THE MAGIC RING.

OLIVER & BOYD, PRINTERS.

THE

MAGIC RING;

A ROMANCE,

FROM THE GERMAN OF

FREDERICK, BARON DE LA MOTTE FOUQUÉ

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. III.

EDINBURGH;

PUBLISHED BY

OLIVER & BOYD, TWEEDDALE-COURT;
AND GEO. B. WHITTAKER, LONDON.

1825.

THE

MAGIC RING.

VOL. III.

CHAPTER I.

How the Moor Alhafiz came for the Lady Bertha.

It was late in the evening, at the castle of the Lady Gabrielle in Gascony, when Bertha von Lichtenried sat, studiously, with a large book open on a reading-desk before her. The book contained the history of pious saints and canonized martyrs; and she could devote her attention thereto the more uninterruptedly, as, with the exception of a few servants, she was now left quite alone in the castle, having through many days looked in vain for the return of Sir Folko and the two damsels. It seemed as if departing summer had taken her last farewell; and this farewell was uttered in fearful claps of thunder, while the ocean mirrored on its vasty depths the frequent bursts of lightning. A heavy shower also beat upon the garden-terrace, and meanwhile the warder failed not to ring with great perseverance the consecrated bell, whose notes were to protect the castle from all injury. He was answered, too, by the church-bells of all the neighbouring towns and villages, so that it seemed as if the reverberations from the clouds had been met and changed on earth into pious and pleasant harmony. Threefold, therefore, was the piety of the Lady Bertha strengthened and increased; first, by the thunder’s mighty voice above; then by the musical notes of the church-bells; lastly, by the pious legends which she then read in her favourite volumes.

So it happened at this time that there came into her chamber an old Moorish woman, a servant at the castle, with an uncouth and swarth visage, for she was a native of Africa, though now converted to the Christian faith, and accustomed to the manners of life in Europe. By her dress and conduct one would have thought that she was an ordinary Suabian peasant, had it not been, that her dark complexion and strange features betrayed her eastern origin.

“What news bring’st thou, Zulma?” said the lady. To which the old Moor answered, “Nothing, forsooth, but an earnest entreaty which I must especially address to the Lady Bertha von Lichtenried. On the plain here, not far from the castle, there is a strange man, a Moorish soldier, who lies mortally wounded. I know not if he has been attacked by banditti, or overthrown in single combat. He wishes to obtain a blessing ere he dies, according to the forms of the Catholic church; but this he will not receive from any one but you; for the Lady Bertha of Lichtenried has been renowned and praised, far and near, ever since that evening, when, by clinging to the cross, and waving her hand, she was able to repulse and drive away a bold-hearted and wicked comrade of the Prince Mutza. It is not far from that old cross that I found the wounded Moor, as I returned home from the sheepfold.”

“Call the chaplain then, that he may go with me,” said Bertha, hastily searching for her veil and mantle; “order some squires also to attend on us, and to render assistance to the poor man.”

“The chaplain,” answered Zulma, “is already gone to bed, and the squires are snoring in the stables. Before we could rouse them, and they were ready to go with us, the unfortunate Moor would have breathed his last. What if he should thus depart without consolation, and without the blessings of our holy religion, after which he so earnestly longs?--But you, noble lady, must know the consequences far better than I can describe them.”

“How comes it, Zulma,” said the Lady of Lichtenried, “that you know so well how to bestow just reproaches on my slowness and over-caution?--Doubtless what you have said is just and true. When we are called on to fulfil our duties to God, we must not tarry nor look round for assistance and protection. Let us then go forth straightway to the wounded man. Good Heaven!--how much have the monks and nuns achieved, of whose lives I was just now reading the pleasant history! and should I then doubt whether I might go forth alone to the cross on the sea-shore?--Let us hasten, good Zulma; for the poor dying man must long grievously for our coming.”

Having thrown about her a large mantle, as a defence against the rain, she stepped hastily with the Moorish servant down stairs to a private portal, and taking a lamp from the wall to guide them on their way, they walked boldly forth amid the tempest.

Zulma knew the road towards the cross better than the Lady of Lichtenried had expected from such a new convert. She stepped so hastily through the darkness, that Bertha was scarcely able to keep pace with her, admiring all the while the zeal that she displayed for the soul’s weal of the unfortunate Moor. Over hills covered with brush-wood, and through pathless valleys, they pursued their way; and when Bertha inquired why they had come through such lonely places, the answer was,--“Because that was the straightest road. And this you may trust to a native African; for among our sandy deserts, where a well-beaten track may in a moment be effaced by a gust of wind, we learn to find our way by other means.”--So indeed it happened, that as often as a gleam of lightning revealed a rocky cliff, a cottage, or a large tree, Zulma seemed to move on with new confidence; but ere long Bertha perceived that she had more certain means of guiding her course through the darkness. She began at intervals to utter a hateful shrilling sound, like the blending of a whistle and a scream, and she was answered by a voice like her own, that seemed to determine her progress. At this Bertha many times started; and Zulma, observing her fears, said,--“Truly such notes are unpleasant; but, nevertheless, they serve to guide us on our way to the suffering man. It is well that he has learned this Moorish art of making signals, although he belongs not to our tribe of black-visaged Africans, but is rather a comely young Arabian.”

As she thus spoke, a sudden flash of lightning broke forth over the cross, to which they were now drawing very near; and at the same moment they could perceive a man in a Moorish dress, who was endeavouring to raise himself from the ground, by leaning on its rocky pedestal. Bertha immediately hastened up to him.--“Thank Heaven!” cried she, “that we find you still alive. I am Bertha von Lichtenried, whom you have so earnestly desired to see, and I come to offer you the consolations of our holy church.”

