Specimens of German Romance Volume I Part 12

"Good troth, a princess has been spoiled in you," muttered the old man; "but there is no helping one who will not be advised."

So saying he went. Bona laid her hand upon her forehead, and looked down gloomily in earnest meditation.

"The poison of Althea's refusal is still rankling in this Christopher,"

she said, after a long pause, "and the brothers are not friends. If the one were to perish through the other, that might at last reach the stony heart of Erasmus, and, conquered or conquer, still my victims would fall. The vindictive spirit of his adversaries is my pledge for that. Francis, think of your reckoning on the other side. The avenger of blood is already breathing within these walls."

She went up to a great mirror between the windows to arrange her hair.

The sun, veiled in mist, cast a red light through the panes, and shone in wondrous way upon the fair and angry features, so that they seemed to glow with an inward fire. At the first look in the gla.s.s Bona started back in horror.

"Are the old tales of my childhood coming back upon me?" she exclaimed with fixed gaze. "It was, indeed, as if an evil spirit grinned at me from the mirror."

But by degrees she came to her recollection, and began to chide her folly with a laugh, though her lips were still quivering--"Fool, it was yourself. Revenge never beautifies a female face; that I might have well known."

And with firm step the strong-minded woman went up again to the gla.s.s, and looked in it defyingly, as if to challenge forth the monster that was hid behind its crystal. Although her hands trembled in arranging her locks, she yet accomplished the task with her eyes stedfastly fixed upon the mirror.

"Now, then," she cried with a horrid laugh, "I am armed. Hold yourselves in readiness, my beloved! The Norna is sitting at her task, and with sharp-edged swords weaves the b.l.o.o.d.y web of the decisive combat. Up! to complete the work!"

She turned hastily to the door, which even then opened. Christopher Friend, whose tender impatience would not suffer him to remain any longer below, walked in, and with a sweet smile the beautiful fury stepped forward to meet him.

In Althea's rooms at Tausdorf, silent and anxious, expecting the return of his intended bride. Meantime, at a little table, sat Henry, looking over a large volume of copper-plates, which, according to its t.i.tle, depicted "The strange Forms of the Metamorphoses of the ingenious heathen Poet, Ovid."

"The insupportable Latin!" cried the boy, stamping with his feet; and then jumping up to Tausdorf with the folio, he said, "Pray, now, help me out of this difficulty. The stupid pictures are so singular that it makes one quite curious to learn what they mean; and when one looks after the explanation, the fool of an engraver has written Latin underneath."

"Do not find fault with the engraver," said Tausdorf; "he with justice believed that such pictures were not fit for a boy who does not yet understand Latin."

"But you told us lately that you understood it a little," persevered the boy, "so translate me the subscription. I should like to know what the mad picture means. Only look, now, there stands a stately knight in a circle of dead men's bones and strange signs, holding a goblet in his hand, and a beautiful woman touches him with a wand, and a mist spreads over the country, and the knight has already got a horrid snout, as if he were just being changed into an abominable beast, and below is written:

"In turpes abiere feras quicunque biberunt Dulcia Circaea pocula mixtu manu."

"Pray, now, tell me what it means?"

And Tausdorf, confused, translated it: "All were turned into vile brutes who drank of the sweet cup that was mixed by the hand of Circe."

"Now I am as wise as before," rejoined the boy. "Who was this Circe?

She is right handsome here in the picture; but then she looks at the poor knights with such hateful eyes that I can't bear her."

"She was a wicked enchantress of the old heathen time," said Tausdorf.

"To all voyagers who visited her island, she offered a rich draught, and when they drank of it, she touched them with her magic rod, and they became beasts."

"But why did the foolish people drink of it?"

"They knew not the evil consequences," replied Tausdorf, leaning his heavy head in his hand, "or they had not done so."

"Ah! they should have been more on their guard with strange cunning women," rejoined Henry. "You certainly would not have drank of it, Herr Tausdorf!"

