Girard, the younger of the two, having amused himself as he rode by

flying his hawk at such game as presented itself, had ridden in advance

of his brother and the Abbot of Cluny. Charlot, who saw him coming,

alone and unarmed, went forth to meet him, sought a quarrel with him,

and threw him from his horse with a stroke of his lance. Girard uttered

a cry as he fell; Huon heard it, and flew to his defence, with no other

weapon than his sword. He came up with him, and saw the blood flowing

from his wound. “What has this child done to you, wretch!” he exclaimed

to Charlot. “How cowardly to attack him when unprepared to defend

himself!” “By my faith,” said Charlot, “I mean to do the same by you.

Know that I am the son of Duke Thierry of Ardennes, from whom your

father, Sevinus, took three castles; I have sworn to avenge him, and I

defy you.” “Coward,” answered Huon, “I know well the baseness that

dwells in your race; worthy son of Thierry, use the advantage that your

armor gives you; but know that I fear you not.” At these words Charlot

had the wickedness to put his lance in rest, and to run upon Huon, who

had barely time to wrap his arm in his mantle. With this feeble buckler

he received the thrust of the lance. It penetrated the mantle, but

missed his body. Then, rising upon his stirrups, Sir Huon struck Charlot

so terrible a blow with his sword that the helmet was cleft asunder, and

his head too. The dastardly prince fell dead upon the ground.

Huon now perceived that the wood was full of armed men. He called the

men of his suite, and they hastily put themselves in order, but nobody

issued from the wood to attack him. Amaury, who saw Charlot’s fall, had

no desire to compromit himself; and, feeling sure that Charlemagne would

avenge the death of his son, he saw no occasion for his doing anything

more at present. He left Huon and the Abbot of Cluny to bind up the

wound of Girard, and, having seen them depart and resume their way to

Paris, he took up the body of Charlot, and, placing it across a horse,

had it carried to Paris, where he arrived four hours after Huon.

The Abbot of Cluny presented his nephew to Charlemagne, but Huon

refrained from paying his obeisance, complaining grievously of the

ambush which had been set for him, which he said could not have been

without the Emperor’s permission. Charlemagne, surprised at a charge

which his magnanimous soul was incapable of meriting, asked eagerly of

the Abbot what were the grounds of the complaints of his nephew. The

Abbot told him faithfully all that had happened, informing him that a

coward knight, who called himself the son of Thierry of Ardennes, had

wounded Girard, and run upon Huon, who was unarmed; but by his force and

valor he had overcome the traitor, and left him dead upon the plain.

Charlemagne indignantly disavowed any connection with the action of the

infamous Thierry, congratulated the young Duke upon his victory, himself

conducted the two brothers to a rich apartment, stayed to see the first

dressing applied to the wound of Girard, and left the brothers in charge

of Duke Namo of Bavaria, who, having been a companion in arms of the

Duke Sevinus, regarded the young men almost as if they were his own

sons.

Charlemagne had hardly quitted them when, returning to his chamber, he

heard cries, and saw through the window a party of armed men just

arrived. He recognized Amaury, who bore a dead knight stretched across a

horse; and the name of Charlot was heard among the exclamations of the

people assembled in the courtyard.

Charles’s partiality for this unworthy son was one of his weaknesses. He

descended in trepidation to the courtyard, ran to Amaury, and uttered a

cry of grief on recognizing Charlot. “It is Huon of Bordeaux,” said the

traitor Amaury, “who has massacred your son before it was in my power to

defend him.” Charlemagne, furious at these words, seized a sword, and

flew to the apartment of the two brothers to plunge it into the heart of

the murderer of his son. Duke Namo stopped his hand for an instant,

while Charles told him the crime of which Huon was accused. “He is a

peer of the realm,” said Namo, “and if he is guilty, is he not here in

your power, and are not we peers the proper judges to condemn him to

death? Let not your hand be stained with his blood.” The Emperor, calmed

by the wisdom of Duke Namo, summoned Amaury to his presence. The peers

assembled to hear his testimony, and the traitor accused Huon of

Bordeaux of having struck the fatal blow without allowing Charlot an

opportunity to defend himself, and though he knew that his opponent was

the Emperor’s eldest son.

The Abbot of Cluny, indignant at the false accusation of Amaury,

advanced, and said, “By Saint Benedict, sire, the traitor lies in his

throat. If my nephew has slain Charlot it was in his own defence, and

after having seen his brother wounded by him, and also in ignorance that

his adversary was the prince. Though I am a son of the Church,” added

the good Abbot, “I forget not that I am a knight by birth. I offer to

prove with my body the lie upon Amaury, if he dares sustain it, and I

shall feel that I am doing a better work to punish a disloyal traitor,

than to sing lauds and matins.”

Huon to this time had kept silent, amazed at the black calumny of

Amaury; but now he stepped forth, and, addressing Amaury, said:

“Traitor! darest thou maintain in arms the lie thou hast uttered?”

Amaury, a knight of great prowess, despising the youth and slight figure

of Huon, hesitated not to offer his glove, which Huon seized; then,

turning again to the peers, he said: “I pray you let the combat be

allowed me, for never was there a more legitimate cause.” The Duke Namo

and the rest, deciding that the question should be remitted to the

judgment of Heaven, the combat was ordained, to which Charlemagne

unwillingly consented. The young Duke was restored to the charge of Duke

Namo, who the next morning invested him with the honors of knighthood,

and gave him armor of proof, with a white shield. The Abbot of Cluny,

delighted to find in his nephew sentiments worthy of his birth, embraced

him, gave him his blessing, and hastened to the church of St. Germains

to pray for him, while the officers of the king prepared the lists for

the combat.

The battle was long and obstinate. The address and agility of Huon

enabled him to avoid the terrible blows which the ferocious Amaury aimed

at him. But Huon had more than once drawn blood from his antagonist. The

effect began to be perceived in the failing strength of the traitor; at

last he threw himself from his horse, and kneeling, begged for mercy.

“Spare me,” he said, “and I will confess all. Aid me to rise, and lead

me to Charlemagne.” The brave and loyal Huon, at these words, put his

sword under his left arm, and stretched out his right to raise the

prostrate man, who seized the opportunity to give him a thrust in the

side. The hauberk of Huon resisted the blow, and he was wounded but

slightly. Transported with rage at this act of baseness, he forgot how

necessary for his complete acquittal the confession of Amaury was, and

without delay dealt him the fatal blow.

Duke Namo and the other peers approached, had the body of Amaury dragged

forth from the lists, and conducted Huon to Charlemagne. The Emperor,

however, listening to nothing but his resentment and grief for the death

of his son, refused to be satisfied; and under the plea that Huon had

not succeeded in making his accuser retract his charge seemed resolved

to confiscate his estates and to banish him forever from France. It was

not till after long entreaties on the part of Duke Namo and the rest

that he consented to grant Huon his pardon, under conditions which he

should impose.

Huon approached, and knelt before the Emperor, rendered his homage, and

cried him mercy for the involuntary killing of his son. Charlemagne

would not receive the hands of Huon in his own, but touched him with his

sceptre, saying, “I receive thy homage, and pardon thee the death of my

son, but only on one condition. You shall go immediately to the court of

the Sultan Gaudisso; you shall present yourself before him as he sits at

meat; you shall cut off the head of the most illustrious guest whom you

shall find sitting nearest to him; you shall kiss three times on the

mouth the fair princess, his daughter, and you shall demand of the

Sultan, as token of tribute to me, a handful of the white hair of his

beard, and four grinders from his mouth.”

These conditions caused a murmur from all the assembly. “What!” said the

Abbot of Cluny; “slaughter a Saracen prince without first offering him

baptism?” “The second condition is not so hard,” said the young peers,

“but the demand that Huon is bound to make of the old Sultan is very

uncivil, and will be hard to obtain.”

The Emperor’s obstinacy when he had once resolved upon a thing is well

known. To the courage of Huon nothing seemed impossible. “I accept the

conditions,” said he, silencing the intercessions of the old Duke of

Bavaria; “my liege, I accept my pardon at this price. I go to execute

your commands, as your vassal and a peer of France.”

The Duke Namo and Abbot of Cluny, being unable to obtain any relaxation

of the sentence passed by Charlemagne, led forth the young Duke, who

determined to set out at once on his expedition. All that the good Abbot

could obtain of him was, that he should prepare for this perilous

undertaking by going first to Rome, to pay his homage to the Pope, who

was the brother of the Duchess Alice, Huon’s mother, and from him demand

absolution and his blessing. Huon promised it, and forthwith set out on

his way to Rome.

————

HUON OF BORDEAUX (_Continued_)

Huon, having traversed the Apennines and Italy, arrived at the environs

of Rome, where, laying aside his armor, he assumed the dress of a

pilgrim. In this attire he presented himself before the Pope, and not

till after he had made a full confession of his sins did he announce

himself as his nephew. “Ah! my dear nephew,” exclaimed the Holy Father,

“what harder penance could I impose than the Emperor has already done?

Go in peace, my son,” he added, absolving him, “I go to intercede for

you with the Most High.” Then he led his nephew into his palace, and

introduced him to all the Cardinals and Princes of Rome as the Duke of

Guienne, son of the Duchess Alice, his sister.

Huon, at setting out, had made a vow not to stop more than three days in

a place. The Holy Father took advantage of this time to inspire him with

zeal for the glory of Christianity, and with confidence in the

protection of the Most High. He advised him to embark for Palestine, to

visit the Holy Sepulchre, and to depart thence for the interior of Asia.

Loaded with the blessings of the Holy Father, Huon, obeying his

counsels, embarked for Palestine, arrived, and visited with the greatest

reverence the holy places. He then departed, and took his way toward the

east.

But, ignorant of the country and of the language, he lost himself in a

forest, and remained three days without seeing a human creature, living

on honey and wild fruits which he found on the trees. The third day,

seeking a passage through a rocky defile, he beheld a man in tattered

clothing, whose beard and hair covered his breast and shoulders. This

man stopped on seeing him, observed him, and recognized the arms and

bearing of a French knight. He immediately approached, and exclaimed, in

the language of the South of France, “God be praised! Do I indeed behold

a chevalier of my own country, after fifteen years passed in this desert

without seeing the face of a fellow-countryman?”

Huon, to gratify him still more, unlaced his helmet, and came towards

him with a smiling countenance. The other regarded him with more

surprise than at first. “Good Heaven!” he exclaimed, “was there ever

such a resemblance? Ah, noble sir,” he added, “tell me, I beseech you,

of what country and race you come?” “I require,” replied Huon, “before

telling you mine, that you first reveal your own; let it suffice you at

present to know that I am a Christian, and that in Guienne I was born.”

“Ah! Heaven grant that my eyes and my heart do not deceive me,”

exclaimed the unknown; “my name is Sherasmin; I am brother to Guire, the

Mayor of Bordeaux. I was taken prisoner in the battle where my dear and

illustrious master, Sevinus, lost his life. For three years I endured

the miseries of slavery; at length I broke my chains and escaped to this

desert, where I have sustained myself in solitude ever since. Your

features recall to me my beloved sovereign, in whose service I was from

my infancy till his death.” Huon made no reply but by embracing the old

man, with tears in his eyes. Then Sherasmin learned that his arms

enfolded the son of the Duke Sevinus. He led him to his cabin, and

spread before him the dry fruits and honey which formed his only

aliment.

Huon recounted his adventures to Sherasmin, who was moved to tears at

the recital. He then consulted him on means of conducting his

enterprise. Sherasmin hesitated not to confess that success seemed

impossible; nevertheless he swore a solemn oath never to abandon him.

The Saracen language, which he was master of, would be serviceable to

them when they should leave the desert, and mingle with men.

They took the route of the Red Sea, and entered Arabia. Their way lay

through a region which Sherasmin described as full of terrors. It was

inhabited by Oberon, King of the Fairies, who made captive such knights

as were rash enough to penetrate into it, and transformed them into

Hobgoblins. It was possible to avoid this district at the expense of

somewhat lengthening their route; but no dangers could deter Huon of

Bordeaux; and the brave Sherasmin, who had now resumed the armor of a

knight, reluctantly consented to share with him the dangers of the

shorter route.

They entered a wood, and arrived at a spot whence alleys branched off in

various directions. One of them seemed to be terminated by a superb

palace, whose gilded roofs were adorned with brilliant weathercocks

covered with diamonds. A superb chariot issued from the gate of the

palace, and drove toward Huon and his companion, as if to meet them

half-way. The prince saw no one in the chariot but a child apparently

about five years old, very beautiful, and clad in a robe which glittered

with precious stones. At the sight of him, Sherasmin’s terror was

extreme. He seized the reins of Huon’s horse, and turned him about,

hurrying the prince away, and assuring him that they were lost if they

stopped to parley with the mischievous dwarf, who, though he appeared a

child, was full of years and of treachery. Huon was sorry to lose sight

of the beautiful dwarf, whose aspect had nothing in it to alarm; yet he

followed his friend, who urged on his horse with all possible speed.

