with the enemy. We all did our duty, which, in the patriot's,
soldier's, and gentleman's language, is a very comprehensive word, of
great honor, meaning, and import, and of which the generality of idle
quidnuncs and coffee-house politicians can hardly form any but a very
mean and contemptible idea. However having had the command of a body
of hussars, I went upon several expeditions, with discretionary
powers; and the success I then met with is, I think, fairly and only
to be placed to my account, and to that of the brave fellows whom I
led on to conquest and to victory. We had very hot work once in the
van of the army, when we drove the Turks into Oczakow. My spirited
Lithuanian had almost brought me into a scrape: I had an advanced
forepost, and saw the enemy coming against me in a cloud of dust,
which left me rather uncertain about their actual numbers and real
intentions: to wrap myself up in a similar cloud was common prudence,
but would not have much advanced my knowledge or answered the end for
which I had been sent out; therefore I let my flankers on both wings
spread to the right and left, and make what dust they could, and I
myself led on straight upon the enemy, to have a nearer sight of them;
in this I was gratified, for they stood and fought, till, for fear of
my flankers, they began to move off rather disorderly. This was the
moment to fall upon them with spirit; we broke them entirely--made a
terrible havoc amongst them, and drove them not only back to a walled
town in their rear, but even through it, contrary to our most sanguine
expectation.
The swiftness of my Lithuanian enabled me to be foremost in the
pursuit; and seeing the enemy fairly flying through the opposite gate,
I thought it would be prudent to stop in the market-place, to order
the men to rendezvous. I stopped, gentlemen; but judge of my
astonishment when in this market-place I saw not one of my hussars
about me! Are they scouring the other streets? or what is become of
them? They could not be far off, and must, at all events, soon join
me. In that expectation I walked my panting Lithuanian to a spring in
this market-place and let him drink. He drank uncommonly, with an
eagerness not to be satisfied, but natural enough; for when I looked
round for my men, what should I see, gentlemen! the hind part of the
poor creature--croup and legs were missing, as if he had been cut in
two, and the water ran out as it came in, without refreshing or doing
him any good! How it could have happened was quite a mystery to me,
till I returned with him to the town gate. There I saw that when I
rushed in pell-mell with the flying enemy, they had dropped the
portcullis (a heavy falling door, with sharp spikes at the bottom, let
down suddenly to prevent the entrance of an enemy into a fortified
town) unperceived by me, which had totally cut off his hind part, that
still lay quivering on the outside of the gate. It would have been an
irreparable loss, had not our farrier contrived to bring both parts
together while hot. He sewed them up with sprigs and young shoots of
laurels that were at hand; the wound healed, and, what could not have
happened but to so glorious a horse, the sprigs took root in his body,
grew up, and formed a bower over me; so that afterwards I could go
upon many other expeditions in the shade of my own and my horse's
laurels.
THE BARON'S COLD DAY
_By Rodolph Eric Raspe_
Success was not always with me. I had the misfortune to be overpowered
by numbers, to be made prisoner of war; and, what is worse, but always
usual among the Turks, to be sold for a slave. In that state of
humiliation my daily task was not very hard and laborious, but rather
singular and irksome. It was to drive the Sultan's bees every morning
to their pasture grounds, to attend them all the day long, and against
night to drive them back to their hives. One evening I missed a bee,
and soon observed that two bears had fallen upon her to tear her to
pieces for the honey she carried. I had nothing like an offensive
weapon in my hands but the silver hatchet which is the badge of the
Sultan's gardeners and farmers. I threw it at the robbers, with an
intention to frighten them away, and set the poor bee at liberty; but
by an unlucky turn of my arm, it flew upwards, and continued rising
till it reached the moon. How should I recover it? how fetch it down
again? I recollected that Turkey beans grow very quick, and run up to
an astonishing height. I planted one immediately; it grew, and
actually fastened itself to one of the moon's horns. I had no more to
do now but to climb up by it into the moon, where I safely arrived,
and had a troublesome piece of business before I could find my silver
hatchet, in a place where everything has the brightness of silver; at
last, however, I found it in a heap of chaff and chopped straw. I was
now for returning: but, alas! the heat of the sun had dried up my
bean; it was totally useless for my descent; so I fell to work, and
twisted me a rope of that chopped straw, as long and as well as I
could make it. This I fastened to one of the moon's horns, and slid
down to the end of it. Here I held myself fast with the left hand, and
with the hatchet in my right, I cut the long, now useless, end of the
upper part, which, when tied to the lower end, brought me a good deal
lower: this repeated splicing and tying of the rope did not improve
its quality, or bring me down to the Sultan's farm. I was four or five
miles from the earth at least when it broke; I fell to the ground with
such amazing violence that I found myself stunned, and in a hole nine
fathoms deep at least, made by the weight of my body falling from so
great a height: I recovered, but knew not how to get out again;
however, I dug slopes or steps with my finger nails (the baron's nails
were then of forty years' growth), and easily accomplished it.