But what was her surprise, when the man (who, as she believed, had been mortally wounded), suddenly leaped up, clasped her wildly in his arms, and, while the same shrilling signals which she had before heard from a distance now vibrated in her ears, all the desolate thickets of the forest seemed at once to start into life, and a troop of Moorish warriors formed themselves into a circle round the cross. Meanwhile Zulma laughed aloud.--“Have we caught thee at last,” cried she, “thou rarest and shyest of birds?--Methinks thou wilt not again escape from us!”--The Lady Bertha, however, with a vehemence and strength which the Moor little expected, forced herself out of his embrace, and fled, as she had before done (when Gabrielle and Blanchefleur were carried away), to the cross, climbing up the high rocky pedestal on which it was placed, and clinging to the pillar of this holy emblem. It was indeed moving and wonderful, to behold how that innocent damsel stood there on high, with the light of the lamp on her graceful form, and contrasting in her beauty like a visitant from heaven with the crowd of hateful figures that now moved around her. Zulma, meanwhile, had folded her veil into the shape of a turban round her swarthy visage, and said,--“Now I am again like myself. Did you indeed believe, lady, that I was contented with the life that I have dragged on here among the Christians?--You must now go with us to Carthagena, and will there learn more of this world’s happiness, than in your whole simple life till now you could even have dreamed.”

With contempt and disgust Bertha turned from her, and in a firm voice addressed herself to the Moorish chief, calling on him to remember his own honour as a knight and soldier, and not to debase himself by joining with a mean and lying slave, in order to force from her home a virtuous damsel of noble birth. The reckless libertine, however, answered her with scornful laughter, and then said,--“For this time your old stratagems, your saintly gestures, and severe looks, may not avail; for now, lady, you have no sighing lover before you (like my countryman, who was so easily repulsed), but the wise Alhafiz, who is here to fulfil the commands of Nurreddin, the grand emir, and will without fail bear you to his master’s arms in Carthagena.”

“Let no one approach me who values his own life!” exclaimed Bertha; “I know not indeed whence I obtain this knowledge, but feel that I but speak the truth, as it happened before, when I warned the companion of Prince Mutza. Whoever dares to tear me from the cross, will for that crime forfeit his own life; therefore beware!”--Alhafiz laughed, and stepped boldly towards her; but, at that moment, behold! a broad flash of lightning illuminated all the southern sky, and a clap of thunder broke, as it seemed, right over his head. Hereupon the Moor and his rabble route (the vile Zulma among the rest) were dazzled and confounded, so that they all sank kneeling on the ground.--“The voice of God has now spoken against you,” said Bertha; “and this warning is indeed the last favour that you will receive from Heaven, should you not give up your wicked designs. Be wise then, and return to your ships.”--At these words it seemed as if the multitude of swarthy Moors seemed inclined to disperse; even Alhafiz himself had become silent and irresolute,--turning away from the disdainful glances which the damsel threw upon him. Suddenly, however, the hateful Zulma started up, and called aloud,--“Hast thou forgotten, Alhafiz, the promised third of all Nurreddin’s treasures?--That must not be lost to thee, nor shall I forfeit the eighth share, which by contract was to have been mine!”--Then, with tiger-like swiftness and rage, she flew up to the rocky pedestal, forced the light out of Bertha’s hand, and screamed aloud,--“Thus, you will be dazzled no longer by the sight of this deceitful enchantress. Take her, then, and bear her from hence!”--In the same moment, Alhafiz had come up, and, without farther hesitation, clasped the unfortunate damsel in his arms, and bore her rapidly towards the bay, where his bark was in waiting, his attendants all the while shouting and rejoicing as if for a great victory. Thereafter the skies became wholly dark; no gleams of lightning broke forth on the horizon; they arrived on the shore, and embarked amid this gloom, and, under the same mournful influence, sailed out into the wide desolate sea.

CHAPTER II.

How Blanchefleur and Gabrielle were rescued from their captivity.

Before the adventure which we have now related had come to pass, many strange occurrences had happened in Carthagena. On the evening of that day when Sir Folko de Montfaucon had been carried as a dead man into the royal cemetery, behold! there came some one late in the night, disguised in such manner that the sentinels could not distinguish his features; but they heard him strike three times as with an iron-glove, or somewhat else that rung and rattled in his hand, against the iron trellis-work by which the vault was secured. On hearing that sound, they thought of rushing from their posts, and demanding of the stranger what was his purpose there at such an hour; but in the same moment weariness and sleep fell heavily upon them, so that, one by one, they dropped down powerless, and as if fainting and insensible, on the ground.

Meanwhile the disguised man continued to ring and rattle against the iron-bars, till at length there was a strange noise of heaving and struggling within the vault, as if the dead were starting into life. This was indeed Sir Folko de Montfaucon, who now raised himself from amid the bloody clothes in which he had been wrapt, and said in a strange hoarse voice, “Good Heaven, how cold and dark is this bed!” Then, after a pause of recollection, he began again, “Or if I am really among the dead, how comes it that I yet feel such burning and feverish pain? And wherefore am I not relieved from this earthly prison, and floating through the wide realms of the blue sky?” “Sir knight,” said the disguised man without, “you are indeed alive, only you are not yet recovered from your fever and your wounds. Only be of good courage, and beware of falling into dreams. I shall be with you anon, and will make you sound and well.” Thereafter, as the strange man continued to beat upon the iron-bars, the Chevalier de Montfaucon felt his senses more and more bewildered, and saw the strangest phantoms floating around him. He felt indeed as one who struggles with sleep and frightful visions, and could have fallen once more into death-like slumbers, had not the mysterious stranger ever and anon repeated in a loud voice the same words,--“Beware of dreams, Knight of Montfaucon! Beware of dreams!”

At last the iron-wickets no longer resisted; slowly and solemnly they rolled asunder, and the disguised man stept into the house of death. “My wounds are become cold,” said the chevalier, shivering with fever, “and yet are very painful” “Ere long you shall be better,” said the stranger, who thereupon drawing forth a light that he had in a dark-lantern under his cloak, began to examine the wounds, and poured into them a healing balsam from a vial that he had brought with him. Moreover, he gently touched and rubbed them with a glittering gem in the fashion of a ring; and while the Knight of Montfaucon felt his pains appeased as by the resistless spells of enchantment, and new strength poured through every limb, he recognised the ring to be the long-contested property of Gabrielle; and in his kind physician beheld the merchant, Theobaldo.