Presently a storm began to roar through the forest, the daylight grew

dim, and they found their way with difficulty. From time to time they

seemed to hear an infantine voice, which said, “Stop, Duke Huon; listen

to me: it is in vain you fly me!”

Sherasmin only fled the faster, and stopped not until he had reached the

gate of a monastery of monks and nuns, the two communities of which were

assembled at that time in a religious procession. Sherasmin, feeling

safe from the malice of the dwarf in the presence of so many holy

persons and the sacred banners, stopped to ask an asylum, and made Huon

dismount also. But at that moment they were joined by the dwarf, who

blew a blast upon an ivory horn which hung from his neck. Immediately

the good Sherasmin, in spite of himself, began to dance like a young

collegian, and seizing the hand of an aged nun, who felt as if it would

be her death, they footed it briskly over the grass, and were imitated

by all the other monks and nuns, mingled together, forming the strangest

dancing-party ever beheld. Huon alone felt no disposition to dance; but

he came near dying of laughter at seeing the ridiculous postures and

leaps of the others.

The dwarf, approaching Huon, said, in a sweet voice, and in Huon’s own

language, “Duke of Guienne, why do you shun me? I conjure you, in

Heaven’s name, speak to me.” Huon, hearing himself addressed in this

serious manner, and knowing that no evil spirit would dare to use the

holy name in aid of his schemes, replied, “Sir, whoever you are, I am

ready to hear and answer you.” “Huon, my friend,” continued the dwarf,

“I always loved your race, and you have been dear to me ever since your

birth. The gracious state of conscience in which you were when you

entered my wood has protected you from all enchantments, even if I had

intended to practise any upon you. If these monks, these nuns, and even

your friend Sherasmin, had had a conscience as pure as yours, my horn

would not have set them dancing; but where is the monk or the nun who

can always be deaf to the voice of the tempter, and Sherasmin in the

desert has often doubted the power of Providence.”

At these words Huon saw the dancers overcome with exertion. He begged

mercy for them, the dwarf granted it, and the effect of the horn ceased

at once; the nuns got rid of their partners, smoothed their dresses, and

hastened to resume their places in the procession. Sherasmin, overcome

with heat, panting, and unable to stand on his legs, threw himself upon

the grass, and began, “Did not I tell you”—He was going on in an angry

tone, but the dwarf, approaching, said, “Sherasmin, why have you

murmured against Providence? Why have you thought evil of me? You

deserved this light punishment; but I know you to be good and loyal; I

mean to show myself your friend, as you shall soon see.” At these words

he presented him a rich goblet. “Make the sign of the cross on this

cup,” said he, “and then believe that I hold my power from the God you

adore, whose faithful servant I am, as well as you.” Sherasmin obeyed,

and on the instant the cup was filled with delicious wine, a draught of

which restored vigor to his limbs, and made him feel young again.

Overcome with gratitude, he threw himself on his knees, but the dwarf

raised him, and bade him sit beside him, and thus commenced his history:

“Julius Cæsar, going by sea to join his army, was driven by a storm to

take shelter in the island of Celea, where dwelt the fairy Glorianda.

From this renowned pair I draw my birth. I am the inheritor of that

which was most admirable in each of my parents: my father’s heroic

qualities, and my mother’s beauty and magic art. But a malicious sister

of my mother’s, in revenge for some slight offence, touched me with her

wand when I was only five years old, and forbade me to grow any bigger;

and my mother, with all her power, was unable to annul the sentence. I

have thus continued infantile in appearance, though full of years and

experience. The power which I derive from my mother I use sometimes for

my own diversion, but always to promote justice and to reward virtue. I

am able and willing to assist you, Duke of Guienne, for I know the

errand on which you come hither. I presage for you, if you follow my

counsels, complete success; and the beautiful Clarimunda for a wife.”

When he had thus spoken he presented to Huon the precious and useful

cup, which had the faculty of filling itself when a good man took it in

his hand. He gave him also his beautiful horn of ivory, saying to him,

“Huon, when you sound this gently, you will make the hearers dance, as

you have seen; but if you sound it forcibly, fear not that I shall hear

it, though at a hundred leagues’ distance, and will fly to your relief;

but be careful not to sound it in that way, unless upon the most urgent

occasion.”

Oberon directed Huon what course he should take to reach the country of

the Sultan Gaudisso. “You will encounter great perils,” said he, “before

arriving there, and I fear me,” he added, with tears in his eyes, “that

you will not in everything obey my directions, and in that case you will

suffer much calamity.” Then he embraced Huon and Sherasmin, and left

them.

Huon and his follower travelled many days through the desert before they

reached any inhabited place, and all this while the wonderful cup

sustained them, furnishing them not only wine, but food also. At last

they came to a great city. As day was declining, they entered its

suburbs, and Sherasmin, who spoke the Saracen language perfectly,

inquired for an inn where they could pass the night. A person who

appeared to be one of the principal inhabitants, seeing two strangers of

respectable appearance making this inquiry, stepped forward and begged

them to accept the shelter of his mansion. They entered, and their host

did the honors of his abode with a politeness which they were astonished

to see in a Saracen. He had them served with coffee and sherbet, and all

was conducted with great decorum, till one of the servants awkwardly

overturned a cup of hot coffee on the host’s legs, when he started up,

exclaiming in very good Gascon, “Blood and thunder! you blockhead, you

deserve to be thrown over the mosque!”

Huon could not help laughing to see the vivacity and the language of his

country thus break out unawares. The host, who had no idea that his

guests understood his words, was astonished when Huon addressed him in

the dialect of his country. Immediately confidence was established

between them; especially when the domestics had retired. The host,

seeing that he was discovered, and that the two pretended Saracens were

from the borders of the Garonne, embraced them, and disclosed that he

was a Christian. Huon, who had learned prudence from the advice of

Oberon, to test his host’s sincerity, drew from his robe the cup which

the Fairy-king had given him, and presented it empty to the host. “A

fair cup,” said he, “but I should like it better if it was full.”

Immediately it was so. The host, astonished, dared not put it to his

lips. “Drink boldly, my dear fellow-countryman,” said Huon; “your truth

is proved by this cup, which only fills itself in the hands of an honest

man.” The host did not hesitate longer; the cup passed freely from hand

to hand; their mutual cordiality increased as it passed, and each

recounted his adventures. Those of Huon redoubled his host’s respect;

for he recognized in him his legitimate sovereign: while the host’s

narrative was in these words:

“My name is Floriac; this great and strong city, you will hear with

surprise and grief, is governed by a brother of Duke Sevinus, and your

uncle. You have no doubt heard that a young brother of the Duke of

Guienne was stolen away from the sea-shore, with his companions, by some

corsairs. I was then his page, and we were carried by those corsairs to

Barbary, where we were sold for slaves. The Barbary prince sent us as

part of the tribute which he yearly paid to his sovereign, the Sultan

Gaudisso. Your uncle, who had been somewhat puffed up by the flattery of

his attendants, thought to increase his importance with his new master

by telling him his rank. The Sultan, who, like a true Mussulman,

detested all Christian princes, exerted himself from that moment to

bring him over to the Saracen faith. He succeeded but too well. Your

uncle, seduced by the arts of the Santons, and by the pleasures and

indulgences which the Sultan allowed him, committed the horrid crime of

apostasy; he renounced his baptism, and embraced Mahometanism. Gaudisso

then loaded him with honors, made him espouse one of his nieces, and

sent him to reign over this city and adjoining country. Your uncle

preserved for me the same friendship which he had had when a boy; but

all his caresses and efforts could not make me renounce my faith.

Perhaps he respected me in his heart for my resistance to his

persuasions, perhaps he had hopes of inducing me in time to imitate him.

He made me accompany him to this city, of which he was master, he gave

me his confidence, and permits me to keep in my service some Christians,

whom I protect for the sake of their faith.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Huon, “take me to this guilty uncle. A prince of the

house of Guienne, must he not blush at the cowardly abandonment of the

faith of his fathers?”

“Alas!” replied Floriac, “I fear he will neither be sensible of shame at

your reproaches, nor of pleasure at the sight of a nephew so worthy of

his lineage. Brutified by sensuality, jealous of his power, which he

often exercises with cruelty, he will more probably restrain you by

force or put you to death.”

“Be it so,” said the brave and fervent Huon, “I could not die in a

better cause; and I demand of you to conduct me to him to-morrow, after

having told him of my arrival and my birth.” Floriac still objected, but

Huon would take no denial, and he promised obedience.

Next morning Floriac waited upon the Governor and told him of the

arrival of his nephew, Huon of Bordeaux; and of the intention of the

prince to present himself at his court that very day. The Governor,

surprised, did not immediately answer; though he at once made up his

mind what to do. He knew that Floriac loved Christians and the princes

of his native land too well to aid in any treason to one of them; he

therefore feigned great pleasure at hearing of the arrival of the eldest

born of his family at his court. He immediately sent Floriac to find

him; he caused his palace to be put in festal array, his divan to be

assembled, and after giving some secret orders, went himself to meet his

nephew, whom he introduced under his proper name and title to all the

great officers of his court.

Huon burned with indignation at seeing his uncle with forehead encircled

with a rich turban, surmounted with a crescent of precious stones. His

natural candor made him receive with pain the embraces which the

treacherous Governor lavished upon him. Meanwhile the hope of finding a

suitable moment to reproach him for his apostasy made him submit to

those honors which his uncle caused to be rendered to him. The Governor

evaded with address the chance of being alone with Huon and spent all

the morning in taking him through his gardens and palace. At last, when

the hour of dinner approached, and the Governor took him by the hand to

lead him into the dining-hall, Huon seized the opportunity and said to

him in a low voice, “O my uncle! O Prince, brother of the Duke Sevinus!

in what condition have I the grief and shame of seeing you!” The

Governor pretended to be moved, pressed his hand, and whispered in his

ear, “Silence! my dear nephew; to-morrow morning I will hear you fully.”

Huon, comforted a little by these words, took his seat at the table by

the side of the Governor. The Mufti, some Cadis, Agas, and Santons,

filled the other places. Sherasmin sat down with them; but Floriac, who

would not lose sight of his guests, remained standing, and passed in and

out to observe what was going on within the palace. He soon perceived a

number of armed men gliding through the passages and antechambers

connected with the dining-hall. He was about to enter to give his guests

notice of what he had seen when he heard a violent noise and commotion

in the hall. The cause was this.

Huon and Sherasmin were well enough suited with the first course and ate

with good appetite; but the people of their country not being accustomed

to drink only water at their meals, Huon and Sherasmin looked at one

another, not very well pleased at such a regimen. Huon laughed outright

at the impatience of Sherasmin, but soon, experiencing the same want

himself, he drew forth Oberon’s cup and made the sign of the cross. The

cup filled and he drank it off, and handed it to Sherasmin, who followed

his example. The Governor and his officers, seeing this abhorred sign,

contracted their brows and sat in silent consternation. Huon pretended

not to observe it, and having filled the cup again handed it to his

uncle, saying, “Pray, join us, dear uncle; it is excellent Bordeaux

wine, the drink that will be to you like mother’s milk.” The Governor,

who often drank in secret with his own favorite Sultanas the wines of

Greece and Shiraz, never in public drank anything but water. He had not

for a long time tasted the excellent wines of his native land; he was

sorely tempted to drink what was now handed to him, it looked so bright

in the cup, outshining the gold itself. He stretched forth his hand,

took the brimming goblet, and raised it to his lips, when immediately it

dried up and disappeared. Huon and Sherasmin, like Gascons as they were,

laughed at his astonishment. “Christian dogs!” he exclaimed, “do you

dare to insult me at my own table? But I will soon be revenged.” At

these words he threw the cup at the head of his nephew, who caught it

with his left hand, while with the other he snatched the turban, with

its crescent, from the Governor’s head and threw it on the floor. All

the Saracens started up from table, with loud outcries, and prepared to

avenge the insult. Huon and Sherasmin put themselves on their defence,

and met with their swords the scimitars directed against them. At this

moment the doors of the hall opened and a crowd of soldiers and armed

eunuchs rushed in, who joined in the attack upon Huon and Sherasmin. The

Prince and his followers took refuge on a broad shelf or sideboard,

where they kept at bay the crowd of assailants, making the most forward

of them smart for their audacity. But more troops came pressing in and

the brave Huon, inspired by the wine of Bordeaux, and not angry enough

to lose his relish for a joke, blew a gentle note on his horn, and no

sooner was it heard than it quelled the rage of the combatants and set

them to dancing. Huon and Sherasmin, no longer attacked, looked down

from their elevated position on a scene the most singular and amusing.