"Who knows, my child?" said Tausdorf, the innocent remark going to his heart: "Perhaps I might."

"Wicked witch!" cried the boy, and threatened the picture with his fist. "But did she not at last find her master?"

"Oh yes," said Tausdorf, turning over the leaf. "On this Ulysses was depicted, holding his sword to the breast of the enchantress, without fear of her powerful wand, or of the devil-masks that surrounded him, grinning and menacing."

"Heaven be praised!" cried Henry; "there's a German subscription again.

He read,

"Ulysses compels her to disenchant his companions."

"That's right!" he cried--"who was Ulysses?"

"A Greek hero," replied Tausdorf. "The heathen G.o.d, Mercury, had supplied him with a herb, called _moy_, that protected him against the enchantment."

"Or he too had been metamorphosed?" asked Henry with vexation.

"No doubt," replied the knight mournfully. "He, whom G.o.d does not uphold in the hour of temptation, falls, and falls deeply."

"But it is not all really true?" added the boy, after some reflection.

"There is a good wholesome truth in the story," returned Tausdorf; "only the painter has veiled it in images. The beautiful, wicked Circe is intended to prefigure the human pa.s.sions, the impulse of the senses.

Whoever empties her cup, she robs him of reason, and makes him like the beasts in the wood. Recollect, Henry, how you were wrath, not long ago, with your play-fellow for some trifle, and screamed, and struck about you, and would not be satisfied,--then you had become a little wild beast in your anger."

"I will not do so again," said Henry, ashamed and kissed the knight's hand.

"But what is the meaning of the herb moly, which protected the great hero from this enchantress?"

"It is religion," replied Tausdorf, embracing the boy in deep emotion.

"If in every purpose you remember that G.o.d looks on; if you ask yourself whether it would be acceptable to him; and if in the slightest doubt of this you abandon it, then you have got the right talisman against sin."

"I will be truly good, Herr Tausdorf; I will, indeed," said the boy, and gently rested his auburn head against the knight's breast, when the sound of horses' feet was heard before the window.

"That is my mother!" he shouted, wiping away his tears, and running out of the room. Tausdorf started from his seat--"Air! the child has made me warm with his questions. It is hard to teach good to others, when one has to accuse one's self of evil. Oh Circe! Circe!"

Again he looked at the picture of Ulysses.

"With armed hand the hero broke the mighty spell which held his companions prisoners. He did his duty. Have I too done mine? I have redeemed myself from the magic circle, but is that enough? Should I not have taken the power of evil from this woman, who seems to have come here to weave the meshes for some net of mischief, heaven only knows what? If I did not choose to denounce the creature, should I not at least have called the attention of the council to her, that no one might come to harm? Yet no. In what she has done she has only wronged myself. The ill that my denunciation might cause her would be revenge, and that does not become a man towards frail woman. Let her do as she pleases, we are all in G.o.d's hand."

"My dear friend!" exclaimed Althea, who then entered, and immediately let go of Henry's hand to fly into the arms of her intended husband.

The old Schindel followed. Tausdorf hastened to welcome him with the knightly pledge, that he might not have at once to meet the look of his bride, towards whom he knew his heart was not perfectly at ease.

"Are you quite recovered?" asked Althea affectionately; "you look pale, as if you had slept but little last night."

This innocent appeal to the past night covered poor Tausdorf with a burning blush, which, as an estimable rarity in a man of his age, gave a double charm to his features. He turned away, however, to hide the treacherous colour, and Schindel addressed his niece:

"Will it please you, niece, to give me an answer? The poor fool waits below in the corner of the street, and stays for permission to come up."

"You love to torment people, uncle. I have a deadly aversion to this family, and of all of them, the avaricious, spiteful Christopher is the most abhorrent to me."

"Shame! shame, niece! What good Christian would recollect an injury so long? Know you not from the Scriptures, that you are to forgive your brother seventy times, and again seven times seventy?"