“Now, you perceive,” said the latter, “how much more fitting it was that the ring should be in my hands than in those of the lady. You looked on it as indifferently as if it were but a part of your apparel as a knight, even like a brooch for your helmet-plume, or a bright jewel on your sword-hilt; while Gabrielle only dallied therewith as young damsels are wont to do with glittering toys. There was need of a wise merchant like Theobaldo, to find out the hidden virtues of the ring, in order that he might therewith assist both ladies and knights in the hour of distress. Are you now then sufficiently awake and refreshed? Then come with me to the palace of the grand emir. He has taken under his protection the two beautiful damsels; but, forsooth, he will not long have that trouble on his shoulders, for they shall go hence with us. Don Hernandez is on the watch with his ships in the harbour, and a boat is in waiting to take us on board.” Up started the chevalier, shaking off the last remains of his weakness and weariness, and seized boldly on his crooked Persian sword. Perceiving how it was stained with blood, he sighed and said to the merchant, “Is Vinciguerra then still alive?” “Ay,” said Theobaldo, “he also has been healed through my assistance. He has fallen into such bad humour, however, at his own evil fortune in that encounter, that he has already gone down alone to the sea-shore, and will not, unless by compulsion, permit himself to be looked upon by you, nor by the ladies.” Thereupon the merchant laughed heartily, and holding up the lantern to his own face, cut some hideous grimaces, in mockery of the proud Count de Vinciguerra, thinking therewith to entertain the chevalier. “Remember, thou strange man,” said Sir Folko, “that we stand here among the dead. But for Mutza, that perjured and lying robber, has he too been called to life again by your art?” “Heaven forbid,” said Theobaldo, “that I should be guilty of such wickedness and folly. Besides, had it been my wish to have done so, that would have been more than the ring would have placed within my power. The blow of your battle-axe has struck him too deeply and effectually. He also has been carried off in his turn, and doubtless by assailants yet fiercer and blacker than his own Moors.” “Nay, do not judge him, he is in the hands of God,” said Sir Folko, stepping solemnly out of the vault; “and lead me quickly from hence, that we may secure Gabrielle and Blanchefleur.” So Theobaldo walked away with the chevalier, shaking his head after a strange fashion, as if in disapprobation and scorn of what had been said, and yet not venturing any more to clothe his thoughts in audible words.

In a dim and solitary valley, not far from the town, lay the palace of the powerful emir Nurreddin. As they approached near the gates, they heard within the court a growling and roaring of some wild beast, whose thundering voice was such as in all their lives they had never known before. “The voice,” said Theobaldo, “is that of a monstrous tiger brought hither from Asia. The emir is pleased to lead about this wild beast with him wherever he goes, and by night he is always chained as a guard on the threshold.” Hearing these words, the Knight of Montfaucon straightway drew his Persian sabre, swung it several times over his head, so that it whistled in the wind, and then began to feel the edge with his fingers, to prove whether it were yet sharp enough for the encounter which he now meditated. “Nay,” said Theobaldo, “methinks you will not use that weapon against the tiger. Keep it rather for some other assailant, for chances may fall out against us of which we know not yet; although methinks we need not doubt of success in the end.” At the same time he drew from his girdle an arrow with a glittering metal point, and began to beat thereon with the ring; whereupon there arose gentle and melodious sounds, that gradually increased both in strength and sweetness, till it seemed as if the whole air was filled with music that floated far and wide, and then died away in remote echoes. After Theobaldo had several times repeated the same notes, the growling of the tiger became interrupted and less fierce, till at length he was altogether silent. “The monster sleeps,” said Theobaldo; “however I must continue the same music, both that he may not awake, and that I may close the eyes of other watchers in the castle. Should it happen, however, that you also should feel slumber stealing upon you, make but the sign of the cross on your forehead, and the charm then will lose its strength.” Sir Folko, who in truth had become drowsy, did as the merchant commanded; and both went on towards the lofty castle.

The tiger had stretched himself out at its whole length across the threshold of the outward portal; so that, when the door opened behind him on being touched with the ring, the two warriors were obliged to pass over him. Thereupon a gleam of the lamp which Theobaldo carried fell on the wild grinning visage of the beast; he looked like some frightful giant, whom they had slain, and who lay beneath their feet in the battle-field. In all haste they fled from such a horrid sight.

Having passed through the gate, they advanced along a steep and paved walk which led into the castle. On each side of this walk there were thick hedges of blooming rose-trees, by which they were hemmed in, and could not turn to the right or left; but, moreover, they had to pass through several iron-wickets, which were all guarded by Moorish sentinels. The Moors, however, immediately fell asleep when they heard the first sounds of the musical ring; and when the iron-gates were touched by it, they opened slowly, turning without noise on their hinges. So the knight and the merchant arrived unobserved into the very keep of the fortress; but though there were here many gold and silver-lamps burning on the stairs and windows, Theobaldo shook his head, and was uncertain what he ought to do, in order, amid such a labyrinth, to discover the room in which Blanchefleur and Gabrielle were now gone to rest. Ere they came into the castle, however, the merchant had pointed out the windows of the room which he believed had been assigned to the Christian damsels; and Sir Folko now looked about him with sharp eagle-eyes, even as he would have done in the field of battle, till he was convinced what course he should pursue. At length he said calmly and resolutely, “Come let us mount up that marble staircase, Theobaldo; we shall infallibly come by that track to the pole-stars of this landward voyage.” The merchant followed obediently the command of De Montfaucon; and the latter passed without hesitation through the corridor above, till he arrived at a door hung over with a rich embroidered curtain, which they were of opinion must be that of the ladies’ apartment. He tapped lightly on the silver lock of the door; then, hearing no noise within, he spoke in a low whispering voice through the keyhole,--“Blanchefleur, Blanchefleur, open the door; your brother Folko is here in the gallery, and has come to rescue thee and Gabrielle.” “Speak rather louder,” said Theobaldo; “for the music of the ring has doubtless sealed up their eyes in deep sleep.” Sir Folko repeated his words more audibly; whereupon a faint cry of terror, as from the female voices, was heard within the room, and thereafter all was again still. “What foolish pranks have we set on foot here,” said Theobaldo in a tone of vexation; “we never once remembered that they looked on you as dead; and so must believe the voice that they have heard to be that of your ghost, come only to terrify them in the dark night. What is to be done? We can open the door by means of the ring; but, should they behold you actually in the room, they will doubtless scream so loudly, that, in spite of all the charms in the world, the whole emir’s castle will be roused. And suppose we found them senseless, and in a swoon of fear, how could we carry them to the shore, since we must hold ourselves prepared every moment against a sudden attack?” While they thus stood considering, the key was gently turned in the lock, the door was cautiously opened, and, lo! there stood before them Blanchefleur and Gabrielle, with lights in their hands, pale with terror, and in long white dresses, like two beautiful apparitions from the world of spirits. “We know but too well, dearest brother,” said Blanchefleur, “that you died yesterday of your fearful wounds. Therefore, you would not have come again, only to tell us these sad tidings; but your voice, methought, spoke of our being rescued. Then, if violence and dishonour here await us, we are ready to follow you, even into the grave.” Thereupon, their tender and lovely frames trembled with fear, and their voices faltered; but not the less did a spirit of unchangeable resolution prevail in their looks; and before Sir Folko had time to answer, the Lady Gabrielle addressed him:--“Since in the other world, oh, deeply honoured spirit! all may be better known to thee than heretofore, I need not say now how truly I did love thee, though, whilst thou wert among us here, no one ever heard that confession from my lips. But command now your servant, oh, brave and noble hero! for she is willing to follow thee, even to death.”