Very soon the Sultanas, hearing the sound of the dance and finding their

guards withdrawn, came into the hall and mixed with the dancers. The

favorite Sultana seized upon a young Santon, who performed jumps two

feet high; but soon the long dresses of this couple got intermingled and

threw them down. The Santon’s beard was caught in the Sultana’s

necklace, and they could not disentangle them. The Governor by no means

approved this familiarity, and took two steps forward to get at the

Santon, but he stumbled over a prostrate Dervise and measured his length

on the floor. The dancing continued till the strength of the performers

was exhausted, and they fell, one after the other, and lay helpless. The

Governor at length made signs to Huon that he would yield everything if

he would but allow him to rest. The bargain was ratified; the Governor

allowed Huon and Sherasmin to depart on their way, and even gave them a

ring which would procure them safe passage through his country and

access to the Sultan Gaudisso. The two friends hastened to avail

themselves of this favorable turn, and taking leave of Floriac, pursued

their journey.

————

HUON OF BORDEAUX (_Continued_)

Huon had seen many beauties at his mother’s court, but his heart had

never been touched with love. Honor had been his mistress, and in

pursuit of that he had never found time to give a thought to softer

cares. Strange that a heart so insensible should first be touched by

something so unsubstantial as a dream; but so it was.

The day after the adventure with his uncle night overtook the travellers

as they passed through a forest. A grotto offered them shelter from the

night dews. The magic cup supplied their evening meal; for such was its

virtue that it afforded not only wine, but more solid fare when desired.

Fatigue soon threw them into profound repose. Lulled by the murmur of

the foliage, and breathing the fragrance of the flowers, Huon dreamed

that a lady more beautiful than he had ever before seen hung over him

and imprinted a kiss upon his lips. As he stretched out his arms to

embrace her a sudden gust of wind swept her away.

Huon awoke in an agony of regret. A few moments sufficed to afford some

consolation in showing him that what had passed was but a dream; but his

perplexity and sadness could not escape the notice of Sherasmin. Huon

hesitated not to inform his faithful follower of the reason of his

pensiveness; and got nothing in return but his rallyings for allowing

himself to be disturbed by such a cause. He recommended a draught from

the fairy goblet, and Huon tried it with good effect.

At early dawn they resumed their way. They travelled till high noon, but

said little to one another. Huon was musing on his dream, and

Sherasmin’s thoughts flew back to his early days on the banks of the

flowery Garonne.

On a sudden they were startled by the cry of distress, and turning an

angle of the wood, came where a knight hard pressed was fighting with a

furious lion. The knight’s horse lay dead, and it seemed as if another

moment would end the combat, for terror and fatigue had quite disabled

the knight for further resistance. He fell, and the lion’s paw was

raised over him, when a blow from Huon’s sword turned the monster’s rage

upon a new enemy. His roar shook the forest, and he crouched in act to

spring, when, with the rapidity of lightning, Huon plunged his sword

into his side. He rolled over on the plain in the agonies of death.

They raised the knight from the ground, and Sherasmin hastened to offer

him a draught from the fairy cup. The wine sparkled to the brim, and the

warrior put forth his lips to quaff it, but it shrunk away, and did not

even wet his lips. He dashed the goblet angrily on the ground, with an

exclamation of resentment. This incident did not tend to make either

party more acceptable to the other; and what followed was worse. For

when Huon said, “Sir knight, thank God for your deliverance,”—“Thank

Mahomet, rather, yourself,” said he, “for he has led you this day to

render service to no less a personage than the Prince of Hyrcania.”

At the sound of this blasphemy Huon drew his sword and turned upon the

miscreant, who, little disposed to encounter the prowess of which he had

so lately seen proof, betook himself to flight. He ran to Huon’s horse,

and lightly vaulting on his back, clapped spurs to his side, and

galloped out of sight.

The adventure was vexatious, yet there was no remedy. The prince and

Sherasmin continued their journey with the aid of the remaining horse as

they best might. At length, as evening set in, they descried the

pinnacles and towers of a great city full before them, which they knew

to be the famous city of Bagdad.

They were well-nigh exhausted with fatigue when they arrived at its

precincts, and in the darkness, not knowing what course to take, were

glad to meet an aged woman, who, in reply to their inquiries, offered

them such accommodations as her cottage could supply. They thankfully

accepted the offer, and entered the low door. The good dame busily

prepared the best fare her stores supplied,—milk, figs, and

peaches,—deeply regretting that the bleak winds had nipped her

almond-trees.

Sir Huon thought he had never in his life tasted any fare so good. The

old lady talked while her guests ate. She doubted not, she said, they

had come to be present at the great feast in honor of the marriage of

the Sultan’s daughter, which was to take place on the morrow. They asked

who the bridegroom was to be, and the old lady answered, “The Prince of

Hyrcania,” but added, “Our princess hates him, and would rather wed a

dragon than him.” “How know you that?” asked Huon; and the dame informed

him that she had it from the princess herself, who was her foster-child.

Huon inquired the reason of the princess’s aversion; and the woman

pleased to find her chat excite so much interest, replied that it was

all in consequence of a dream. “A dream!” exclaimed Huon. “Yes! a dream.

She dreamed that she was a hind, and that the Prince, as a hunter, was

pursuing her, and had almost overtaken her, when a beautiful dwarf

appeared in view, drawn in a golden car, having by his side a young man

of yellow hair and fair complexion, like one from a foreign land. She

dreamed that the car stopped where she stood, and that, having resumed

her own form, she was about to ascend it, when suddenly it faded from

her view, and with it the dwarf and the fair-haired youth. But from her

heart that vision did not fade, and from that time her affianced

bridegroom, the Hyrcanian prince, had become odious to her sight. Yet

the Sultan, her father, by no means regarding such a cause as sufficient

to prevent the marriage, had named the morrow as the time when it should

be solemnized, in presence of his court and many princes of the

neighboring countries, whom the fame of the princess’s beauty and the

bridegroom’s splendor had brought to the scene.”

We may suppose this conversation woke a tumult of thoughts in the breast

of Huon. Was it not clear that Providence led him on, and cleared the

way for his happy success? Sleep did not early visit the eyes of Huon

that night; but, with the sanguine temper of youth, he indulged his

fancy in imagining the sequel of his strange experience.

The next day, which he could not but regard as the decisive day of his

fate, he prepared to deliver the message of Charlemagne. Clad in his

armor, fortified with his ivory horn and his ring, he reached the palace

of Gaudisso when the guests were assembled at the banquet. As he

approached the gate a voice called on all true believers to enter; and

Huon, the brave and faithful Huon, in his impatience passed in under

that false pretention. He had no sooner passed the barrier than he felt

ashamed of his baseness, and was overwhelmed with regret. To make amends

for his fault he ran forward to the second gate, and cried to the

porter, “Dog of a misbeliever, I command you in the name of Him who died

on the cross, open to me!” The points of a hundred weapons immediately

opposed his passage. Huon then remembered for the first time the ring he

had received from his uncle, the Governor. He produced it, and demanded

to be led to the Sultan’s presence. The officer of the guard recognized

the ring, made a respectful obeisance, and allowed him free entrance. In

the same way he passed the other doors to the rich saloon where the

great Sultan was at dinner with his tributary princes. At sight of the

ring the chief attendant led Huon to the head of the hall, and

introduced him to the Sultan and his princes as the ambassador of

Charlemagne. A seat was provided for him near the royal party.

The Prince of Hyrcania, the same whom Huon had rescued from the lion,

and who was the destined bridegroom of the beautiful Clarimunda, sat on

the Sultan’s right hand, and the princess herself on his left. It

chanced that Huon found himself near the seat of the princess, and

hardly were the ceremonies of reception over before he made haste to

fulfill the commands of Charlemagne by imprinting a kiss upon her rosy

lips, and after that a second, not by command, but by good will. The

Prince of Hyrcania cried out, “Audacious infidel! take the reward of thy

insolence!” and aimed a blow at Huon, which, if it had reached him,

would have brought his embassy to a speedy termination. But the ingrate

failed of his aim, and Huon punished his blasphemy and ingratitude at

once by a blow which severed his head from his body.

So suddenly had all this happened that no hand had been raised to arrest

it; but now Gaudisso cried out, “Seize the murderer!” Huon was hemmed in

on all sides, but his redoubtable sword kept the crowd of courtiers at

bay. But he saw new combatants enter, and could not hope to maintain his

ground against so many. He recollected his horn, and raising it to his

lips, blew a blast almost as loud as that of Roland at Roncesvalles. It

was in vain. Oberon heard it; but the sin of which Huon had been guilty

in bearing, though but for a moment, the character of a believer in the

false prophet, had put it out of Oberon’s power to help him. Huon,

finding himself deserted, and conscious of the cause, lost his strength

and energy, was seized, loaded with chains, and plunged into a dungeon.

His life was spared for the time, merely that he might be reserved for a

more painful death. The Sultan meant that, after being made to feel all

the torments of hunger and despair, he should be flayed alive.

But an enchanter more ancient and more powerful than Oberon himself

interested himself for the brave Huon. The enchanter was Love. The

Princess Clarimunda learned with horror the fate to which the young

prince was destined. By the aid of her governante she gained over the

keeper of the prison, and went herself to lighten the chains of her

beloved. It was her hand that removed his fetters, from her he received

supplies of food to sustain a life which he devoted from thenceforth

wholly to her. After the most tender explanations the princess departed,

promising to repeat her visit on the morrow.

The next day she came according to promise, and again brought supplies

of food. These visits were continued during a whole month. Huon was too

good a son of the Church to forget that the amiable princess was a

Saracen, and he availed himself of these interviews to instruct her in

the true faith. How easy it is to believe the truth when uttered by the

lips of those we love! Clarimunda ere long professed her entire belief

in the Christian doctrines, and desired to be baptized.

Meanwhile the Sultan had repeatedly inquired of the jailer how his

prisoner bore the pains of famine, and learned to his surprise that he

was not yet much reduced thereby. On his repeating the inquiry, after a

short interval, the keeper replied that the prisoner had died suddenly,

and had been buried in the cavern. The Sultan could only regret that he

had not sooner ordered the execution of the sentence.

While these things were going on the faithful Sherasmin, who had not

accompanied Huon in his last adventure, but had learned by common rumor

the result of it, came to the court in hopes of doing something for the

rescue of his master. He presented himself to the Sultan as Solario, his

nephew. Guadisso received him with kindness, and all the courtiers

loaded him with attentions. He soon found means to inform himself how

the Princess regarded the brave but unfortunate Huon, and having made

himself known to her, confidence was soon established between them.

Clarimunda readily consented to assist in the escape of Huon, and to

quit with him her father’s court to repair to that of Charlemagne. Their

united efforts had nearly perfected their arrangement, a vessel was

secretly prepared, and all things in forwardness for the flight, when an

unlooked-for obstacle presented itself. Huon himself positively refused

to go leaving the orders of Charlemagne unexecuted.

Sherasmin was in despair. Bitterly he complained of the fickleness and

cruelty of Oberon in withdrawing his aid at the very crisis when it was

most necessary. Earnestly he urged every argument to satisfy the prince

that he had done enough for honor, and could not be held bound to

achieve impossibilities. But all was of no avail, and he knew not which

way to turn, when one of those events occurred which are so frequent

under Turkish despotisms. A courier arrived at the court of the Sultan,

bearing the ring of his sovereign, the mighty Agrapard, Caliph of

Arabia, and bringing the bow-string for the neck of Gaudisso. No reason

was assigned; none but the pleasure of the Caliph is ever required in

such cases; but it was suspected that the bearer of the bow-string had

persuaded the Caliph that Gaudisso, whose rapacity was well known, had

accumulated immense treasures, which he had not duly shared with his

sovereign, and thus had obtained an order to supersede him in his

Emirship.

The body of Gaudisso would have been cast out a prey to dogs and

vultures, had not Sherasmin, under the character of nephew of the

deceased, been permitted to receive it, and give it decent burial, which

he did, but not till he had taken possession of the beard and grinders,

agreeably to the orders of Charlemagne.

No obstacle now stood in the way of the lovers and their faithful

follower in returning to France. They sailed, taking Rome in their way,

where the Holy Father himself blessed the union of his nephew, Duke Huon

of Bordeaux, with the Princess Clarimunda.

Soon afterward they arrived in France, where Huon laid his trophies at

the feet of Charlemagne, and, being restored to the favor of the

Emperor, hastened to present himself and his bride to the Duchess, his

mother, and to the faithful liegemen of his province of Guienne and his

city of Bordeaux, where the pair were received with transports of joy.

