" 
 
 Phelim now clearly saw that she was getting the 
 Cholera, for while she was speaking, her voice began 
 to grow hoarse and whispering," her face became 
 blueish and shrunk to half its usual size, her eyes 
 were sinking in her head, like those of a wasted 
 corpse, and a cold sweat was oozing out from every 
 pore. Rub me you vagabond, if there's any compas- 
 sion left for your poor murthered wife. Oh my leg —
 
 286 THE MISTAKE. 
 
 ™y leg — rub me-. — ^.won't any one rub me — there — 
 there — higher up^— oh my foot — the other foot — wont 
 I get the priest at all, Dheelen. " 
 
 A woman happening to come in at the moment, at- 
 tracted by her cries, the astounded husband left his 
 wife, in her care, and darted off for the priest. We 
 shall not venture to analyse his reflections by the way, 
 nor offer a conjecture as to their nature. It is suffici- 
 ent to say, that by the time he 'reached Father Mc 
 Mahon's residence his countenance had attained a very 
 decorous length, and he was not wanting in a due 
 degree of impatience, to hurry back with the worthy 
 man. They left the door together, and though the 
 priest was mounted very tolerably, and pushed on, as 
 in all cases of urgency, at rather a rapid rate, he was 
 far outstript by the anxious Phelim who stood again 
 by poor Anty's side, before it could have been thought 
 possible for him, to traverse such a distance. 
 
 The neighbours were at the time holding~a consul- 
 tation in an anti-chamber, to determine what was th 
 best course to be pursued with her. 
 
 " Take her to the Hospital at once," says one, who
 
 THE MISTAKE. 287 
 
 thought the farther and the sooner she was removed 
 from his own domecile the better. 
 
 '' 'Tis the best way," says a second, "for she's a 
 gone woman if there isn't something done for her in a 
 hurry.'' 
 
 '* Gone or not gone," exclaimed a third, who proved 
 to be a sister of Anty's, ** she'll never set foot in the 
 Hospital. I'll not have her pisened be the Docthors 
 any way.'", 
 
 "Indeed 'tis seldom they're throublesome afther 
 comen out of their hands," observed a pedlar who stood 
 listening in the crowd, '* they're the quieter for visiting 
 'em ever afther to my knowledge." 
 
 " Tbrue for him, faix," cried another, " many's the 
 fine young boy or girl I see go in to 'em stout and 
 ruddy, ^and come out in the mornen with their feet 
 foremost." 
 
 " Eyeh, don't be runnen 'em down that way," ob- 
 served a little tailor, who had obtained some reputation 
 as a wit, "they're not so bad after all; go into 'em 
 ever so bare or naked and they never fails to send you 
 out with a new wooden jacket and steel buttons !"
 
 288 THE MISTAKE. 
 
 "Ulaloo! the vagabonds," exclaimed the sister, 
 " they destroy 'em with their physics; sure I seen 'em 
 with my own two eyes in the Hospital, changing 
 colour as soon as they drank 'em off/' 
 
 " No wondher," rejoined the pedlar, ^^ when they're 
 paid for it." 
 
 " Paid by whom," exclaimed half a dozen voices 
 simultaneously. 
 
 " By the Government." returned the pedlar, '* who 
 else ? There are too many of us in the country en- 
 tirely, and we're for ever fighten. and night-walken, 
 and given the world in all of throuble. They thried 
 emigration, and transportation, and turnen us out to 
 starve on the high roads by what they call the sublet- 
 ting act, and they thried the threadmill, and even 
 hanging itself, and t'was to no purpose. So they 
 med up their minds at last to rid the country of us 
 be pisening us like varmin, and when the cholera 
 come, they tuck advantage of the Docthors to do it, 
 be way of curen, unknownst to us." 
 
 " See that why !" ejaculated several. 
 
 ** 'Tis a good hundred pounds to 'em at any rate.
 
 THE MISTAKE. 289 
 
 every poor soul they put out of pain/' continued the 
 pedlar. 
 
 A low " Dheelen !" (God help us.) was heard from 
 the crowd. 
 