Peace was soon after concluded with the Turks, and gaining my liberty,
I left St. Petersburg at the time of that singular revolution when the
emperor in his cradle, his mother, the duke of Brunswick, her father,
Field-marshal Munich, and many others were sent to Siberia. The winter
was then so uncommonly severe all over Europe that ever since the sun
seems to be frost-bitten. At my return to this place, I felt on the
road greater inconveniences than those I had experienced on my setting
out.
I traveled post, and finding myself in a narrow lane, bid the
postilion give a signal with his horn, that other travelers might not
meet us in the narrow passage. He blew with all his might; but his
endeavors were in vain, he could not make the horn sound, which was
unaccountable and rather unfortunate, for soon after we found
ourselves in the presence of another coach coming the other way. There
was no proceeding; however, I got out of my carriage, and being pretty
strong, placed it, wheels and all, upon my head; I then jumped over a
hedge about nine feet high (which, considering the weight of the
coach, was rather difficult) into a field, and came out again by
another jump into the road beyond the other carriage; I then went back
for the horses, and placing one upon my head and the other under my
left arm, by the same means brought them to my coach, put to, and
proceeded to an inn at the end of our stage. I should have told you
that the horse under my arm was very spirited, and not above four
years old; in making my second spring over the hedge he expressed
great dislike to that violent kind of motion by kicking and snorting;
however, I confined his hind legs by putting them into my coat pocket.
After we arrived at the inn my postilion and I refreshed ourselves: he
hung his horn on a peg near the kitchen fire; I sat on the other side.
Suddenly we heard a _tereng, tereng, teng, teng_. We looked round, and
now found the reason why the postilion had not been able to sound his
horn; his tunes were frozen up in the horn, and came out now by
thawing, plain enough, and much to the credit of the driver; so that
the honest fellow entertained us for some time with a variety of
tunes, without putting his mouth to the horn,--"The King of Prussia's
March," "Over the Hill and over the Dale," with many other favorite
tunes; at length the thawing entertainment concluded, as I shall this
short account of my Russian travels.
TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS
_By Charles and Mary Lamb_
The states of Syracuse and Ephesus being at variance, there was a
cruel law made at Ephesus, ordaining that if any merchant of Syracuse
was seen in the city of Ephesus, he was to be put to death, unless he
could pay a thousand marks for the ransom of his life.
Ægeon, an old merchant of Syracuse, was discovered in the streets of
Ephesus and brought before the duke, either to pay this heavy fine or
to receive sentence of death.
Ægeon had no money to pay the fine, and the duke, before he pronounced
the sentence of death upon him, desired him to relate the history of
his life, and to tell for what cause he had ventured to come to the
city of Ephesus, which it was death for any Syracusan merchant to
enter.
Ægeon said that he did not fear to die, for sorrow had made him weary
of his life, but that a heavier task could not have been imposed upon
him than to relate the event of his unfortunate life. He then began
his own history, in the following words:--
"I was born at Syracuse, and brought up to the profession of a
merchant. I married a lady with whom I lived very happily, but being
obliged to go to Epidamnum, I was detained there by my business six
months, and then, finding I should be obliged to stay some time
longer, I sent for my wife, who, as soon as she arrived, was brought
to bed of two sons, and what was very strange, they were both so
exactly alike that it was impossible to distinguish the one from the
other. At the same time that my wife was brought to bed of these twin
boys, a poor woman in the inn where my wife lodged was brought to bed
of two sons, and these twins were as much like each other as my two
sons were. The parents of these children being exceeding poor, I
bought the two boys, and brought them up to attend upon my sons.
"My sons were very fine children, and my wife was not a little proud
of two such boys; and she daily wishing to return home, I unwillingly
agreed, and in an evil hour we got on shipboard; for we had not sailed
above a league from Epidamnum before a dreadful storm arose, which
continued with such violence that the sailors, seeing no chance of
saving the ship, crowded into the boat to save their own lives,
leaving us alone in the ship, which we every moment expected would be
destroyed by the fury of the storm.