So Sir Folko kneeled humbly, and, blushing in his great joy before her, said, “Still I am alive, divine Gabrielle; my soul inhabits yet its mortal frame; but, nevertheless, your angelic words have placed me even in this world among the number of the blessed.”

Blushing deeply, Gabrielle drew back, ashamed and terrified to think of the confession that she had so rashly made, in the presence too of Theobaldo, whom she now for the first time observed. Yet her heart heaved high with delight to think that her favourite knight was thus restored to her, and meanwhile Blanchefleur lay weeping with joy in her brother’s arms.

“It is now high time,” said Theobaldo, breaking in like an unwelcome watcher on this scene of happiness and affection; but thereupon Sir Folko started, as if from a dream, and offered his right arm to Gabrielle, and his left to Blanchefleur. They obeyed the signal without a word, while Theobaldo stepped rapidly on before them. Fearing that some unforeseen accident might awake the guards from their enchanted sleep, the merchant was in great anxiety to get out of the palace; but all remained quiet and motionless. Even the tiger at the gate was stretched out, as before, in his deep slumbers; but the two damsels were terrified, and would not be persuaded to step over. “Cut him deeply with your sword across the neck,” said Theobaldo to the knight, “otherwise these ladies will never accept of that liberty which we have placed within their power.” De Montfaucon stood irresolute. “I know not how it happens,” said he, “but I cannot take advantage of him when he is thus asleep.” “Truly,” said Theobaldo with a scornful smile, “I believe you will at last extend the laws of chivalry and honour even to tigers and such like irrational brutes.” “Laugh as much as you will,” answered Sir Folko, “you are at liberty to judge as you think fit of my conduct; but something always comes in my way when I would lift my sword against that snoring monster. Besides there is yet another way.” With these words he took up Gabrielle in his arms, and bore her lightly and gracefully across; then came back, and did the same for Blanchefleur, while Theobaldo stepped on, shrugging his shoulders, and shaking his head as he was wont to do when he would express impatience or disdain. Scarcely, however, had Sir Folko set down his sister safely on the ground, when the tiger started up with a hideous growl, and instantly fixed his long teeth in the garments of the knight. “Ha!” cried he, drawing his Persian sabre, “since thou art awake at last, and willing for the combat, I shall not fail to meet thee. To the shore, to the shore, Theobaldo! march on with the two ladies, for I shall soon have done with this adventure.” Accordingly, the merchant had only advanced but a few paces on his way, when the chevalier followed him with his sabre still reeking with blood, and relieved him from his post between the two damsels. Without being attacked or interrupted they arrived at the sea-shore, where they found the boat that was to bring them to the vessel of Don Hernandez, embarked safely, and ere long sailed out of the harbour. Among the party there assembled, they found the Count Alessandro de Vinciguerra; but so wrathful and discontented, that he would scarcely allow himself to be looked on or spoken with; whereupon, said the Knight of Montfaucon, “Truly I am grieved, my lord count, that you should thus continue to reflect bitterly on a combat which was fairly fought out betwixt us, and should now be forgotten. But if in such case you cannot compose your own temper, this is indeed a duty in which no one else can render you any assistance.” With the more satisfaction, therefore, he turned his attention to the Spanish knight, Hernandez, who welcomed the ladies on board of his vessel with grave politeness and the most obsequious attention.

On the following morning, when the emir learned that the ladies had escaped, and that his four-footed sentinel had been found lifeless, he said, “Since the tiger has been thus put to death, I doubt not that the brave Chevalier de Montfaucon has arisen from the tomb in which we laid him, and that he himself has carried away these damsels. They will indeed be well protected under the care of such a hero. Let no one then attempt to pursue them, though, it is true, had such a gem as Bertha von Lichtenried been of the party, my resolutions might have been different from what they now are.”

CHAPTER III.

How the grand emir rewarded the cunning Alhafiz.

Thereafter it seemed as if the spirit of warfare and enterprise possessed more than ever the mind of the grand emir Nurreddin. A fleet of ships was got in readiness, troops were inlisted, arms and provisions collected; though no one could even guess for what purpose he made all these preparations. That some grand object was in view the lookers-on could have no doubt; for it never had been known of the emir, that a slight or unworthy cause had brought him into the battle-field.