 The priest had now arrived, and seeing Mrs. 
 O'Rourke in such a deplorable way that there was not 
 a moment to be lost, recommended strongly, that she 
 should be at once removed to the Hospital. He met 
 however, perhaps in consequence of the pedlars com- 
 munication, with more opposition than he expected, 
 especially from Anty's sister, a Mrs. Judy O'Leary, 
 of whom we have before made mention. He at length 
 thought it better to refer the dispute to Phelim as the 
 fittest person to give a final decision on the subject. 
 
 ''I'll take the advice of Father Mac," cried Phelim 
 in a melancholy tone, " he's the best judge, and more- 
 over I have a great opinion of the Docthors." Phelim 
 had been attentively listening to the pedlars account 
 of them. 
 
 "• I tell you Phelim/' roared Judy, " if you take 
 her there, she'll never come out of it a living woman !" 
 
 VOL. I O
 
 290 THE MISTAKE. 
 
 , " The will of God be done !" replied Phelim, " how 
 can we help it." 
 
 ** Be not putting her in there, you neygur,'' ex- 
 claimed the indignant sister, "U it to get rid of her 
 you want "?" 
 
 The priest, perceiving that the difference of opinion 
 between the parties was likely to increase, interposed 
 before it reached a climax, and demanded of Judy, 
 what she meant by insinuating such imputations 
 against the Hospital, where respectable medical gentle- 
 men were risking their lives night and day, amidst the 
 most shocking scenes, in the hope of rescuing even a 
 few lives from the pestilence. 
 
 " Eyeh ! the notorious thieves of the earth," return- 
 ed Judy, "tisn'l for nothing they're doen it, and as for 
 recoveren people, arn't the Hospitals open now as good 
 as a fortnisfht, and for the hundred that come out in 
 coffins, there isn't one yet come out in his clothes !" 
 
 Phelim heaved a deep sigh. 
 
 " My good woman," observed the priest, "this is all 
 a foolish prejudice. The disease is a dreadful one 
 and people must die of it wherever they are, but in-
 
 THE MISTAKE. « 291 
 
 dependent of any other consideration, I think the 
 safety of the neighbourhood should be considered : 
 there will be danger of the sickness extending itself, if 
 the poor creature is left here." 
 
 **ril take care of her myself," answered Judy, "if 
 she's left, and no one else need come near her." 
 
 '* No, no, Judy a lanive," exclaimed Phelim a little 
 alarmed, " I'll not have you or the neighbourhood in 
 danger by any means. No, no, avourneen, I'd sooner 
 suffer any loss," and he wiped his eye with the skirt of 
 his coat, *' I'd sooner suffer any loss, than have the 
 sickness spreading about like wild-fire, as it will, if 
 poor Anty's left here." 
 
 " Thrue for you Phelim,'^ responded the alarmed 
 crowd, " t^vill be through every house on the road 
 before mornen, if she's not taken to the Hospital." 
 
 " They'll be but few of us left to tell it, I'm afeerd," 
 said Phelim, " May Heaven protect us !" 
 
 As the sense of the meeting ran entirely with Phe- 
 lim on the necessity of poor Anty's removal, it was in 
 vain that the persevering Judy still held out, and en- 
 deavoured to convince them that she would so contrive 
 
 o 2
 
 292 . THE MISTAKE. 
 
 to nurse-tend her sister, as to cut of all communication 
 with those residing about her. It was carried by 
 acclamation that she should be taken olf to the Hospi- 
 tal, and the cholera cot having been summoned to the 
 spot, she was laid into it, in a state, that without 
 much aid from the Doctors, gave a fair promise of her 
 never revisiting her little home again. Phelim follow- 
 ed, slowly and with a dejected look, in the wake of the 
 cotmen, and they all soon disappeared from the sym- 
 pathizing eyes of the anxious and apprehensive crowd. 
 He returned to his cabin alone, and as David wept 
 for his son while he was yet living, but became re- 
 signed when hope and anxiety were alike over, so 
 Phelim grieved for little Anty throughout the day, 
 shedding abundance of tears, but at night, when a 
 messenger arrived directing him to bring a coffin to the 
 Hospital, the fountain of his sorrows became dried up. 
 *' If 1 was to weep for a hundred years,'' he observed, 
 '* sure 'twouldn't bring her back again to me, poor 
 thing ! 'tis only flying 'in the face of Heaven not to 
 submit to my misfortune like a christian : there's no 
 knowing how soon it may be my own turn." He ac-
 