————

OGIER, THE DANE

Ogier, the Dane, was the son of Geoffroy, who wrested Denmark from the

Pagans, and reigned the first Christian king of that country. When Ogier

was born, and before he was baptized, six ladies of ravishing beauty

appeared all at once in the chamber of the infant. They encircled him,

and she who appeared the eldest took him in her arms, kissed him, and

laid her hand upon his heart. “I give you,” said she, “to be the bravest

warrior of your times.” She delivered the infant to her sister, who

said, “I give you abundant opportunities to display your valor.”

“Sister,” said the third lady, “you have given him a dangerous boon; I

give him that he shall never be vanquished.” The fourth sister added, as

she laid her hand upon his eyes and his mouth, “I give you the gift of

pleasing.” The fifth said, “Lest all these gifts serve only to betray, I

give you sensibility to return the love you inspire.” Then spoke

Morgana, the youngest and handsomest of the group. “Charming creature, I

claim you for my own; and I give you not to die till you shall have come

to pay me a visit in my isle of Avalon.” Then she kissed the child and

departed with her sisters.

After this the king had the child carried to the font and baptized with

the name of Ogier.

In his education nothing was neglected to elevate him to the standard of

a perfect knight, and render him accomplished in all the arts necessary

to make him a hero.

He had hardly reached the age of sixteen years when Charlemagne, whose

power was established over all the sovereigns of his time, recollected

that Geoffroy, Ogier’s father, had omitted to render the homage due to

him as Emperor, and sovereign lord of Denmark, one of the grand fiefs of

the empire. He accordingly sent an embassy to demand of the king of

Denmark this homage, and on receiving a refusal, couched in haughty

terms, sent an army to enforce the demand. Geoffroy, after an

unsuccessful resistance, was forced to comply, and as a pledge of his

sincerity delivered Ogier, his eldest son, a hostage to Charles, to be

brought up at his court. He was placed in charge of the Duke Namo of

Bavaria, the friend of his father, who treated him like his own son.

Ogier grew up more and more handsome and amiable every day. He surpassed

in form, strength, and address all the noble youths his companions; he

failed not to be present at all tourneys; he was attentive to the elder

knights, and burned with impatience to imitate them. Yet his heart rose

sometimes in secret against his condition as a hostage, and as one

apparently forgotten by his father.

The King of Denmark, in fact, was at this time occupied with new loves.

Ogier’s mother having died, he had married a second wife, and had a son

named Guyon. The new queen had absolute power over her husband, and

fearing that, if he should see Ogier again, he would give him the

preference over Guyon, she had adroitly persuaded him to delay rendering

his homage to Charlemagne, till now four years had passed away since the

last renewal of that ceremony. Charlemagne, irritated at this

delinquency, drew closer the bonds of Ogier’s captivity until he should

receive a response from the king of Denmark to a fresh summons which he

caused to be sent to him.

The answer of Geoffroy was insulting and defiant, and the rage of

Charlemagne was roused in the highest degree. He was at first disposed

to wreak his vengeance upon Ogier, his hostage; but at the entreaties of

Duke Namo, who felt towards his pupil like a father, consented to spare

his life, if Ogier would swear fidelity to him as his liege-lord, and

promise not to quit his court without his permission. Ogier accepted

these terms, and was allowed to retain all the freedom he had before

enjoyed.

The Emperor would have immediately taken arms to reduce his disobedient

vassal, if he had not been called off in another direction by a message

from Pope Leo, imploring his assistance. The Saracens had landed in the

neighborhood of Rome, occupied Mount Janiculum, and prepared to pass the

Tiber and carry fire and sword to the capital of the Christian world.

Charlemagne hesitated not to yield to the entreaties of the Pope. He

speedily assembled an army, crossed the Alps, traversed Italy, and

arrived at Spoleto, a strong place to which the Pope had retired. Leo,

at the head of his Cardinals, advanced to meet him, and rendered him

homage, as to the son of Pepin, the illustrious protector of the Holy

See, coming, as his father had done, to defend it in the hour of need.

Charlemagne stopped but two days at Spoleto, and learning that the

Infidels, having rendered themselves masters of Rome, were besieging the

Capitol, which could not long hold out against them, marched promptly to

attack them.

The advanced posts of the army were commanded by Duke Namo, on whom

Ogier waited as his squire. He did not yet bear arms, not having

received the order of knighthood. The Oriflamme, the royal standard, was

borne by a knight named Alory, who showed himself unworthy of the honor.

Duke Namo, seeing a strong body of the Infidels advancing to attack him,

gave the word to charge them. Ogier remained in the rear, with the other

youths, grieving much that he was not permitted to fight. Very soon he

saw Alory lower the Oriflamme, and turn his horse in flight. Ogier

pointed him out to the young men, and seizing a club, rushed upon Alory

and struck him from his horse. Then, with his companions, he disarmed

him, clothed himself in his armor, raised the Oriflamme, and mounting

the horse of the unworthy knight, flew to the front rank, where he

joined Duke Namo, drove back the Infidels, and carried the Oriflamme

quite through their broken ranks. The Duke, thinking it was Alory, whom

he had not held in high esteem, was astonished at his strength and

valor. Ogier’s young companions imitated him, supplying themselves with

armor from the bodies of the slain; they followed Ogier and carried

death into the ranks of the Saracens, who fell back in confusion upon

their main body.

Duke Namo now ordered a retreat, and Ogier obeyed with reluctance, when

they perceived Charlemagne advancing to their assistance. The combat now

became general, and was more terrible than ever. Charlemagne had

overthrown Corsuble, the commander of the Saracens, and had drawn his

famous sword, Joyeuse, to cut off his head, when two Saracen knights set

upon him at once, one of whom slew his horse, and the other overthrew

the Emperor on the sand. Perceiving by the eagle on his casque who he

was, they dismounted in haste to give him his deathblow. Never was the

life of the Emperor in such peril. But Ogier, who saw him fall, flew to

his rescue. Though embarrassed with the Oriflamme, he pushed his horse

against one of the Saracens and knocked him down; and with his sword

dealt the other so vigorous a blow that he fell stunned to the earth.

Then helping the Emperor to rise, he remounted him on the horse of one

of the fallen knights. “Brave and generous Alory!” Charles exclaimed, “I

owe to you my honor and my life!” Ogier made no answer; but, leaving

Charlemagne surrounded by a great many of the knights who had flown to

his succor, he plunged into the thickest ranks of the enemy, and carried

the Oriflamme, followed by a gallant train of youthful warriors till the

standard of Mahomet turned in retreat, and the Infidels sought safety in

their intrenchments.

Then the good Archbishop Turpin laid aside his helmet and his bloody

sword (for he always felt that he was clearly in the line of his duty

while slaying Infidels), took his mitre and his crosier, and intoned Te

Deum.

At this moment Ogier, covered with blood and dust, came to lay the

Oriflamme at the feet of the Emperor. He was followed by a train of

warriors of short stature, who walked ill at ease loaded with armor too

heavy for them. Ogier knelt at the feet of Charlemagne, who embraced

him, calling him Alory, while Turpin from the height of the altar,

blessed him with all his might. Then young Orlando, son of the Count

Milone, and nephew of Charlemagne, no longer able to endure this

misapprehension, threw down his helmet, and ran to unlace Ogier’s, while

the other young men laid aside theirs. Our author says he cannot express

the surprise, the admiration, and the tenderness of the Emperor and his

peers. Charles folded Ogier in his arms, and the happy fathers of those

brave youths embraced them with tears of joy. The good Duke Namo stepped

forward, and Charlemagne yielded Ogier to his embrace. “How much do I

owe you,” he said, “good and wise friend, for having restrained my

anger! My dear Ogier! I owe you my life! My sword leaps to touch your

shoulder, yours and those of your brave young friends.” At these words

he drew that famous sword, Joyeuse, and while Ogier and the rest knelt

before him, gave them the accolade conferring on them the order of

knighthood. The young Orlando and his cousin Oliver could not refrain,

even in the presence of the Emperor, from falling upon Ogier’s neck, and

pledging with him that brotherhood in arms, so dear and so sacred to the

knights of old times; but Charlot, the Emperor’s son, at the sight of

the glory with which Ogier had covered himself, conceived the blackest

jealousy and hate.

The rest of the day and the next were spent in the rejoicings of the

army. Turpin in a solemn service implored the favor of Heaven upon the

youthful knights, and blessed the white armor which was prepared for

them. Duke Namo presented them with golden spurs, Charles himself girded

on their swords. But what was his astonishment when he examined that

intended for Ogier! The loving Fairy, Morgana, had had the art to change

it, and to substitute one of her own procuring, and when Charles drew it

out of the scabbard, these words appeared written on the steel: “My name

is Cortana, of the same steel and temper as Joyeuse and Durindana.”

Charles saw that a superior power watched over the destinies of Ogier;

he vowed to love him as a father would, and Ogier promised him the

devotion of a son. Happy had it been for both if they had always

continued mindful of their promises.

The Saracen army had hardly recovered from its dismay when Carahue, King

of Mauritania, who was one of the knights overthrown by Ogier at the

time of the rescue of Charlemagne, determined to challenge him to single

combat. With that view he assumed the dress of a herald, resolved to

carry his own message. The French knights admired his air, and said to

one another that he seemed more fit to be a knight than a bearer of

messages.

Carahue began by passing the warmest eulogium upon the knight who bore

the Oriflamme on the day of the battle, and concluded by saying that

Carahue, King of Mauritania, respected that knight so much that he

challenged him to the combat.

Ogier had risen to reply, when he was interrupted by Charlot, who said

that the gage of the King of Mauritania could not fitly be received by a

vassal, living in captivity; by which he meant Ogier, who was at that

time serving as hostage for his father. Fire flashed from the eyes of

Ogier, but the presence of the Emperor restrained his speech, and he was

calmed by the kind looks of Charlemagne, who said, with an angry voice,

“Silence, Charlot! By the life of Bertha, my queen, he who has saved my

life is as dear to me as yourself. Ogier,” he continued, “you are no

longer a hostage. Herald! report my answer to your master, that never

does knight of my court refuse a challenge on equal terms. Ogier, the

Dane, accepts of his, and I myself am his security.”

Carahue, profoundly bowing, replied, “My lord, I was sure that the

sentiments of so great a sovereign as yourself would be worthy of your

high and brilliant fame; I shall report your answer to my master, who I

know admires you, and unwillingly takes arms against you.” Then, turning

to Charlot, whom he did not know as the son of the Emperor, he

continued, “As for you, Sir Knight, if the desire of battle inflames

you, I have it in charge from Sadon, cousin of the King of Mauritania,

to give the like defiance to any French knights who will grant him the

honor of the combat.”

Charlot, inflamed with rage and vexation at the public reproof which he

had just received, hesitated not to deliver his gage. Carahue received

it with Ogier’s, and it was agreed that the combat should be on the next

day in a meadow environed by woods and equally distant from both armies.

The perfidious Charlot meditated the blackest treason. During the night

he collected some knights unworthy of the name, and like himself in

their ferocious manners; he made them swear to avenge his injuries,

armed them in black armor, and sent them to lie in ambush in the wood,

with orders to make a pretended attack upon the whole party, but in

fact, to lay heavy hands upon Ogier and the two Saracens.

At the dawn of day Sadon and Carahue, attended only by two pages to

carry their spears, took their way to the appointed meadow; and Charlot

and Ogier repaired thither also, but by different paths. Ogier advanced

with a calm air, saluted courteously the two Saracen knights, and joined

them in arranging the terms of combat.

While this was going on the perfidious Charlot remained behind and gave

his men the signal to advance. That cowardly troop issued from the wood

and encompassed the three knights. All three were equally surprised at

the attack, but neither of them suspected the other to have any hand in

the treason. Seeing the attack made equally upon them all, they united

their efforts to resist it, and made the most forward of the assailants

bite the dust. Cortana fell on no one without inflicting a mortal wound,

but the sword of Carahue was not of equal temper and broke in his hands.

At the same instant his horse was slain, and Carahue fell, without a

weapon, and entangled with his prostrate horse. Ogier, who saw it, ran

to his defence and leaping to the ground covered the prince with his

shield, supplied him with the sword of one of the fallen ruffians, and

would have him mount his own horse. At that moment Charlot, inflamed

with rage, pushed his horse upon Ogier, knocked him down, and would have

run him through with his lance if Sadon, who saw the treason, had not

sprung upon him and thrust him back. Carahue leapt lightly upon the

horse which Ogier presented him, and had time only to exclaim, “Brave

Ogier, I am no longer your enemy, I pledge to you an eternal

friendship,” when numerous Saracen knights were seen approaching, having

discovered the treachery, and Charlot with his followers took refuge in

the wood.