Late one evening, after a day spent in toil and tumult, Nurreddin was seated on a richly-embroidered couch in his great hall, with a lute on his arm, on which he awoke strange and fitful music, now touching the strings with a light hand like some fond lover, anon almost tearing them asunder, as if in wrathful vehemence. His slaves thought that he was now reposing and diverting himself after the fatigues of the day; but, whoever had marked his fiercely rolling eyes, quivering lips, and the wild alternations of his music, must have perceived, that with this seeming repose had begun indeed the sternest of his conflicts, for he was now at war, not with others, but with himself; and it was at such times only that Nurreddin had ever been known to tremble.

While he was thus engaged, lo! there came into the room a tall stately warrior, with a long grizzly beard and gleaming eyes, who was named Abdallah. While he solemnly and slowly delivered the message with which he came, the emir kept his eyes fixed on him; but all the while continued to tear at the strings, till at last some of them snapped asunder, with a long mournful intonation. In a rage, Nurreddin dashed the instrument against a marble pillar. “It is thine own fault,” cried he, “thou senseless harp, because thou hast not understood me.” Then, making a sign, that the attending slaves should withdraw, and that the soldier should sit near him, he began to speak as follows:--

“Abdallah, my heart feels as if torn asunder, because I cannot find occasion to express, after my own manner, what now labours therein, and before a listener who can understand my words, reflecting in his own heart that which directly came from mine. I do not forget that such emotions make themselves best known by outward deeds; but these require time ere they can come to light; and if one could now and then interchange words, it might be possible to arrive at more glorious achievements than any which, by mere silent thoughts, we should be able to conceive.”

“The words of an eloquent man,” said Abdallah, “have been compared to winged arrows penetrating the heart of the listener; and, methinks, true eloquence is like a tree, which not only sends forth its fruits or blossoms on high, but also throws them back again to the maternal soil; that is, to the bosom which gave them birth.”

“Rightly spoken, Abdallah,” said the emir; “I believe that we shall understand each other. In earlier years I have indeed earnestly sought, amid the seductive pleasure-gardens and forests of this world, for a noble tree that would offer to me such long-wished-for fruits, but in vain!--Truly, if I but threw a random-spark on their branches, they would crackle and hiss in the wind; but the true graft of a fruit-bearing tree,--or, to speak more plainly, the true spirit that makes a man that which he ought to be, and able to interchange thoughts with a brave champion, was either not to be found, or yet unripe!--They were all delighted for the most part to be noticed by the grand emir Nurreddin, and to have it to say,--‘To-day I spoke with him for a whole hour. Did’st thou mark how we were walking together?’--But for the rest they troubled themselves little enough about the matter.”

“With submission,” answered Abdallah, “when your highness admitted such men to your presence, it was your part then to teach them what they should say and do, even as an old eagle instructs his young brood.”

“No, no!” cried the emir impatiently; “I would insist that the men with whom I speak should feel with me that which cannot be taught; should know themselves for what they are; that is to say, as consecrated firebrands in the hands of their prince. Abdallah, should it not be so?”

The soldier spoke not, but looked at the emir silently, and shaking his head, while with still greater vehemence and impatience Nurreddin resumed,--

“Abdallah, thou hast lived, no doubt, twenty years longer in the world than I have done. What I now learn, being a man past middle age, and beginning to turn old, must have been to thee long since clear and well understood. Dost thou not perceive, in the wars which every year increase,--in the countless battles among Mussulmans, Heathens, and Christians, that God and our holy prophet have decreed, that the whole vault of heaven is to be converted into a fiery furnace, wherein the nations of the earth are to be melted like ore in the hands of the refiner?--Truly almost every nation has in itself life and spirit; but should not we, who are the noblest among them, feel that we are chosen to feed the flames; for, should the work advance so slowly as it now seems to do, all will perish in smoke; nor will the great Alchemist find at last aught but a mass of lifeless dross instead of pure metal remaining.”

“Prince!” said Abdallah confounded, “methinks you would banish peace from this whole earth, and with it all national laws and rights. What then would be left to us?”

“Rights of man!--rights of chivalry!--rights of women!” cried the emir with vehemence. “Each one should be held by his neighbour in due respect, and the masses should be mixed and shaken together, till they are fully melted, and thereafter assume of themselves finer forms than before.”

“But, may it please your highness,” said Abdallah, “who has revealed to you this mystery? or by whom have you been chosen for such a duty as that which you would now take upon your shoulders?”

“Are not the flames that burn here,” said the emir, beating on his breast, “enough to inform me, that I am chosen to assist like a firebrand in this mighty work?”--Suddenly pausing, however, he fixed a long, steadfast look on Abdallah, then added,--“Thou truly art no firebrand; neither heat nor light will come from thy heart; so let us talk no more of such matters, but get thee gone.”

Abdallah rose proudly from the sofa, and bowed in order to take leave. Then Nurreddin held out his hand kindly to the old man, and said,--“Well, though thou art not a flaming firebrand, yet art thou not the less a brave soldier. I shall not deal with thee as I have done with the broken lute that lies yonder; nor indeed had it been so treated, had it been fit for any other service,--even, for example, as a shield. But a mere lute must answer to our thoughts or be destroyed. For the rest, old man, it is better that thou should’st forget what I have said; or think, if thou wilt, that I have for once broken the laws of our prophet, and confused my senses with wine. Good night.”--Thereupon the soldier retreated, and the emir threw himself back on the couch, grinning with wrath and vexation.

He had not long been left thus alone, when there arose a great noise of music, clarionets, and cymbals, as if for some grand rejoicing, which rang and echoed through the castle. The emir started up in a rage, and called for his slaves.

“Who dares to begin that music,” cried he, “when your prince is alone and thoughtful? Is this a time to fill the palace with your senseless tumult and rejoicing?”--The slaves fell with their faces on the ground, and said, “Let not the anger of our sovereign lord and prince fall upon us; for, if a fault has been committed, the blame rests wholly on Alhafiz. He has just now arrived with his galley in the harbour, and has brought a veiled lady into the palace, telling every one that she was the long-wished-for damsel, whom the grand emir valued more than all the diamonds and pearls of the East. Hereupon we shouted for joy, and the music played to welcome her arrival.”