 THE MISTAKE. 293 
 
 cordinglj attended at the Hospital gate with a becom- 
 ing spirit and having delivered in the coffin, received 
 it in his car from the hands of the porter and cotmen 
 again, freighted with the remains of Mrs Anty 
 O'Rourke, as was testified by the chalk inscription on 
 the cover. He immediately proceeded to the burying 
 ground, accompanied by the Hospital grave-digger, 
 with whose solitary assistance she was consigned to 
 her last resting place. 
 
 Death was a matter of too common occurrence in 
 these days, to leave that deep or permanent gloom 
 after it, which it is sure to do where its visits, as in 
 ordinary times, are but few and far between. Indivi- 
 dual distress, however great, seemed of small amount, 
 even in the estimation of the sufferer, while the pesti- 
 lence was still laying life waste in every direction 
 about him. When at the end of some ten or fifteen 
 days it at length quitted Phelim's neighbourhood, to 
 hunt for prey in some new or untouched district, his 
 misfortune was but an old and ordinary one in public 
 remembrance. He had indeed ceased to grieve on the 
 subject himself, though the image of poor Anty, he
 
 294 ' THE MISTAKE. 
 
 declared, still haunted his mind, and, however long he 
 lived, could never be effaced from his memory. This 
 assertion, however, very soon came to be doubted by 
 his acquaintances. The living picture of Maggy 
 Fitzgerald, a blooming girl who lived in his vicinity, 
 waK seen too frequently by his side, to permit the 
 supposition that a rival from among the dead could 
 occupy any very permanent place in his imagination. 
 The truth was, that within three weeks after his 
 late loss, Phelim was once more over head and ears in 
 love. He had forgotten, or ceased to think of all his 
 troubles and disappointments, and of such strange 
 materials is the human heart made up, his affections 
 were as fondly and utterly given away in this new 
 attachment as if he had never loved or been deceived 
 by woman. 
 
 Fortune, however, seemed now fully disposed to 
 make him amends for the long period of her desertion. 
 His days passed on in uninterrupted dreams of de- 
 light, his nights in refreshing slumbers, and the lark 
 welcomed the golden morning with a song less blithfuK 
 The blissful period that was to complete his happiness
 
 THE MISTAKE. 295 
 
 was at length fixed, and day after day, the rosy-footed 
 hours kept whispering as they passed of the joys that 
 were approaching, but alas for poor humanity ! how 
 uncertain are its hopes ! how fleeting its enjoyments ! 
 on the very eve of the wedding, a friend broke the 
 dreadful secret to him, that it was generally rumoured 
 through the country Mrs. Anty O'Rourke was still 
 alive! Phelim sprung three feet from his stool at the 
 announcement, clapping his hands and exclaiming, 
 *^ murther !" as he came to the ground. On recovering 
 his recollection, however, and calming a little, he totally 
 denied the possibility of such an occurrence, described 
 minutely his having himself received the coffin con- 
 taining her remains from the porter, and his having 
 buried it beneath three feet of earth with the assist- 
 ance of the grave-digger. That they even rolled a 
 great rock over the spot afterwards, which no unaided 
 human effort could roll off again, so that, admitting 
 such an absurdity as her returnins: to life after inter- 
 ment, there was no possible way by which she could 
 extricate herself from the grave. He partly sntisfied 
 his informant by these explanations, but by' no means
 
 296 THE MISTAKE. 
 
 removed the hankering suspicion from his own mind, 
 though perfectly at a loss to account for it. Somebody, 
 it was said, had actually seen and spoken to her, and 
 though reports as groundless, every day find circula- 
 tion, this one came too mal-apropos, to be treated with 
 perfect indifference. He pondered and enquired, and 
 pondered again, until the subject took such entire 
 possession of his mind, that he felt he could neither 
 rest nor sleep until he had his doubts cleared up in one 
 way or another. He accordingly came to the resolu- 
 tion of visiting the hospital, and investigating the matter 
 most minutely. 
 