The troop which advanced was commanded by Dannemont, the exiled king of

Denmark, whom Geoffroy, Ogier’s father, had driven from his throne and

compelled to take refuge with the Saracens. Learning who Ogier was, he

instantly declared him his prisoner, in spite of the urgent

remonstrances and even threats of Carahue and Sadon, and carried him

under a strong guard to the Saracen camp. Here he was at first subjected

to the most rigorous captivity, but Carahue and Sadon insisted so

vehemently on his release, threatening to turn their arms against their

own party if it was not granted, while Dannemont as eagerly opposed the

measure, that Corsuble, the Saracen commander, consented to a middle

course, and allowed Ogier the freedom of his camp, upon his promise not

to leave it without permission.

Carahue was not satisfied with this partial concession. He left the city

next morning, proceeded to the camp of Charlemagne, and demanded to be

led to the Emperor. When he reached his presence he dismounted from his

horse, took off his helmet, drew his sword, and holding it by the blade

presented it to Charlemagne as he knelt before him.

“Illustrious prince,” he said, “behold before you the herald who brought

the challenge to your knights from the King of Mauritania. The cowardly

old King Dannemont has made the brave Ogier prisoner, and has prevailed

on our general to refuse to give him up. I come to make amends for this

ungenerous conduct by yielding myself, Carahue, King of Mauritania, your

prisoner.”

Charlemagne, with all his peers, admired the magnanimity of Carahue; he

raised him, embraced him, and restored to him his sword. “Prince,” said

he, “your presence and the bright example you afford my knights consoles

me for the loss of Ogier. Would to God you might receive our holy faith,

and be wholly united with us.” All the lords of the court, led by Duke

Namo, paid their respects to the King of Mauritania. Charlot only failed

to appear, fearing to be recognized as a traitor; but the heart of

Carahue was too noble to pierce that of Charlemagne by telling him the

treachery of his son.

Meanwhile the Saracen army was rent by discord. The troops of Carahue

clamored against the commander-in-chief because their king was left in

captivity. They even threatened to desert the cause and turn their arms

against their allies. Charlemagne pressed the siege vigorously, till at

length the Saracen leaders found themselves compelled to abandon the

city and betake themselves to their ships. A truce was made; Ogier was

exchanged for Carahue, and the two friends embraced one another with

vows of perpetual brotherhood. The Pope was reëstablished in his

dominions, and Italy being tranquil, Charlemagne returned with his peers

and their followers to France.

————

OGIER, THE DANE (_Continued_)

Charlemagne had not forgotten the offence of Geoffroy, the King of

Denmark, in withholding homage, and now prepared to enforce submission.

But at this crisis he was waited upon by an embassy from Geoffroy,

acknowledging his fault, and craving assistance against an army of

invaders who had attacked his states with a force which he was unable to

repel. The soul of Charlemagne was too great to be implacable, and he

took this opportunity to test that of Ogier, who had felt acutely the

unkindness of his father, in leaving him, without regard or notice,

fifteen years in captivity. Charles asked Ogier whether, in spite of his

father’s neglect, he was disposed to lead an army to his assistance. He

replied, “A son can never be excused from helping his father by any

cause short of death.” Charlemagne placed an army of a thousand knights

under the command of Ogier, and great numbers more volunteered to march

under so distinguished a leader. He flew to the succor of his father,

repelled the invaders, and drove them in confusion to their vessels.

Ogier then hastened to the capital, but as he drew near the city he

heard all the bells sounding a knell. He soon learned the cause; it was

the obsequies of Geoffroy, the King. Ogier felt keenly the grief of not

having been permitted to embrace his father once more, and to learn his

latest commands; but he found that his father had declared him heir to

his throne. He hastened to the church where the body lay; he knelt and

bathed the lifeless form with his tears. At that moment a celestial

light beamed all around, and a voice of an angel said, “Ogier, leave thy

crown to Guyon, thy brother, and bear no other title than that of ‘The

Dane.’ Thy destiny is glorious, and other kingdoms are reserved for

thee.” Ogier obeyed the divine behest. He saluted his stepmother

respectfully, and embracing his brother, told him that he was content

with his lot in being reckoned among the paladins of Charlemagne, and

resigned all claims to the crown of Denmark.

Ogier returned covered with glory to the court of Charlemagne, and the

Emperor, touched with this proof of his attachment, loaded him with

caresses, and treated him almost as an equal.

We pass in silence the adventures of Ogier for several ensuing years, in

which the fairy-gifts of his infancy showed their force in making him

successful in all enterprises, both of love and war. He married the

charming Belicene, and became the father of young Baldwin, a youth who

seemed to inherit in full measure the strength and courage of his father

and the beauty of his mother. When the lad was old enough to be

separated from his mother, Ogier took him to court and presented him to

Charlemagne, who embraced him and took him into his service. It seemed

to Duke Namo, and all the elder knights, as if they saw in him Ogier

himself, as he was when a youth; and this resemblance won for the lad

their kind regards. Even Charlot at first seemed to be fond of him,

though after a while the resemblance to Ogier which he noticed had the

effect to excite his hatred.

Baldwin was attentive to Charlot, and lost no occasion to be

serviceable. The Prince loved to play chess, and Baldwin, who played

well, often made a party with him.

One day Chariot was nettled at losing two pieces in succession; he

thought he could, by taking a piece from Baldwin, get some amends for

his loss; but Baldwin, seeing him fall into a trap which he had set for

him, could not help a slight laugh, as he said, “Check-mate.” Charlot

rose in a fury, seized the rich and heavy chessboard, and dashed it with

all his strength on the head of Baldwin, who fell, and died where he

fell.

Frightened at his own crime, and fearing the vengeance of the terrible

Ogier, Charlot concealed himself in the interior of the palace. A young

companion of Baldwin hastened and informed Ogier of the event. He ran to

the chamber, and beheld the body of his child bathed in blood, and it

could not be concealed from him that Charlot gave the blow. Transported

with rage, Ogier sought Charlot through the palace, and Charlot, feeling

safe nowhere else, took refuge in the hall of Charlemagne, where he

seated himself at table with Duke Namo and Salomon, Duke of Brittany.

Ogier, with sword drawn, followed him to the very table of the Emperor.

When a cupbearer attempted to bar his way he struck the cup from his

hand and dashed the contents in the Emperor’s face. Charles rose in a

passion, seized a knife, and would have plunged it into his breast, had

not Salomon and another baron thrown themselves between, while Namo, who

had retained his ancient influence over Ogier, drew him out of the room.

Foreseeing the consequence of this violence, pitying Ogier, and in his

heart excusing him, Namo hurried him away before the guards of the

palace could arrest him, made him mount his horse, and leave Paris.

Charlemagne called together his peers, and made them take an oath to do

all in their power to arrest Ogier, and bring him to condign punishment.

Ogier on his part sent messages to the Emperor, offering to give himself

up on condition that Charlot should be punished for his atrocious crime.

The Emperor would listen to no conditions, and went in pursuit of Ogier

at the head of a large body of soldiers. Ogier, on the other hand, was

warmly supported by many knights, who pledged themselves in his defence.

The contest raged long, with no decisive results. Ogier more than once

had the Emperor in his power, but declined to avail himself of his

advantage, and released him without conditions. He even implored pardon

for himself, but demanded at the same time the punishment of Charlot.

But Charlemagne was too blindly fond of his unworthy son to subject him

to punishment for the sake of conciliating one who had been so deeply

injured.

At length, distressed at the blood which his friends had lost in his

cause, Ogier dismissed his little army, and slipping away from those who

wished to attend him, took his course to rejoin the Duke Guyon, his

brother. On his way, having reached the forest of Ardennes, weary with

long travel, the freshness of a retired valley tempted him to lie down

to take some repose. He unsaddled Beiffror, relieved himself of his

helmet, lay down on the turf, rested his head on his shield, and slept.

It so happened that Turpin, who occasionally recalled to mind that he

was Archbishop of Rheins, was at that time in the vicinity, making a

pastoral visit to the churches under his jurisdiction. But his dignity

of peer of France, and his martial spirit, which caused him to be

reckoned among the “preux chevaliers” of his time, forbade him to travel

without as large a retinue of knights as he had of clergymen. One of

these was thirsty, and knowing the fountain on the borders of which

Ogier was reposing, he rode to it, and was struck by the sight of a

knight stretched on the ground. He hastened back, and let the Archbishop

know, who approached the fountain, and recognized Ogier.

The first impulse of the good and generous Turpin was to save his

friend, for whom he felt the warmest attachment; but his archdeacons and

knights, who also recognized Ogier, reminded the Archbishop of the oath

which the Emperor had exacted of them all. Turpin could not be false to

his oath; but it was not without a groan that he permitted his followers

to bind the sleeping knight. The Archbishop’s attendants secured the

horse and arms of Ogier, and conducted their prisoner to the Emperor at

Soissons.

The Emperor had become so much embittered by Ogier’s obstinate

resistance, added to his original fault, that he was disposed to order

him to instant death. But Turpin, seconded by the good Dukes Namo and

Salomon, prayed so hard for him that Charlemagne consented to remit a

violent death, but sentenced him to close imprisonment, under the charge

of the Archbishop, strictly limiting his food to one quarter of a loaf

of bread per day, with one piece of meat, and a quarter of a cup of

wine. In this way he hoped to quickly put an end to his life without

bringing on himself the hostility of the King of Denmark, and other

powerful friends of Ogier. He exacted a new oath of Turpin to obey his

order strictly.

The good Archbishop loved Ogier too well not to cast about for some

means of saving his life, which he foresaw he would soon lose if

subjected to such scanty fare, for Ogier was seven feet tall, and had an

appetite in proportion. Turpin remembered, moreover, that Ogier was a

true son of the Church, always zealous to propagate the faith and subdue

unbelievers; so he felt justified in practising on this occasion what in

later times has been entitled “mental reservation,” without swerving

from the letter of the oath which he had taken. This is the method he

hit upon.

Every morning he had his prisoner supplied with a quarter of a loaf of

bread, made of two bushels of flour, to this he added a quarter of a

sheep or a fat calf, and he had a cup made which held forty pints of

wine, and allowed Ogier a quarter of it daily.

Ogier’s imprisonment lasted long; Charlemagne was astonished to hear,

from time to time, that he still held out; and when he inquired more

particularly of Turpin, the good Archbishop, relying on his own

understanding of the words, did not hesitate to affirm positively that

he allowed his prisoner no more than the permitted ration.

We forgot to say that, when Ogier was led prisoner to Soissons, the

Abbot of Saint Faron, observing the fine horse Beiffror, and not having

at the time any other favor to ask of Charlemagne, begged the Emperor to

give him the horse, and had him taken to his abbey. He was impatient to

try his new acquisition, and when he had arrived in his litter at the

foot of the mountain where the horse had been brought to meet him

mounted him and rode onward. The horse, accustomed to bear the enormous

weight of Ogier in his armor, when he perceived nothing on his back but

the light weight of the Abbot, whose long robes fluttered against his

sides, ran away, making prodigious leaps over the steep acclivities of

the mountain till he reached the convent of Jouaire, where, in sight of

the Abbess and her nuns, he threw the Abbot, already half dead with

fright, to the ground. The Abbot, bruised and mortified, revenged

himself on poor Beiffror, whom he condemned, in his wrath, to be given

to the workmen to drag stones for a chapel that he was building near the

abbey. Thus, ill-fed, hard-worked, and often beaten, the noble horse

Beiffror passed the time while his master’s imprisonment lasted.

That imprisonment would have been as long as his life if it had not been

for some important events which forced the Emperor to set Ogier at

liberty.

The Emperor learned at the same time that Carahue, King of Mauritania,

was assembling an army to come and demand the liberation of Ogier; that

Guyon, King of Denmark, was prepared to second the enterprise with all

his forces; and, worse than all, that the Saracens, under Bruhier,

Sultan of Arabia, had landed in Gascony, taken Bordeaux, and were

marching with all speed for Paris.

Charlemagne now felt how necessary the aid of Ogier was to him. But, in

spite of the representations of Turpin, Namo, and Salomon, he could not

bring himself to consent to surrender Charlot to such punishment as

Ogier should see fit to impose. Besides, he believed that Ogier was

without strength and vigor, weakened by imprisonment and long

abstinence.

At this crisis he received a message from Bruhier, proposing to put the

issue upon the result of a combat between himself and the Emperor or his

champion: promising, if defeated, to withdraw his army. Charlemagne

would willingly have accepted the challenge, but his counsellors all

opposed it. The herald was therefore told that the Emperor would take

time to consider his proposition, and give his answer the next day.