“If this indeed be true,” said Nurreddin, “then for the future Alhafiz shall be clad in cloth of gold and purple; nor shall he only possess the third of my treasures which was promised him, but shall sit at my left hand at the banquet-table, and ride next me in the battle-field. Should he not, however, have brought that inestimable gem, but come hither to disturb my repose by lying boasts, there shall be no want of wild beasts to tear him limb from limb, and scatter his bones to the four winds of heaven!”

Ere the prince ended his speech, lo! the cedar-wood door turned slowly on its silver hinges, and there came into the hall a tall female figure simply attired, with a long veil; on her left hand a frightful Moorish woman, and on her right the grinning Alhafiz. “Here, great prince,” said Alhafiz, “I have come to fulfil my promise; the damsel is yours, and the black slave was my best assistant. I recommend her to your favour, and hope also that you will now as faithfully remember your engagements to me.” The emir made him a signal to be silent. “Thou hast an untuneable voice, Alhafiz,” said he, “and thy unmannerly demands on me prove the meanness of thine own spirit. Disturb me not then in these moments, which are to me sacred and solemn: thou hast indeed fulfilled more than I had believed to be possible, and more than I can yet well understand. Know then that thou shalt not be the first man, to whom, through his whole life, Nurreddin has remained a debtor.” Hereupon Alhafiz and the black slave nodded triumphantly to each other, while the prince rose from his couch, came respectfully towards the damsel, and said, “I feel in mine inmost heart, noble lady, that Alhafiz has not deceived me, and that you are that unequalled gem and paragon of beauty after whom I have so long and ardently longed. Now then I appeal to your benign goodness. Do not let me be withheld longer from the sight of a countenance which doubtless is the most beautiful that in this world has ever been beheld.” “Your flatteries,” answered the damsel, “would never have lifted up the veil which I now wear; but since Heaven has permitted that I should thus fall into your power, and because it is not forbidden to a Christian maiden that she should walk forth without a mask or veil before all the world, so I shall act according to the prince’s commands.”

Hereupon her veil was rolled back. In the quiet majesty of her loveliness, Bertha von Lichtenried looked on the astonished emir, fixing on him her large blue eyes, shadowed by their dark frowning brows. Her smooth brown hair was parted on the forehead; quiet and collected she stood there, not indeed overpowering by her charms at first sight, but every moment entwining round the heart, bonds of chaste and respectful admiration.

For a long space they were both silent, the damsel, in the consciousness of her own virtuous dignity, and the emir in self-humiliation, because he now found that his usual pride and dictatorial spirit were overcome. “Noblest of damsels,” said he at length, “wherefore have you spoken of a prince or his commands, as if violence and constraint would here be laid upon you? I trust indeed, that no one has ever been so insolent as to force you to aught that was contrary to your own wishes, at least not in my name. That Moor, who now stands by the door, happened to overhear what I once said; namely, that I would give the third part of my worldly fortune to any one who would bring you hither, beautiful and innocent as you had been left by the Prince Mutza. But, by Heaven, your honour and dignity are dear to me, even more than my own; and I trust you have been induced to cross the seas, not by violence, but by eloquent and ingenious persuasions, or by the sweet spells that animate our Moorish love-songs.”

“I know not,” said Bertha, “what thou meanest by persuasions or love-songs; but your ambassador there, with his blackamoor band, forced me away from the blessed image of the cross on the shore of Gascony, to which I had clung for protection. The black slave who is here present was my servant, and betrayed me into his power.”

“So then!”--answered the emir, while his brows contracted, and every limb seemed quivering with rage, walking straightway towards a corner of the hall, where all sorts of weapons were hung in readiness. “Prince,” cried Alhafiz, his voice trembling with fear, “have I not brought to you the damsel, safe and sound in her beauty and innocence, as she was left by the Prince Mutza?”

“How darest thou say that she has been brought hither safe and sound?” said the emir in a voice of thunder; “and could’st thou look upon a form so angelic as this, and yet think of using violence? But be silent, wretches, in her honoured presence, and ere long you shall be silenced for ever.”

With these words he had drawn out two sharp javelins from among the trophies on the wall, and in a moment he had hurled them severally at Alhafiz and the black woman with such frightful certainty of aim, that, ere the eye could trace the weapons in their flight, his two victims were struck to the heart, and fell to the ground almost without even one shriek of anguish.

“Away with them!” cried the emir; “a doctor learned in the law shall come hither, and shall divide all my wealth fairly and equally into three parts. When the written deeds are completed, then the next heir of Alhafiz shall appear before me, that he may receive that portion which belongs to him. Henceforward no one shall again dare to speak of my promise, nor of the manner in which it has been fulfilled.” Thereafter the slaves covered up the dead bodies, and bore them away. Bertha meanwhile looked at them mournfully, and said, “Unfortunate victims! I well knew that your crime would be fearfully punished on your own heads; I warned you of this, and wherefore would you not desist? May Heaven have mercy on your souls!” Turning then to Nurreddin, she added, “What I should think of thee, I know not yet! Wert thou indeed chosen here for a supreme and righteous judge?” “Truly, methinks, I have been so chosen, noble lady,” answered the emir; “but enough of this. For the present, may it please you to repose yourself after your voyage? I would beg of you to lay aside all fear so long as you are under my roof; for to you these apprehensions, by which other young damsels might be assailed, are indeed unknown. It seems rather as if angels always hovered around you with their protecting wings, as if within the hallowed circle of your innocence such thoughts dared not enter as those by which other minds are in this world possessed. Do not think, however, that my character is like that of Alhafiz, who called himself my ambassador; for, in truth, I did not long to obtain you as a lover seeks after a young and beautiful mistress, but rather as a guardian angel,--a heaven-inspired sister, by whom I might for the future be chastised and counselled.” “Heaven’s will be done!” answered Bertha; “if it has been ordained, that one so humble as I am should point out the true path of religion and virtue to a restless warrior such as thou art, then doubtless I shall succeed in affording the counsels which thou desirest of me.” Meanwhile, on a signal from the emir, female slaves had come into the hall, to whom he gave in charge his beautiful guest, commanding that they should treat her with the utmost respect and attention. Then, with a grave and humble salutation, he took his leave.