 On arriving at the gate, he lifted the knocker with 
 palpitating heart, feeling that his fate depended on the 
 decision of the next few moments. The porter ap- 
 peared and demanded his business. 
 
 " Will you tell me, if you please," answered Phe- 
 lim, " do you remember a woman of the name of 
 Anty O'Rourke, that I brought in here sick of the 
 cholera, a little time ago.^' 
 
 "I do, well,*' returned the porter. 
 
 ** What became of her."
 
 THE MISTAKE. 297 
 
 "She was discharged, cured about three weeks 
 
 55 
 
 ago. 
 
 "Cured!" ejaculated Phehm, his jaw dropping and 
 his eyes dilating like saucers." 
 
 " Iss to be sure, |do you think we never cure 
 any one," returned the porter, with an air of offended 
 dignity. 
 
 " I dont mane that," faltered Phelim, but my — my 
 — my wife." 
 
 " Oh, ho ! she was your wife, was she ?" " why 
 then I never see one take the recovery of his wife so 
 much to heart before." 
 
 " She's dead, I tell you," cried Phelim, " 'tis a mistake 
 of yours — you — you yourself put her corpse in the 
 coffin for me, five weeks ago, and gev it into my own 
 two hands at this very doore, dont you remember here 
 at this doore? do agra, try to remember — 'tis as true as 
 daylight." 
 
 " I dont remember any sitchjhing,'' answered the 
 
 porter. 
 
 " Oh murther, " exclaimed Phelim striking his 
 hands against his forehead. 
 
 o 5
 
 298 THE MISTAKE. 
 
 "May-be," continued the porter, " I gev you some 
 one else in a mistake." 
 
 " Oh murther !" roared Phelim again, as with hands 
 still pressed to his forehead, he moved backwards and 
 forwards before the gate, stamping the ground vehe- 
 mently at every step. 
 
 " Faix, it sometimes happens us, for all," continued 
 the porter, " when there's a great number of 'em goes off 
 in the night. The names are pinned on 'em when 
 they're thrun in the dead house, but sometimes they 
 slips off again you know, and then we're all at a dead 
 loss, not knowen one from another, so no wondther a 
 mistake should happen — some one else's wife I giv 
 you I suppose ! 
 
 Phelim upon whom some new light seemed to be 
 breaking during this explanation, now started out of 
 his reverie, and catching the porters hand with eager- 
 'ness, exclaimed, " Tell me one thing now like an honest 
 man, and may the heavens be your bed as you tell me 
 trul}'', do ye ever have two pi^ople of the same name 
 in the hospital at the same time. 
 
 " Eyeh ! plague on *em for names ! to be sure we do,
 
 THE MISTAKE. 299 
 
 almost every day — there's no pleasing the people at 
 all 'count of the bother we have with the way they're 
 christened all Paddy's or Davey's or Mary's or Peggy's 
 till we cant tell one from another; but death and age, 
 man," continued the porter suddenly elevating his 
 voice, '^why do you squeeze my hand that wny." 
 
 ** I did'nt mane any offence by it, avourneen", res- 
 ponded Phelim, " I'd be sorry to hurt a hair o' your 
 head, but I have one question more to put to you. 
 What sort of a woman was it be the name of Anty 
 O'Rourke, that you turned out cured V 
 
 " A handy little skeleton of a creature then, that 
 no cholera could kill-~-one that the world couldn't 
 plaze — scold — scolding always, and with looks that 
 ud freeze a turnip when anybody venthured to ans- 
 wer her." 
 
 Phelim's heart sunk within him again : he summon- 
 ed courage however to continue the investigation. 
 
 ''jE'then, do you know at all, did she get much 
 medicine from the Docthers V 
 
 "She couldn't be got to taste as much as a drop for 
 any of "em," replied the porter.
 
 300 THE MISTAKE. 
 
 *' Lord help us," ejaculated Phelim with a deep sigh. 
 
 " But how is it," said the porter, " now I think on 
 it, if she was your wife, that she didn't go home to 
 you." 
 