It was during this interval that the three Dukes succeeded in prevailing

upon Charlemagne to pardon Ogier, and to send for him to combat the

puissant enemy who now defied him; but it was no easy task to persuade

Ogier. The idea of his long imprisonment and the recollection of his

son, bleeding and dying in his arms by the blow of the ferocious

Charlot, made him long resist the urgency of his friends. Though glory

called him to encounter Bruhier, and the safety of Christendom demanded

the destruction of this proud enemy of the faith, Ogier only yielded at

last on condition that Charlot should be delivered into his hands to be

dealt with as he should see fit.

The terms were hard, but the danger was pressing, and Charlemagne, with

a returning sense of justice, and a strong confidence in the generous

though passionate soul of Ogier, at last consented to them.

Ogier was led into the presence of Charlemagne by the three peers. The

Emperor, faithful to his word, had caused Charlot to be brought into the

hall where the high barons were assembled, his hands tied, and his head

uncovered. When the Emperor saw Ogier approach he took Charlot by the

arm, led him towards Ogier, and said these words: “I surrender the

criminal; do with him as you think fit.” Ogier, without replying, seized

Charlot by the hair, forced him on his knees, and lifted with the other

hand his irresistible sword. Charlemagne, who expected to see the head

of his son rolling at his feet, shut his eyes and uttered a cry of

horror.

Ogier had done enough. The next moment he raised Charlot, cut his bonds,

kissed him on the mouth, and hastened to throw himself at the feet of

the Emperor.

Nothing can exceed the surprise and joy of Charlemagne at seeing his son

unharmed and Ogier kneeling at his feet. He folded him in his arms,

bathed him with tears, and exclaimed to his barons, “I feel at this

moment that Ogier is greater than I.” As for Charlot, his base soul felt

nothing but the joy of having escaped death; he remained such as he had

been, and it was not till some years afterwards he received the

punishment he deserved, from the hands of Huon of Bordeaux, as we have

seen in a former chapter.

————

OGIER, THE DANE (_Continued_)

When Charlemagne had somewhat recovered his composure he was surprised

to observe that Ogier appeared in good case, and had a healthy color in

his cheeks. He turned to the Archbishop, who could not help blushing as

he met his eye. “By the head of Bertha, my queen,” said Charlemagne,

“Ogier has had good quarters in your castle, my Lord Archbishop; but so

much the more am I indebted to you.” All the barons laughed and jested

with Turpin, who only said, “Laugh as much as you please, my lords; but

for my part I am not sorry to see the arm in full vigor that is to

avenge us on the proud Saracen.”

Charlemagne immediately despatched his herald, accepting the challenge,

and appointing the next day but one for the encounter. The proud and

crafty Bruhier laughed scornfully when he heard the reply accepting his

challenge, for he had a reliance on certain resources besides his

natural strength and skill. However, he swore by Mahomet to observe the

conditions as proposed and agreed upon.

Ogier now demanded his armor, and it was brought to him in excellent

condition, for the good Turpin had kept it faithfully; but it was not

easy to provide a horse for the occasion. Charlemagne had the best

horses of his stables brought out, except Blanchard, his own charger;

but all in vain, the weight of Ogier bent their backs to the ground. In

this embarrassment the Archbishop remembered that the Emperor had given

Beiffror to the Abbot of St. Faron, and sent off a courier in haste to

re-demand him.

Monks are hard masters, and the one who directed the laborers at the

abbey had but too faithfully obeyed the orders of the Abbot. Poor

Beiffror was brought back, lean, spiritless, and chafed with the harness

of the vile cart that he had had to draw so long. He carried his head

down, and trod heavily before Charlemagne; but when he heard the voice

of Ogier he raised his head, he neighed, his eyes flashed, his former

ardor showed itself by the force with which he pawed the ground. Ogier

caressed him, and the good steed seemed to return his caresses; Ogier

mounted him, and Beiffror, proud of carrying his master again, leapt and

curvetted with all his youthful vigor.

Nothing being now wanted, Charlemagne, at the head of his army, marched

forth from the city of Paris, and occupied the hill of Montmartre,

whence the view extended over the plain of St. Denis, where the battle

was to be fought.

When the appointed day came the Dukes Namo and Salomon, as seconds of

Ogier, accompanied him to the place marked out for the lists, and

Bruhier, with two distinguished Emirs, presented himself on the other

side.

Bruhier was in high spirits, and jested with his friends, as he

advanced, upon the appearance of Beiffror. “Is that the horse they

presume to match with Marchevallée, the best steed that ever fed in the

vales of Mount Atlas?” But now the combatants, having met and saluted

each other, ride apart to come together in full career. Beiffror flew

over the plain, and met the adversary more than half-way. The lances of

the two combatants were shivered at the shock, and Bruhier was

astonished to see almost at the same instant the sword of Ogier gleaming

above his head. He parried it with his buckler, and gave Ogier a blow on

his helmet, who returned it with another, better aimed or better

seconded by the temper of his blade, for it cut away part of Bruhier’s

helmet, and with it his ear and part of his cheek. Ogier, seeing the

blood, did not immediately repeat his blow, and Bruhier seized the

moment to gallop off at one side. As he rode he took a vase of gold

which hung at his saddle-bow, and bathed with its contents the wounded

part. The blood instantly ceased to flow, the ear and the flesh were

restored quite whole, and the Dane was astonished to see his antagonist

return to the ground as sound as ever.

Bruhier laughed at his amazement. “Know,” said he, “that I possess the

precious balm that Joseph of Arimathea used upon the body of the

crucified one, whom you worship. If I should lose an arm I could restore

it with a few drops of this. It is useless for you to contend with me.

Yield yourself, and, as you appear to be a strong fellow, I will make

you first oarsman in one of my galleys.”

Ogier, though boiling with rage, forgot not to implore the assistance of

Heaven. “O Lord!” he exclaimed, “suffer not the enemy of thy name to

profit by the powerful help of that which owes all its virtue to thy

divine blood.” At these words he attacked Bruhier again with more vigor

than ever; both struck terrible blows, and made grievous wounds; but the

blood flowed from those of Ogier, while Bruhier stanched his by the

application of his balm. Ogier, desperate at the unequal contest,

grasped Cortana with both hands, and struck his enemy such a blow that

it cleft his buckler, and cut off his arm with it; but Bruhier at the

same time launched one at Ogier, which, missing him, struck the head of

Beiffror, and the good horse fell, and drew down his master in his fall.

Bruhier had time to leap to the ground, to pick up his arm and apply his

balsam; then, before Ogier had recovered his footing, he rushed forward

with sword uplifted to complete his destruction.

Charlemagne, from the height of Montmartre, seeing the brave Ogier in

this situation, groaned, and was ready to murmur against Providence; but

the good Turpin, raising his arms, with a faith like that of Moses, drew

down upon the Christian warrior the favor of Heaven.

Ogier, promptly disengaging himself, pressed Bruhier with so much

impetuosity that he drove him to a distance from his horse, to whose

saddle-bow the precious balm was suspended; and very soon Charlemagne

saw Ogier, now completely in the advantage, bring his enemy to his

knees, tear off his helmet, and, with a sweep of his sword, strike his

head from his body.

After the victory, Ogier seized Marchevallée, leaped upon his back, and

became possessed of the precious flask, a few drops from which closed

his wounds and restored his strength. The French knights who had been

Bruhier’s captives, now released, pressed round Ogier to thank him for

their deliverance.

Charlemagne and his nobles, as soon as their attention was relieved from

the single combat, perceived from their elevated position an unusual

agitation in the enemy’s camp. They attributed it at first to the death

of their general, but soon the noise of arms, the cries of combatants,

and new standards which advanced, disclosed to them the fact that

Bruhier’s army was attacked by a new enemy.

The Emperor was right; it was the brave Carahue of Mauritania, who, with

an army, had arrived in France, resolved to attempt the liberation of

Ogier, his brother in arms. Learning on his arrival the changed aspect

of affairs, he hesitated not to render a signal service to the Emperor,

by attacking the army of Bruhier in the midst of the consternation

occasioned by the loss of its commander.

Ogier recognized the standard of his friend, and leaping upon

Marchevallée, flew to aid his attack. Charlemagne followed with his

army; and the Saracen host, after an obstinate conflict, was forced to

surrender unconditionally.

The interview of Ogier and Carahue was such as might be anticipated of

two such attached friends and accomplished knights. Charlemagne went to

meet them, embraced them, and putting the King of Mauritania on his

right and Ogier on his left, returned with triumph to Paris. There the

Empress Bertha and the ladies of her court crowned them with laurels,

and the sage and gallant Eginhard, chamberlain and secretary of the

Emperor, wrote all these great events in his history.

A few days after Guyon, King of Denmark, arrived in France with a chosen

band of knights, and sent an ambassador to Charlemagne, to say that he

came, not as an enemy, but to render homage to him as the best knight of

the time and the head of the Christian world. Charlemagne gave the

ambassador a cordial reception, and mounting his horse, rode forward to

meet the King of Denmark.

These great princes, being assembled at the court of Charles, held

council together, and the ancient and sage barons were called to join

it.

It was decided that the united Danish and Mauritanian armies should

cross the sea and carry the war to the country of the Saracens, and that

a thousand French knights should range themselves under the banner of

Ogier, the Dane, who, though not a king, should have equal rank with the

two others.

We have not space to record all the illustrious actions performed by

Ogier and his allies in this war. Suffice it to say, they subdued the

Saracens of Ptolemais and Judæa, and, erecting those regions into a

kingdom, placed the crown upon the head of Ogier. Guyon and Carahue then

left him, to return to their respective dominions. Ogier adopted Walter,

the son of Guyon of Denmark, to be his successor in his kingdom. He

superintended his education, and saw the young prince grow up worthy of

his cares. But Ogier, in spite of all the honors of his rank, often

regretted the court of Charlemagne, the Duke Namo, and Salomon of

Brittany, for whom he had the respect and attachment of a son. At last,

finding Walter old enough to sustain the weight of government, Ogier

caused a vessel to be prepared secretly, and, attended only by one

squire, left his palace by night, and embarked to return to France.

The vessel, driven by a fair wind, cut the sea with the swiftness of a

bird; but on a sudden it deviated from its course, no longer obeyed the

helm, and sped fast towards a black promontory which stretched into the

sea. This was a mountain of loadstone, and, its attractive power

increasing as the distance diminished, the vessel at last flew with the

swiftness of an arrow towards it, and was dashed to pieces on its rocky

base. Ogier alone saved himself, and reached the shore on a fragment of

the wreck.

Ogier advanced into the country, looking for some marks of inhabitancy,

but found none. On a sudden he encountered two monstrous animals,

covered with glittering scales, accompanied by a horse breathing fire.

Ogier drew his sword and prepared to defend himself; but the monsters,

terrific as they appeared, made no attempt to assail him, and the horse,

Papillon, knelt down, and appeared to court Ogier to mount upon his

back. Ogier hesitated not to see the adventure through; he mounted

Papillon, who ran with speed, and soon cleared the rocks and precipices

which hemmed in and concealed a beautiful landscape. He continued his

course till he reached a magnificent palace, and, without allowing Ogier

time to admire it, crossed a grand courtyard adorned with colonnades,

and entered a garden, where, making his way through alleys of myrtle, he

checked his course, and knelt down on the enamelled turf of a fountain.

Ogier dismounted and took some steps along the margin of the stream, but

was soon stopped by meeting a young beauty, such as they paint the

Graces, and almost as lightly attired as they. At the same moment, to

his amazement, his armor fell off of its own accord. The young beauty

advanced with a tender air, and placed upon his head a crown of flowers.

At that instant the Danish hero lost his memory; his combats, his glory,

Charlemagne and his court, all vanished from his mind; he saw only

Morgana, he desired nothing but to sigh forever at her feet.

We abridge the narrative of all the delights which Ogier enjoyed for

more than a hundred years. Time flew by, leaving no impression of its

flight. Morgana’s youthful charms did not decay, and Ogier had none of

those warnings of increasing years which less favored mortals never fail

to receive. There is no knowing how long this blissful state might have

lasted, if it had not been for an accident, by which Morgana one day, in

a sportive moment, snatched the crown from his head. That moment Ogier

regained his memory, and lost his contentment. The recollection of

Charlemagne, and of his own relatives and friends, saddened the hours

which he passed with Morgana. The fairy saw with grief the changed looks

of her lover. At last she drew from him the acknowledgment that he

wished to go, at least for a time, to revisit Charles’s court. She

consented with reluctance, and with her own hands helped to reinvest him

with his armor. Papillon was led forth, Ogier mounted him, and, taking a

tender adieu of the tearful Morgana, crossed at rapid speed the rocky

belt which separated Morgana’s palace from the borders of the sea.