CHAPTER IV.

How the Lady Bertha was entertained by Nurreddin.

On the following day a Moorish knight made his appearance in the antechamber of the Lady of Lichtenried, and requested to know whether it might be allowed to the emir to come into her presence. Bertha granted the permission that was required of her; moreover, she was even glad that she was to speak with Nurreddin again; partly because, from his conduct of the preceding night, he had in some measure won her regard, and partly because his features bore a certain resemblance to some one whom she had before seen and now remembered with satisfaction, though she could not fix on the precise time or place when this had occurred.

On his entrance the emir again bowed with solemn respect; and when he had taken his place, after the eastern manner, on a low couch opposite to Bertha, she herself began to speak:--“Last night, methinks, you proved yourself a stern and severe administrator of justice, not only as the avenger of innocence, but also inasmuch as you maintained your own word inviolate, and decreed to the next heir of Alhafiz that which, by the other’s crime, became his due. How comes it then, that you do not extend the same justice towards me?--If Alhafiz were a pirate and violent robber, who deserved death, you also commit crimes like to his, if you force me to remain here against my own will, knowing that I have the right of freedom even as much as any bird that flies through the forest.”--“You have indeed spoken but the truth, noble lady,” answered the emir, “and it depends on your own choice towards what country you will direct your flight, or what forest you will enliven with your songs. Yet I cannot now go with you as your protector, for a duty which God and our prophet have laid upon my shoulders holds me fast bound to my station, even as iron is attracted by the north pole. Wait only for a few days. Trust yourself with me on a short sea-voyage, and you shall then turn your steps, with Nurreddin for your guard, wheresoever your own heart inclines you. Perchance, however, your heart may be now changed, and may desire only to remain evermore under his protection.”--“Truly, Bertha of Lichtenried is of a very different opinion,” answered the damsel; “and that you may be convinced of this, I demand that you will immediately order a proper escort to attend me, and that I may be carried back to Gascony from whence I came.”--“If you insist on this,” answered the emir, “deeply as it grieves my heart, doubtless your wishes shall be fulfilled; and yet----” He paused, and fixed on her a long, ardent gaze; “should I forsake thee?” cried he;--“should I permit such an angel as thou art to depart from my palace, under the protection of strangers, on thy voyage into a distant land?--What if they did not pay that respect which thou deservest,--if they offended thee in word or deed, or even with the rough sound of their churlish voices?--The very thought is enough to render me mad with rage. Trust thyself then to me, and to me alone; for thou could’st not rest more safely even in a father’s arms!”--The prince’s ardour now indeed seemed more like that of an affectionate parent or brother, than that of a selfish lover; so that Bertha could no longer be afraid; and, except her brother, Sir Heerdegen, she could not recollect any one over the wide world under whose protection she would more gladly have placed herself. Therefore she no longer urged her immediate departure, but relied on the emir’s promise, that she should be sent whither she wished to go as soon as circumstances rendered it possible for him to travel with her. The prince expressed with great respect his thankfulness for the confidence that she reposed in him; and the few days that must intervene, before she could leave Carthagena, were to be spent in viewing the numberless beautiful apartments,--the works of art,--and the magnificent gardens of his palace.

The realms of Asia are indeed rich, and blest, above all quarters of the earth, as if Nature evermore bestowed her especial care and affections on that country wherein man first derived his birth; and where, in after-years, far more than the gift of mortal life was bestowed on him. Whatever treasures and luxuries this land affords, whether of nature or art, all were in the possession of the rich and powerful emir. He himself walked about in his dignity, like a proud enchanter, through his palace and gardens, able to explain all the mysteries and beauties by which he was surrounded, and willing to become eloquent, if but a listener worthy of his notice could be found; and to whom could he have addressed himself more gladly than to Bertha of Lichtenried?--By whom could his glowing words have been so well understood?--Therefore oftentimes they walked together through the long vaulted galleries of the castle,--through the towering groves of the shadowy garden,--or reposed, during the noonday heat, by its glassy lakes or foaming waterfalls. With especial pleasure Bertha listened to the wonderful legends and fairytales, which Nurreddin half-read from beautiful manuscripts on palm-leaves, and half-sung to her from his own recollection. To all these she listened with so much pleasure, that at length she longed to become acquainted with the Arabian character and language, in which they were originally written; and when she now tried to imitate the foreign sounds, the emir thought he had never before heard his own language spoken in its true beauty; for in softness and melody of voice, Bertha indeed excelled all the damsels of the world.

One day it came to pass that she was walking with Nurreddin up and down in a beautiful grove of laurel-trees, when he narrated to her the following history.

CHAPTER V.

A strange story of a Lady and a Rose.

“Far remote, in the wide sea, named Archipelago, there lies an island well known through all the world, blooming and golden with rich harvests of corn, fruits, and wine. There, in old days of paganism, was born the enchanter, whom the heathens afterwards looked upon as a god. The island is called Crete, and the mighty enchanter’s name is Zeus.

“By his powerful spells it came to pass, that this island, whence he derived his birth, was ever adorned with the choicest flowers; and it is not very long since there was planted thereon a red rose of such unequalled beauty, that it was praised and renowned far and near as the richest and rarest of all nature’s blossoms. This flower came from the town of Damascus, and it was watched and tended by a fair and lovely damsel, who had been forced away from that city by wicked men, and brought to the enchanter’s island. At Damascus she had been in her flower-garden, and had the rose in her hand, when the wicked pirate came to disturb her innocent pleasures. She hid the plant under her mantle, and carried it with her into Crete. Here it had thriven well beneath her tender care,--the Damascene rose blooming the fairest of flowers, and she the fairest of damsels on the island.

“Oftentimes she had whispered in secret to the flower,--‘Here we are, both strangers in the land; therefore we must be friends to each other, and the bonds of affection may never be broken between us. If one return home, the other too must go thither; and if the rose be cropped from the stalk, the maiden will wither in her sadness.’--Then it seemed almost as if the flower had understood her words, and nodded thereto in silent sympathy.