 " Thrue for you/' answered Phelim rubbing his 
 hands and brightening up at a thought which had 
 never occurred to him before. '* What is it I'm think- 
 ing of at all; sure if she and I were on the living 
 airth, she'd find me out in half the time. The power av 
 the world ud hardly keep her from me, for three whole 
 weeks, that is, if she had her walk and her five senses. 
 I'm the rail fool and not to recollect that at wanst. 
 No ! no ! poor ooman, she's dead and buried long 
 enough to keep quiet for my day at any rate : sure I 
 helped to make the grave and throw the earth on her 
 myself!" 
 
 ** I'll be bail then, she has the good winter's coat of 
 it," observed the porter smiling, " you wouldn't like to 
 let the frost to her, poor thing !" 
 
 " Eyeh ! no matter," returned Phelim, " tis equal how 
 we lie, when it comes to that with us, but I'm obleeged 
 to you for your information entirely, a good evenen."
 
 THE MISTAKE. 301 
 
 *' Safe home to you Misther O'Rourke'^ cried the porter 
 the smile still playing about his mouth, " arid if I hear 
 anythin of Anty's stirren about, Til not fail to come 
 with the news to you/' 
 
 Phelim quickened his pace, and pretended not to 
 hear, muttering however when he reached a sufficient 
 distance to vent his feelings with impunity, *' wisha 
 asy enough it is with you, that haven't chick nor child, 
 nor any thing but your own four bones to throuble 
 you ; may-be when you marry, you'll not have your 
 jokes so ready, and faix when you do, all the harm I 
 wish you, is a wife equal to Anty." ^ 
 
 On arriving at home, Phelim recovered his spirits 
 and made every preparation for the wedding. After 
 trying on a new suit of clothes which was made for 
 him by a Limerick tailor, fitting himself with a shining 
 Caroline hat, and reviewing his figure, with due par- 
 ticularity, in a broken piece of a mirror which he had 
 neatly set in polished ash, he spent the evening at the 
 bride's. To such as have loved it is needless to tell 
 that he did not return home until the moon was going 
 to her rest, and that he then lay down on his humble
 
 302 THE MISTAKE. 
 
 bed to pass away the time in chiding the lazy hours, 
 that one by one came slowly to his pillow to tell him 
 of the approaching morning. 
 
 At last came the joyous wedding day, and with it, from 
 far and near, the guests came gathering to the merry 
 house of the bride. The weather was unpropilious 
 for the morning had set in with wind and rain in all 
 the gloom of beginning winter, but the barn, in which 
 for the sake of increased room, the company were as- 
 sembled, was defended by a thick coating of thatch 
 from the power of the storm, and a roaring fire blazing 
 at the upper end, gave a fair guarantee against the 
 influence of the cold. The wedding baked meats were 
 set forth, the bagpipes had struck up a merry air, and 
 the priest had already taken his place at the head of 
 the banqueting table, when a loud knocking was heard 
 at the door, and a poor woman, wrapped in a cloak, 
 Avho sought shelter from the weather was admittefl lo 
 a seat by the fireside. The occurrence was too com- 
 mon to occasion much observation, and the feast 
 proceeded. Great and fearful was the destruction on 
 every hand, and stunning was the noise of the de-
 
 THE MISTAKE. 303 
 
 lighted multitude. After the meats and other sub- 
 stantial elements of the entertainment had disappeared 
 and a becoming time was allowed for discussing the 
 punch, they all arose at a signal from the priest, and a 
 little circle was formed at the upper end of the apart- 
 ment, in the centre of which he placed himself, with 
 Phelim and Maggy before him. The important cere- 
 mony was now about to take place .which was to make 
 them happy for ever, and an anxious silence reigned 
 throughout the room, broken only by the whisper of 
 some of the elders to one another, or the suppressed 
 titter of some sly maiden, at the bashful bearing of 
 the bride. Just as the priest took the book, a loud 
 cough was heard from the stranger. No one took 
 notice of it except Phelim ; but as soon as he heard 
 it, he started as if he had been electrified and let fall 
 Maggy's hand from his own. Then looking towards 
 the fire-place where the old woman was sitting, a cold 
 shivering came over him, and large drops of perspira- 
 tion hung glistening on his forehead. 
 