The sea-goblins which had received him at his coming awaited him on the

shore. One of them took Ogier on his back, and the other placing himself

under Papillon, they spread their broad fins, and in a short time

traversed the wide space that separates the isle of Avalon from France.

They landed Ogier on the coast of Languedoc, and then plunged into the

sea and disappeared.

Ogier remounted on Papillon, who carried him across the kingdom almost

as fast as he had passed the sea. He arrived under the walls of Paris,

which he would scarcely have recognized if the high towers of St.

Genevieve had not caught his eye. He went straight to the palace of

Charlemagne, which seemed to him to have been entirely rebuilt. His

surprise was extreme, and increased still more on finding that he

understood with difficulty the language of the guards and attendants in

replying to his questions; and seeing them smile as they tried to

explain to one another the language in which he addressed them.

Presently the attention of some of the barons who were going to court

was attracted to the scene, and Ogier, who recognized the badges of

their rank, addressed them, and inquired if the Dukes Namo and Salomon

were still residing at the Emperor’s court. At this question the barons

looked at one another in amazement; and one of the eldest said to the

rest, “How much this knight resembles the portrait of my grand-uncle,

Ogier the Dane.” “Ah! my dear nephew, I am Ogier the Dane,” said he; and

he remembered that Morgana had told him that he was little aware of the

flight of time during his abode with her.

The barons, more astonished than ever, concluded to conduct him to the

monarch who then reigned, the great Hugh Capet.

The brave Ogier entered the palace without hesitation; but when, on

reaching the royal hall, the barons directed him to make his obeisance

to the King of France, he was astonished to see a man of short stature

and large head, whose air, nevertheless, was noble and martial, seated

upon the throne on which he had so often seen Charlemagne, the tallest

and handsomest sovereign of his time.

Ogier recounted his adventures with simplicity and unaffectedness. Hugh

Capet was slow to believe him; but Ogier recalled so many proofs and

circumstances, that at last he was forced to recognize the aged warrior

to be the famous Ogier the Dane.

The king informed Ogier of the events which had taken place during his

long absence; that the line of Charlemagne was extinct; that a new

dynasty had commenced; that the old enemies of the kingdom, the

Saracens, were still troublesome; and that at that very time an army of

those miscreants was besieging the city of Chartres, to which he was

about to repair in a few days to its relief. Ogier, always inflamed with

the love of glory, offered the service of his arm, which the illustrious

monarch accepted graciously, and conducted him to the queen. The

astonishment of Ogier was redoubled when he saw the new ornaments and

head-dresses of the ladies; still, the beautiful hair which they built

up on their foreheads, and the feathers interwoven, which waved with so

much grace, gave them a noble air that delighted him. His admiration

increased when, instead of the old Empress Bertha, he saw a young queen

who combined a majestic mien with the graces of her time of life, and

manners candid and charming, suited to attach all hearts. Ogier saluted

the youthful queen with a respect so profound that many of the courtiers

took him for a foreigner, or at least for some nobleman brought up at a

distance from Paris, who retained the manners of what they called the

_old court_.

When the queen was informed by her husband that it was the celebrated

Ogier the Dane whom he presented to her, whose memorable exploits she

had often read in the chronicles of antiquity, her surprise was extreme,

which was increased when she remarked the dignity of his address, the

animation and even the youthfulness of his countenance. This queen had

too much intelligence to believe hastily; proof alone could compel her

assent; and she asked him many questions about the old court of

Charlemagne, and received such instructive and appropriate answers as

removed every doubt. It is to the corrections which Ogier was at that

time enabled to make to the popular narratives of his exploits that we

are indebted for the perfect accuracy and trustworthiness of all the

details of our own history.

King Hugh Capet, having received that same evening couriers from the

inhabitants of Chartres, informing him that they were hard pressed by

the besiegers, resolved to hasten with Ogier to their relief.

Ogier terminated this affair as expeditiously as he had so often done

others. The Saracens having dared to offer battle, he bore the Oriflamme

through the thickest of their ranks; Papillon, breathing fire from his

nostrils, threw them into disorder, and Cortana, wielded by his

invincible arm, soon finished their overthrow.

The king, victorious over the Saracens, led back the Danish hero to

Paris, where the deliverer of France received the honors due to his

valor. Ogier continued some time at the court, detained by the favor of

the king and queen; but erelong he had the pain to witness the death of

the king. Then it was that, impressed with all the perfections which he

had discerned in the queen, he could not withhold the tender homage of

the offer of his hand. The queen would perhaps have accepted it, she had

even called a meeting of her great barons to deliberate on the

proposition, when, the day before the meeting was to be held, at the

moment when Ogier was kneeling at her feet, she perceived a crown of

gold which an invisible hand had placed on his brow, and in an instant a

cloud enveloped Ogier, and he disappeared forever from her sight. It was

Morgana, the fairy, whose jealousy was awakened at what she beheld, who

now resumed her power, and took him away to dwell with her in the island

of Avalon. There, in company with the great King Arthur of Britain, he

still lives, and when his illustrious friend shall return to resume his

ancient reign he will doubtless return with him, and share his triumph.

FOOTNOTES

-----

[1] Wordsworth.

[2] The names included in parentheses are the Greek, the others being

the Roman or Latin names.

[3] This inconsistency arises from considering the Saturn of the Romans

the same with the Grecian deity Cronos (Time), which, as it brings an

end to all things which have had a beginning, may be said to devour its

own offspring.

[4] From this origin of the instrument, the word “shell” is often used

as synonymous with “lyre,” and figuratively for music and poetry. Thus

Gray, in his ode on the “Progress of Poesy,” says:

“O Sovereign of the willing Soul,

Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs,

Enchanting shell! the sullen Cares

And frantic Passions hear thy soft control.”

[5] There was also a goddess called Fauna, or Bona Dea.

[6] The goddess of innocence and purity. After leaving earth, she was

placed among the stars, where she became the constellation Virgo—the

Virgin. Themis (Justice) was the mother of Astræa. She is represented as

holding aloft a pair of scales, in which she weighs the claims of

opposing parties.

It was a favorite idea of the old poets that these goddesses would one

day return, and bring back the Golden Age. Even in a Christian hymn, the

“Messiah” of Pope, this idea occurs:

“All crimes shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail,

Returning Justice lift aloft her scale,

Peace o’er the world her olive wand extend,

And white-robed Innocence from heaven descend.”

See, also, Milton’s “Hymn on the Nativity,” stanzas xiv. and xv.

[7] See Proverbial Expressions.

[8] See Proverbial Expressions.

[9] See Proverbial Expressions.

[10] See Proverbial Expressions.

[11] See page 241.

[12] It is evidently not our modern hyacinth that is here described. It

is perhaps some species of iris, or perhaps of larkspur or of pansy.

[13] The sunflower.

[14] This correct description of the rainbow is literally translated

from Ovid.

[15] Sir James Mackintosh says of this, “Do you think that even a

Chinese could paint the gay colors of a butterfly with more minute

exactness than the following lines: ‘The velvet nap,’ etc.?”—_Life_,

Vol. II., 246.

[16] See Proverbial Expressions.

[17] Hecate was a mysterious divinity sometimes identified with Diana

and sometimes with Proserpine. As Diana represents the moonlight

splendor of night, so Hecate represents its darkness and terrors. She

was the goddess of sorcery and witchcraft, and was believed to wander by

night along the earth, seen only by the dogs, whose barking told her

approach.

[18] Alcides, a name of Hercules.

[19] One of the finest pieces of sculpture in Italy, the recumbent

Ariadne of the Vatican, represents this incident. A copy is owned by the

Athenæum, Boston, and deposited in the Museum of Fine Arts.

[20] Proteus.

[21] The story of the invulnerability of Achilles is not found in Homer,

and is inconsistent with his account. For how could Achilles require the

aid of celestial armor if he were invulnerable?

[22] Tennyson has chosen Œnone as the subject of a short poem; but he

has omitted the most poetical part of the story, the return of Paris

wounded, her cruelty and subsequent repentance.

[23] See Proverbial Expressions.

[24] Pyrrhus’s exclamation, “Not such aid nor such defenders does the

time require,” has become proverbial. See Proverbial Expressions.

[25] Tennyson in the “Lotus-eaters” has charmingly expressed the dreamy,

languid feeling which the lotus food is said to have produced.

“How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream

With half-shut eyes ever to seem

Falling asleep in a half dream!

To dream and dream, like yonder amber light

Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height;

To hear each others’ whispered speech;

Eating the Lotos, day by day,

To watch the crisping ripples on the beach,

And tender curving lines of creamy spray:

To lend our hearts and spirits wholly

To the influence of mild-minded melancholy;

To muse and brood and live again in memory,

With those old faces of our infancy

Heaped over with a mound of grass,

Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass.”

[26] See Proverbial Expressions.

[27] See Proverbial Expressions.

[28] See Proverbial Expressions.

[29] See Proverbial Expressions.

[30] See Proverbial Expressions.

[31] See Proverbial Expressions.

[32] See Proverbial Expressions.

[33] The poet here inserts a famous line which is thought to imitate in

its sound the galloping of horses. It may be thus translated: “Then

struck the hoofs of the steeds on the ground with a four-footed

trampling.”—See Proverbial Expressions.

[34] See Proverbial Expressions.

[35] There being no rain in Egypt, the grass is “unshowered,” and the

country depends for its fertility upon the overflowings of the Nile. The

ark alluded to in the last line is shown by pictures still remaining on

the walls of the Egyptian temples to have been borne by the priests in

their religious processions. It probably represented the chest in which

Osiris was placed.

[36] Cowper’s version is less elegant, but truer to the original:

“He ceased, and under his dark brows the nod

Vouchsafed of confirmation. All around

The sovereign’s everlasting head his curls

Ambrosial shook, and the huge mountain reeled.”

It may interest our readers to see how this passage appears in another

famous version, that which was issued under the name of Tickell,

contemporaneously with Pope’s, and which, being by many attributed to

Addison, led to the quarrel which ensued between Addison and Pope:

“This said, his kingly brow the sire inclined;

The large black curls fell awful from behind,

Thick shadowing the stern forehead of the god;

Olympus trembled at the almighty nod.”

[37] Gray’s ode, “The Fatal Sisters,” is founded on this superstition.

[38] In Longfellow’s Poems will be found a poem entitled “Tegner’s

Drapa,” upon the subject of Baldur’s death.

[39]

“For noble Britons sprong from Trojans bold,

And Troynovant was built of old Troy’s ashes cold.”

SPENSER, Book III., Canto IX., 38.

[40] _Buried under beare._ Buried under something which enclosed him

like a coffin or bier.

[41] Glastonbury Abbey, said to be founded by Joseph of Arimathea, in a

spot anciently called the island or valley of Avalonia.

Tennyson, in his “Palace of Art,” alludes to the legend of Arthur’s

rescue by the Faery queen, thus:

“Or mythic Uther’s deeply wounded son,

In some fair space of sloping greens,

Lay dozing in the vale of Avalon,

And watched by weeping queens.”

[42] Guenever, the name of Arthur’s queen, also written Genievre and

Geneura, is familiar to all who are conversant with chivalric lore. It

is to her adventures, and those of her true knight, Sir Launcelot, that

Dante alludes in the beautiful episode of Francesca da Rimini.

[43] This name, in the French romances, is spelled Queux, which means

_head cook_. This would seem to imply that it was a title, and not a

name; yet the personage who bore it is never mentioned by any other. He

is the chief, if not the only, comic character among the heroes of

Arthur’s court. He is the Seneschal or Steward, his duties also

embracing those of chief of the cooks. In the romances, his general

character is a compound of valor and buffoonery, always ready to fight,

and generally getting the worst of the battle. He is also sarcastic and

abusive in his remarks, by which he often gets into trouble. Yet Arthur

seems to have an attachment to him, and often takes his advice, which is

generally wrong.

[44] Several cities are allotted to King Arthur by the romance-writers.

The principal are Caerleon, Camelot, and Carlisle.

Caerleon derives its name from its having been the station of one of the

legions, during the dominion of the Romans. It is called by Latin

writers Urbs Legionum, the City of Legions. The former word being

rendered into Welsh by _Caer_, meaning city, and the latter contracted

into _lleon_. The river Usk retains its name in modern geography, and

there is a town or city of Caerleon upon it, though the city of Cardiff

is thought to be the scene of Arthur’s court. Chester also bears in

Welsh the name of Caerleon; for Chester, derived from _castra_, Latin

for _camp_, is the designation of military headquarters.