“Not long thereafter the damsel was looking from her window on the waves of the stormy sea, and, lo! she beheld, amid the raging waters, a boat drawing near to the shore, and therein sat a graceful figure of a knight, beating the dark billows with his oars, as an angry master would chastise the slaves that rebelled against him. With eagle-eyes he beheld from afar the beautiful maiden, as she stood on her lofty veranda; he brought his bark to land, and made it fast by the golden chain to a tree, then looked up to the window, and called aloud,--‘Who art thou, most beautiful of ladies?’--The damsel answered,--‘I am a king’s daughter, and by violent men have been brought hither from Damascus.’--‘Then,’ said he, ‘thy life here is perchance sad and lonely?’--‘Nay,’ answered the damsel, ‘I have with me the beautiful rose that thou seest blooming in yonder garden; it has been my friend and solace since we both left our native land.’--Then said the knight,--‘Already have I won in battle a Damascene blade that is better, I ween, than any sword that was ever wielded by mortal arm. A maiden--a rose--and a sword from Damascus;--these are treasures above all price; and the sword will soon free the maiden and the flower from their bondage. Trust then to me; and if thou wilt but venture, thou shalt soon be free as the nightingale in the forest.’--‘Who art thou, mariner, that darest to speak thus boldly?’--‘Nay,’ said the knight, ‘I am a warrior, far and wide renowned, and wend my way where’er it is my pleasure, by land or sea; and here in Crete I am named the brave Hygies.’--‘Art thou indeed Hygies?’ said the damsel, ‘that wondrous hero whose deeds are sung through all the world, and who has won such victories among the Greeks, and in Persia, by land and by sea?--If this be so, then truly I shall soon be brought back to my wished-for home!’--‘Ay, fairest of damsels; and this night shall not pass till I have come to take you from your prison.’--‘But hast thou a ship that will bear us across the sea?’--‘Doubtless,’ answered the knight, ‘I have even a fleet of ships, but they will not come hither till another year has past away.’--‘For Heaven’s sake,’ cried the damsel, ‘tell me how I may be concealed in Crete till they arrive?’--‘Fear not,’ answered the knight; ‘for all that Hygies has planned, he knows also how to find the means of fulfilment.’--Thereupon she nodded kindly her parting salutation, and the warrior retired; but when the evening shades had settled on the island, he failed not to come again with a long ladder of ropes, which he fixed to her window. She ventured to descend, and was once more free.

“Deep in the recesses of the Cretan mountains there lies a cavern, covered at the entrance with heath and copsewood, but large and lofty, wherein no mortal dares enter, for terror of the supernatural powers that might assail him; for in ancient times this was the birth-place of Zeus, the far-famed enchanter. Here, in the secret depths of the cave, Hygies concealed the blooming and beautiful damsel,--coming oftentimes to caress her at the dead of night, and bringing with him food and wine, with costly carpets, to defend her from the cold and hard rocks. Meanwhile she often said to him with anxious sighs,--‘Thou wert my deliverer, and art now become my dear husband; but beware, I pray thee, beware lest my dearly-beloved rose should wither!--From Damascus thou hast obtained a maiden and a sword, but do not forget that there is, moreover, a Damascene rose under thy protection.’

“Far and wide, even for a whole year, the Cretans sought through the land, but in vain; they knew not whither the beautiful captive had retired; but the knight Hygies, he alone well knew where to find the object of his affections; and because the cave, though wide, was no fit habitation for his beloved, he used to cut and hew the rocks with his invincible Damascene blade, till he had made a habitation under ground such as any queen might have envied.

“But joy leads to sorrow, and pleasure to pain;--ere the year’s end the princess bore a son,--a bold, handsome boy, thus cradled among the rocks like the old enchanter Zeus, and the brave warrior Hygies took him in his arms with all a father’s love. So the mother’s pain was again changed to joy; and not long thereafter there was seen on the horizon a heart-enlivening shew of white sails all swelling in the breeze; and this was the fleet of the renowned Sir Hygies. That evening the ships cast anchor in a bay of the Cretan shore, and messengers came straightway to the noble owner, who rejoiced heartily at their arrival, and went, in the silence of the night, for his Damascene beauty,--brought her forth under the light of the moon and stars, with the child sleeping on his mother’s breast. Then, as they were proceeding on their way, the lady sighed deeply, and said,--‘Oh, Heaven!--how that thought comes irresistibly in the midst of all my joys!--Must I leave the dear rose-tree here on a foreign strand?--Have we not known each other so long in our affliction, and promised both, that if one of us should be set at liberty, the other should not be left in bondage?--See, yonder blooms the rose! dear husband, go and bring it to me!’--But the knight would not listen to her prayer, and urged her forward in rapid flight. The damsel sighed again, and would not go with him, but ran to the garden wherein she had planted her beloved flower. There a sudden noise from the castle alarmed her, and she would have fled, but the rose held her garments fast with its thorny fingers, and in her terror she shrieked and fell to the ground. The knight ran up to her, and took the child from her arms, while she yet lay motionless, and fainting in her grief and affright. But now every window and door was suddenly burst open;--the Cretan guards and soldiers came forth armed, and with torches in their hands. At the first glance they recognised the beautiful maid of Damascus, as she lay there beside her blooming rose-tree, and determined not only to make a captive of her, but also of the brave Sir Hygies. The knight, however, proved game not so easily to be caught. With his Damascene blade he dealt about him blows so rapid and so powerful, that whoever dared to approach him was felled to the ground; so that they all stood still, and their courage was broken. Thereafter they tried their javelins and arrows, and Hygies protected himself and the beautiful damsel as long as he could, till an arrow came whistling under his golden shield, and struck her to the heart. She fell lifeless, and the red rose-leaves mingled with the blood that streamed from her death-wound. The knight then must leave the lady and the rose behind him on the island; but the sword was still his own, and by its aid he rescued the child, and bore it with him to his fleet, and sailed for Arabia. Thereafter the child proved a valiant warrior,--an avenging sword, that was worth an hundred thousand blades of the best Damascene steel.”

CHAPTER VI.

How the Lady Bertha sailed from Carthagena.