 " What's the matter with you darlin." exclaimed 
 Maggy, terrified at the change which came over 
 him.
 
 304 THE MISTAKE. 
 
 " Nothing achree/' replied the bridegroom, " but a 
 weakness that come upon me, when I heerd that 
 cough from the ind of the room, it was so like the 
 sound of one, that I was once used to, but that ^can 
 never be heard in this world again." 
 
 Scarcely had he uttered i^the words when another 
 cough resounded in the same direction, and again a 
 sudden terror seized upon Phelim, his teeth began to 
 chatter, his limbs to tremble, and he kept looking up 
 towards the fire-place like one that was fairy-stricken. 
 
 "Heaven purtect us!" he ejaculated in a faint 
 whisper to himself. 
 
 "Phelim — Phelim, honey !" cried Maggy dreadfully 
 alarmed. 
 
 " Sure," muttered he, heedless of the voice of the 
 bride and gazing vacantly in the one direction, " J 
 berried her with my own two hands!" 
 
 "What ails you Phelim ?" exclaimed the priest, shak- 
 ing him by the shoulder, to arouse him out of the stupor 
 which seemed to oppress him, " are you ill ? or what is 
 all this strange proceeding about/' 
 
 "I'm not well indeed, your reverence," replied Phelim
 
 THE MISTAKE. 305 
 
 recovering himself, "1 don know what's the matter, but 
 I'm sure I'll be quite well when this business is over. 
 Let us go on." 
 
 He took Maggy's hand again, and the priest pro- 
 ceeded, but when Phelim commenced to repeat the 
 customary words after him, '' 1 take thee Margaret 
 Fitzgerald for my wedded wife," his eyes instinctively 
 fixed itself on the little woman at the fire-place, when 
 to his utter horror he saw her slowly rising from her 
 stool and throwing back the cloak from her head, turn 
 round to the company. A general scream acknow- 
 ledged the presence of Mrs. Anty O'Rourke ! She 
 
 settled her look steadily on Phelim and walked slowly 
 towards him. He staggered back two or three steps and 
 would have fallen, had he not been supported by those 
 about him. Her person seemed to grow taller as she 
 advanced — her countenance more ferocious than he had 
 ever seen it, and she was struggling with suppressed 
 passion to such a degree as for some moments to im- 
 pede her utterance. When her feeling.s at length 
 found vent in words, she shook her clenched fist at 
 him, at once relieving the party from all suspense as
 
 306 THE MISTAKE. 
 
 to her spectral character. " Yon villian," she exr 
 claimed, you thought you got rid of me — did you ? 
 You thought you had three feet of the sod over me, 
 
 and that you might get on wid your pranks as you 
 pleased yourself, but Til spoil your divarsion for you. 
 ril trait you wid a wife, so I will, you unnatural dog. 
 Your darlen indeed (curtsying to Maggy). Your 
 Maggy achree. So ma'am — hem. Nothen ud satisfy 
 you but to be Mrs. O'Rourke, Mrs. O'Rourke enagh ! 
 Why you unmoral, unproper character would you 
 have the man marry two wives ? would you have him 
 scandalize the whole country ? Oh you rail Turk (to 
 Phelim) I have been watching every turn of you, 
 these three M'eeks back ; I've seen your doens — your 
 coorten and dearen and drinken. What's become av 
 the pig you hangman? the pig that I reared from a 
 bonnive wid my own hands. Yes, two hands — look at 
 em — not so white as Maggy's may-be, but belonging 
 to Mrs. O'Rourke for ail that, thankee. Where's my 
 pig again you born villin ?" 
 
 Poor Phelim somewhat aroused by the fury of this 
 attack endeavoured to collect his scattered senses and
 
 m 
 
 THE MISTAKE. 307 
 
 get out of vSo awkward a business as decently as he 
 could, but the greater his anxiety to appease her in- 
 dignation, the longer his explanations — the more ab- 
 ject his apologies — the higher Anty's wrath mounted, 
 until at length in the climax of a violent fit, she fell on 
 the floor perfectly insensible. 
 