Camelot is thought to be Winchester.

Shalott is Guilford.

Hamo’s Port is Southampton.

Carlisle is the city still retaining that name, near the Scottish

border. But this name is also sometimes applied to other places, which

were, like itself, military stations.

[45] _Samite_, a sort of silk stuff.

[46] _N’as_ is _not was_, contracted; in modern phrase, _there was not

Mochel sorwe_ is _much sorrow_; _morwe_ is _morrow_.

[47] New-fangled—fond of novelty.

[48] _Lunys_, the string with which the falcon is held.

[49] A musical instrument.

[50] “Good faith was the very corner-stone of chivalry. Whenever a

knight’s word was pledged (it mattered not how rashly) it was to be

redeemed at any price. Hence the sacred obligation of the _boon granted_

by a knight to his suppliant. Instances without number occur in romance,

in which a knight, by rashly granting an indefinite boon, was obliged to

do or suffer something extremely to his prejudice. But it is not in

romance alone that we find such singular instances of adherence to an

indefinite promise. The history of the times presents authentic

transactions equally embarrassing and absurd.”—SCOTT, _note to Sir

Tristram_.

[51] _Feres_, companions; _thewes_, labors; _leers_, learning.

[52] _Aglets_, points or tags.

[53] _Pinckt upon gold, etc._, adorned with golden points, or eyelets,

and regularly intersected with stripes. _Paled_ (in heraldry), striped.

[54] A fool was a common appendage of the courts of those days when this

romance was written. A fool was the ornament held in next estimation to

a dwarf. He wore a white dress with a yellow bonnet, and carried a bell

or _bawble_ in his hand. Though called a fool, his words were often

weighed and remembered as if there were a sort of oracular meaning in

them.

[55] The word means both _fisher_ and _sinner_.

[56] The use of green rushes in apartments was by no means peculiar to

the court of Caerleon upon Usk. Our ancestors had a great predilection

for them, and they seem to have constituted an essential article, not

only of comfort, but of luxury. The custom of strewing the floor with

rushes is well known to have existed in England during the Middle Ages,

and also in France.

[57] _Cordwal_ is the word in the original, and from the manner in which

it is used it is evidently intended for the French Cordouan or Cordovan

leather, which derived its name from Cordova, where it was manufactured.

From this comes also our English word _cordwainer_.

[58] Amongst all the characters of early British history none is more

interesting, or occupies a more conspicuous place, than the hero of this

tale. Urien, his father, was prince of Rheged, a district comprising the

present Cumberland and part of the adjacent country. His valor, and the

consideration in which he was held, are a frequent theme of Bardic song,

and form the subject of several very spirited odes by Taliesin. Among

the Triads there is one relating to him; it is thus translated:

“Three Knights of Battle were in the court of Arthur: Cadwr, the Earl of

Cornwall, Launcelot du Lac, and Owain, the son of Urien. And this was

their characteristic—that they would not retreat from battle, neither

for spear, nor for arrow, nor for sword. And Arthur never had shame in

battle the day he saw their faces there. And they were called the

Knights of Battle.”

[59] Before the sixth century all the silk used by Europeans had been

brought to them by the Seres, the ancestors of the present Boukharians,

whence it derived its Latin name of Serica. In 551 the silkworm was

brought by two monks to Constantinople; but the manufacture of silk was

confined to the Greek empire till the year 1130, when Roger, king of

Sicily, returning from a crusade, collected some manufacturers from

Athens and Corinth, and established them at Palermo, whence the trade

was gradually disseminated over Italy. The varieties of silk stuffs

known at this time were velvet, satin (which was called _samite_), and

taffety (called _cendal_ or _sendall_), all of which were occasionally

stitched with gold and silver.

[60] There exists an ancient poem, printed among those of Taliesin,

called the “Elegy of Owain ap Urien,” and containing several very

beautiful and spirited passages. It commences:

“The soul of Owain ap Urien,

May its Lord consider its exigencies!

Reged’s chief the green turf covers.”

In the course of this Elegy the bard, alluding to the incessant warfare

with which this chieftain harassed his Saxon foes, exclaims:

“Could England sleep with the light upon her eyes!”

[61] The custom of riding into a hall while the lord and his guests sat

at meat might be illustrated by numerous passages of ancient romance and

history. But a quotation from Chaucer’s beautiful and half-told tale of

“Cambuscan” is sufficient:

“And so befell that after the thridde cours,

While that this king sat thus in his nobley,

Herking his minstralles thir thinges play,

Beforne him at his bord deliciously,

In at the halle door all sodenly

Ther came a knight upon a stede of bras,

And in his hond a brod mirrour of glas;

Upon his thombe he had of gold a ring,

And by his side a naked sword hanging;

And up he rideth to the highe bord.

In all the halle ne was ther spoke a word,

For mervaille of this knight; him to behold

Full besily they waiten, young and old.”

[62] The terms of admiration in which the older writers invariably speak

of _glass windows_ would be sufficient proof, if other evidence were

wanting, how rare an article of luxury they were in the houses of our

ancestors. They were first introduced in ecclesiastical architecture, to

which they were for a long time confined. Glass is said not to have been

employed in domestic architecture before the fourteenth century.

[63] Throughout the broad and varied region of romance it would be

difficult to find a character of greater simplicity and truth than that

of Enid, the daughter of Earl Ynywl. Conspicuous for her beauty and

noble bearing, we are at a loss whether more to admire the patience with

which she bore all the hardships she was destined to undergo or the

constancy and affection which finally achieved the triumph she so richly

deserved.

The character of Enid is admirably sustained through the whole tale; and

as it is more natural, because less overstrained, so perhaps it is even

more touching than that of Griselda, over which, however, Chaucer has

thrown a charm that leads us to forget the improbability of her story.

[64] The Island of the Mighty is one of the many names bestowed upon

Britain by the Welsh.

[65] Caractacus.

[66] Cassivellaunus.

[67] There is a Triad upon the story of the head buried under the White

Tower of London, as a charm against invasion. Arthur, it seems, proudly

disinterred the head, preferring to hold the island by his own strength

alone.

[68] Creiddylad is no other than Shakspeare’s Cordelia, whose father,

King Lear, is by the Welsh authorities called indiscriminately Llyr or

Lludd. All the old chronicles give the story of her devotion to her aged

parent, but none of them seem to have been aware that she is destined to

remain with him till the day of doom, whilst Gwyn ap Nudd, the king of

the fairies, and Gwythyr ap Greidiol, fight for her every first of May,

and whichever of them may be fortunate enough to be the conqueror at

that time will obtain her as a bride.

[69] The Welsh have a fable on the subject of the half-man, taken to be

illustrative of the force of habit. In this allegory Arthur is supposed

to be met by a sprite, who appears at first in a small and indistinct

form, but who, on approaching nearer, increases in size, and, assuming

the semblance of half a man, endeavors to provoke the king to wrestle.

Despising his weakness, and considering that he should gain no credit by

the encounter, Arthur refuses to do so, and delays the contest until at

length the half-man (Habit) becomes so strong that it requires his

utmost efforts to overcome him.

[70] The romancers dwell with great complacency on the fair hair and

delicate complexion of their heroines. This taste continued for a long

time, and to render the hair light was an object of education. Even when

wigs came into fashion they were all flaxen. Such was the color of the

hair of the Gauls and of their German conquerors. It required some

centuries to reconcile their eyes to the swarthy beauties of their

Spanish and Italian neighbors.

[71] _Ivanhoe_, Vol. 1, chap. XIII.

[72] It is plain that Shakspeare borrowed from this source the similar

incident in his “As you Like it.” The names of characters in the play,

Orlando, Oliver, Rowland indicate the same thing.

[73] See their story in “King Arthur and His Knights.”

[74] This is a poetical description of a phenomenon which is said to be

really exhibited in the strait of Messina, between Sicily and Calabria.

It is called Fata Morgana, or Mirage.

[75] This prophecy is introduced by Ariosto in this place to compliment

the noble house of Este, the princes of his native state, the dukedom of

Ferrara.

PROVERBIAL EXPRESSIONS

No. 1. Page 39.

Materiem superabat opus.—_Ovid._

The workmanship surpassed the material.

No. 2. Page 39.

Facies non omnibus una,

Nec diversa tamen, qualem decet esse sororum.

—_Ovid._

Their faces were not all alike, nor yet unlike, but such as those of

sisters ought to be.

No. 3. Page 42.

Medio tutissimus ibis.—_Ovid._

You will go most safely in the middle.

No. 4. Page 45.

Hic situs est Phaëton, currus auriga paterni,

Quem si non tenuit, magnis tamen excidit ausis.

—_Ovid._

Here lies Phaëton, the driver of his father’s chariot, which if he

failed to manage, yet he fell in a great undertaking.

No. 5. Page 123.

Imponere Pelio Ossam.—_Virgil._

To pile Ossa upon Pelion.

No. 6. Page 230.

Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.—_Virgil._

I fear the Greeks even when they offer gifts.

No. 7. Page 232.

Non tali auxilio nec defensoribus istis

Tempus eget.—_Virgil._

Not such aid nor such defenders does the time require.

No. 8. Page 245.

Incidit in Scyllam, cupiens vitare Charybdim.

He runs on Scylla, wishing to avoid Charybdis.

No. 9. Page 260.

Monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum.—_Virgil._

A horrible monster, misshapen, vast, whose only eye has been put out.

No. 10. Page 261.

Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ?—_Virgil._

In heavenly minds can such resentments dwell?

No. 11. Page 263.

Haud ignara mali, miseris succurrere disco.—_Virgil._

Not unacquainted with distress, I have learned to succor the

unfortunate.

No. 12. Page 263.

Tros, Tyriusve mihi nullo discrimine agetur.—_Virgil._

Whether Trojan or Tyrian shall make no difference to me.

No. 13. Page 265.

Tu ne cede malis, sed contra audentior ito.—_Virgil._

Yield thou not to adversity, but press on the more bravely.

No. 14. Page 265.

Facilis descensus Averni;

Noctes atque dies patet atri janua Ditis;

Sed revocare gradum, superasque evadere ad auras,

Hoc opus, hic labor est.—_Virgil._

The descent of Avernus is easy; the gate of Pluto stands open night and

day; but to retrace one’s steps and return to the upper air—that is the

toil, that the difficulty.

No. 15. Page 265.

Uno avulso non deficit alter.—_Virgil._

When one is torn away another succeeds.

No. 16. Page 282.

Quadrupendante putrum sonitu quatit ungula campum.—_Virgil._

Then struck the hoofs of the steeds on the ground with a four-footed

trampling.

No. 17. Page 285.

Sternitur infelix alieno vulnere, cœlumque

Adspicit et moriens dulces reminiscitur Argos.—_Virgil._

He falls, unhappy, by a wound intended for another; looks up to the

skies, and dying remembers sweet Argos.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIVE PASSAGES

QUOTED FROM THE POETS

Addison (attributed to), 304

Armstrong, 22, 117, 175

Arnold, Matthew, 391

Boiardo, 456, 458, 459

Browning, Mrs. E. B., 168

Bulfinch, Rev. S. G., 45, 63, 149

Byron, 7, 18, 19, 20, 38, 75, 94, 106, 114, 143, 175, 198, 203, 207, 231,

235, 236, 246, 292, 300, 305, 307, 319

Campbell, 137, 364

Chaucer, 414, 416, 417, 550

Coleridge, 58

Cowper, 4, 104, 192, 221, 300, 304, 308

Darwin, 158, 209

Drayton, 400

Dryden, 48, 211, 290, 308, 312

Dyer, 133, 233

Fletcher, 205

Francklin, 184

Garrick, 111

Goldsmith, 104

Gray, 8, 344, 350, 530, 532

Harvey, 90

Hemans, 362

Homer, 3, 246, 252, 253, 255, 304

Hood, 57, 105

Keats, 31, 62, 65, 68, 76, 91, 106, 204, 243

Landor, 46

Longfellow, 161, 206, 291, 336

Lowell, 33, 172, 181, 273, 292, 492, 505

Lucan, 313

Macaulay, 11, 159

Mickle, 25

Milman, 45, 122

Milton, 3, 5, 6, 18, 33, 34, 38, 57, 67, 68, 75, 90, 94, 103, 104, 117,

120, 126, 128, 129, 146, 148, 165, 167, 168, 174, 176, 179, 181, 192, 194,

233, 235, 245, 274, 291, 296, 299, 302, 312, 328, 380, 382

Moore, 2, 25, 28, 58, 91, 105, 115, 134, 143, 293, 320, 364

Nibelungen Lied, 353

Ovid, 310

Percy, 420

Pope, 15, 133, 188, 221, 227, 287, 304