 The interest was now suddenly changed^ The feel- 
 ings of the party, which a moment before ran altoge- 
 ther in Phelim's favour, now set back m a returning 
 tide of pity for the unfortunate Anty. All was anxiety 
 and readiness to assist her, and no effort suggested for 
 her recovery was left untried. Water was splashed 
 in her face, feathers burnt under her nose, and 
 attempts wore even made at opening a vein by a skil- 
 ful farrier who happened to be among the guests, but 
 every thing they ventured to do for her relief proved 
 for a time fruitless. While the crowd was still pres- 
 sing round her, Phelim lay in a chair by the fire-side, 
 overcome with suspense and agitation, but after the 
 lapse of some twenty or thirty minutes, suspecting 
 from various exclamations which reached him, from 
 time to time, from the group around his wife, that
 
 308 THE MISTAKE 
 
 there were hopes of her coming to, he roused himself 
 up and beckoning- Davy Dooley, an old companion of 
 his, to the door, he addressed him with a look full of 
 meaning and in a gentle under tone. 
 
 " Isn't this a purty business Davy ?" 
 
 " The quarest I ever seen in my born days/' re- 
 plied Davy, " she's coming to I believe." 
 
 *' We must have a Docthor, Davy/' rejoined the 
 ijusband, eyeing his friend with the same intent look. 
 
 " Eyeh ! plague on 'em for Docthors, had'nt they 
 her onder their hands before?'' 
 
 *' They wern't to blame any way Davy, she gev em 
 no fair play either for death or recovery. The porter 
 tould me she would'nt taste a dhrop of their medicines 
 if they were to flay her alive for it." 
 
 " 'Twas like her cuteness," observed Davy. 
 
 "Well, but listen to me/' continued Phelim, and 
 stooping over, he muttered something into the ear of 
 his friend. 
 
 " No better on Ireland ground," exclaimed Davy, 
 slapping his hands in approval of the communication, 
 " a kind tender-hearted man that never keeps poor
 
 THE MISTAKE. 309 
 
 craythurs long in pain. Oh I begannies he's the real 
 Docthor." 
 
 " Away with you then, arragal," cried Phelim, I hear ^ 
 her voice getten stronger, offer him any money, run, 
 aroo ! oh ! mavrone !" 
 
 '^ Where's Davy going?" enquired the priest as he 
 saw him hastily leaving the door. 
 
 *' Sending him off for the Docthor, I am your re- 
 verence," answered Phelim, •' for Til never let her set 
 foot in the hospital again. They neglected her there 
 entirely, them rogues of nurse-tenders, and so I'll have 
 her attended at home now, where she'll be med take 
 every whole happerth the Docthor ordhers for her.'* 
 
 '* You're an honest and a sensible man Phelim 
 observed the Priest, and I admire your behaviour very 
 much in all this strange business. I'm glad to find, too, 
 you're not giving way to that foolish and wicked pre- 
 judice against the Docthors which has been so preva- 
 lent since the Cholera commenced." 
 
 " I'd be sorry to undervalue the gentlemen your re- 
 verence," returned Phelim, *' sure, what ud I do at all 
 now without 'em, and poor Anty is so bad. I wonder 
 is there any chance for her ?"
 
 310 THE MISTAKE, 
 
 "Very little I fear Phelim : it appears like an 
 apoplectic attack." 
 
 " Is it anything of a lingering dizaze your reve- 
 rence," continued the husband in a faltering tone. 
 
 " Not at all," replied the Priest, " it is generally a 
 very sudden one." 
 
 "Ove! ove! the poor craythur ! I beUeve she's a 
 gone woman,'* observed Phelim again, enquiringly. 
 
 " Indeed I fear so," answered the priest, '' unless 
 the Doctor can do something for her." 
 
 As he spoke Davy came running in ; the Doctor 
 followed at a more dignified pace. He had met with 
 him by good fortune a few perches from the cabin 
 and immediately secured his attendance. 
 
 On examining the patient, the Doctor shook his 
 head despondingly. 
 
 " A bad case," he half muttered to himself, ** a bad 
 case ! too far gone for medicine !*' 
 
 " Thry something, your honour," exclaimed Phelim 
 earnestly, " She was as bad or worse before and she 
 recovered of it." 
 
 *' Not so bad as she is now,*' replied the Doctor
 
 THE MISTAKE. 31 1 
 
 despondingly. " However, I must do the best I can/' 
 and writing a few wortls on a scrap of paper, he direct- 
 ed Phehm to take it to the Dispensary, where he 
 would get two powders, one of which he was to give 
 his wife as soon as ever he returned, and the second at 
 five o'clock, if she lived so long. 
 
 The people cast ominous looks at one another, as 
 he concluded, and the Doctor and priest departed to- 
 gether. Davy meantime started off afresh for the 
 medicine, and as soon as he get back, took care to see 
 it administered strictly as the Doctor ordered. At ten 
 minutes to five precisely, Mrs. Anty O'Rourke took 
 her departure for another world. 
 
 " She's dead I" whispered Davy, as he laid his hand 
 on Phelims shoulder, who was hanging drowsily over 
 the dying embers on the hearthstone. 
 
 '' Dead I" ejaculated Phelim, springing from his seat, 
 as if half astounded at the news, '* dead all out is she 
 Daw ?" 
 
 "Dead as a doornail,^' returned Davy, and tis just 
 on the stroke of five !" 
 
 " Think o' that Davy," uttered Phelim faintly, and 
 squeezed the hand of his friend.
 
 312 THE JMISTAKE. 
 
 " Faix he was very exact in his business," rejoined 
 his companion significantly, " Oh mo leare ! they're 
 the dearies for Docthors !" 
 
 ** Say nothen Davy — say nothen," observed the 
 widower, " sure he did as he was taught at the uni- 
 varsity. He was a kind man, so he was, and I'll not 
 forget it to him." 
 
 Pliehm was as good as his word ; the week after the 
 decease and funeral of poor Anty, he had the doctor 
 invited to another wedding feast at which the affair 
 between himself and the blooming Maggy was con- 
 cluded without any farther interruption, and he was 
 ever after his most intrepid defender when any of the 
 old women in his neighbourhood ventured to tamper 
 with his reputation. He was indeed often heard to 
 declare, " he'd go to the world's end for the Docthor 
 — do anything for him — anything in life — but take his 
 medicine. 
 
 Having concluded his tale, greatly to the regret of 
 his hearers, who were much interested in the vicissi- 
 tudes of fortune which it unfolded, the fourth juror
 
 THE MISTAKE. 313 
 
 without waiting to be called upon, " cleared the cob- 
 webs out of his throat," as he facetiously expressed 
 himself, with a premonitory cough, after which he ac- 
 quitted himself of the musical part of his obligation in 
 the following manner. 
 
 I. 
 
 Hark, Erin! the blast is blown on the heath, 
 That summons thy sons to conquest or death ; 
 The lines are all set in fearful array, 
 And thou must be saved or ruin'd to day. 
 Like the flood of the winter, resistless and grand, 
 Forth rushed to the shock the strength of the land ; 
 And hearty and free was the ready halloo 
 That answered the call of Brian Boru. 
 
 II. 
 
 " Oh ! trust not that form so aged and dear 
 Amid the wild crash of target and spear. 
 Bright star of the field and light of the hall, 
 Our ruin is sure if Brian should fall." 
 Like the waves of the west that burst on the rock 
 The hosts at the morning rushed to the shock, 
 But ere his last beam was quench'd in the sea, 
 The Raven was quell'd and Erin was free.
 
 314 THE MISTAKE. 
 
 III. 
 
 Yet hush'd be the sound of trumpet and drum 
 And silent as death let victory come ; 
 For he, at whose call the chieftains arose, 
 All bleeding and cold was found at the close. 
 And Erin is sad though burst is her chain 
 And loud was the wail that rose o'er the plain ; 
 For Victory cost more tears on that shore 
 Than ever defeat or Ruin before. 
 
 Loud applause followed the conclusion of the song 
 of the fourth juror, after which without an}' preamble, 
 the gentleman who sat next in order commenced as 
 follows : 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 J. VVrATT, Printer, 4, The Terrace, Old Kent Roa.l.
 
 o