"The incessant weeping of my wife, and the piteous complaints of the
pretty babes, who not knowing what to fear, wept for fashion, because
they saw their mother weep, filled me with terror for them, though I
did not for myself fear death; and all my thoughts were bent to
contrive means for their safety. I tied my younger son to the end of a
small spare mast, such as seafaring men provide against storms; at the
other end I bound the younger of the twin slaves, and at the same time
I directed my wife how to fasten the other children in like manner to
another mast. She thus having the care of the two elder children, and
I of the two younger, we bound ourselves separately to these masts
with the children; and but for this contrivance we had all been lost,
for the ship split on a mighty rock, and was dashed in pieces; and we,
clinging to these slender masts, were supported above the water, where
I, having the care of two children, was unable to assist my wife, who
with the other children was soon separated from me; but while they
were yet in my sight, they were taken up by a boat of fishermen, from
Corinth (as I supposed), and seeing them in safety, I had no care but
to struggle with the wild sea waves, to preserve my dear son and the
younger slave. At length we in our turn were taken up by a ship, and
the sailors, knowing me, gave us kind welcome and assistance, and
landed us in safety at Syracuse; but from that sad hour I have never
known what became of my wife and elder child.
"My younger son, and now my only care, when he was eighteen years of
age, began to be inquisitive after his mother and his brother, and
often importuned me that he might take his attendant, the young slave,
who had also lost his brother, and go in search of them; at length I
unwillingly gave consent, for though I anxiously desired to hear
tidings of my wife and elder son, yet in sending my younger one to
find them, I hazarded the loss of him also. It is now seven years
since my son left me; five years have I passed in traveling through
the world in search of him: I have been in farthest Greece, and
through the bounds of Asia, and coasting homewards, I landed here in
Ephesus, being unwilling to leave any place unsought that harbors men;
but this day must end the story of my life, and happy should I think
myself in my death, if I were assured my wife and sons were living."
Here the hapless Ægeon ended the account of his misfortunes; and the
duke, pitying this unfortunate father who had brought upon himself
this great peril by his love for his lost son, said, if it were not
against the laws, which his oath and dignity did not permit him to
alter, he would freely pardon him; yet, instead of dooming him to
instant death, as the strict letter of the law required, he would give
him that day to try if he could beg or borrow the money to pay the
fine.
This day of grace did seem no great favor to Ægeon, for not knowing
any man in Ephesus, there seemed to him but little chance that any
stranger would lend or give him a thousand marks to pay the fine; and
helpless and hopeless of any relief, he retired from the presence of
the duke in the custody of a jailer.
Ægeon supposed he knew no person in Ephesus; but at the very time he
was in danger of losing his life through the careful search he was
making after his youngest son, that son and his eldest son also were
both in the city of Ephesus.
Ægeon's sons, besides being exactly alike in face and person, were
both named alike, being both called Antipholus, and the two twin
slaves were also both named Dromio. Ægeon's youngest son, Antipholus
of Syracuse, he whom the old man had come to Ephesus to seek, happened
to arrive at Ephesus with his slave Dromio that very same day that
Ægeon did; and he being also a merchant of Syracuse, he would have
been in the same danger that his father was, but by good fortune he
met a friend who told him the peril an old merchant of Syracuse was
in, and advised him to pass for a merchant of Epidamnum; this
Antipholus agreed to do, and he was sorry to hear one of his own
countrymen was in this danger, but he little thought this old merchant
was his own father.
The oldest son of Ægeon (who must be called Antipholus of Ephesus, to
distinguish him from his brother Antipholus of Syracuse) had lived at
Ephesus twenty years, and, being a rich man, was well able to have
paid the money for the ransom of his father's life; but Antipholus
knew nothing of his father, being so young when he was taken out of
the sea with his mother by the fishermen that he only remembered he
had been so preserved, but he had no recollection of either his father
or his mother; the fishermen who took up this Antipholus and his
mother and the young slave Dromio having carried the two children away
from her (to the great grief of that unhappy lady), intending to sell
them.
Antipholus and Dromio were sold by them to duke Menaphon, a famous
warrior, who was uncle to the duke of Ephesus, and he carried the boys
to Ephesus, when he went to visit the duke his nephew.
The duke of Ephesus taking a liking to young Antipholus, when he grew
up, made him an officer in his army, in which he distinguished himself
by his great bravery in the wars, where he saved the life of his
patron the duke, who rewarded his merit by marrying him to Adriana, a
rich lady of Ephesus, with whom he was living (his slave Dromio still
attending him) at the time his father came there.
Antipholus of Syracuse, when he parted with his friend, who advised
him to say he came from Epidamnum, gave his slave Dromio some money to
carry to the inn where he intended to dine, and in the meantime he
said he would walk about and view the city, and observe the manners of
the people.
Dromio was a pleasant fellow, and when Antipholus was dull and
melancholy he used to divert himself with the odd humors and merry
jests of his slave, so that the freedoms of speech he allowed in
Dromio were greater than is usual between masters and their servants.
When Antipholus of Syracuse had sent Dromio away he stood awhile
thinking over his solitary wanderings in search of his mother and his
brother, of whom in no place where he landed could he hear the least
tidings, and he said sorrowfully to himself, "I am like a drop of
water in the ocean, which seeking to find its fellow drop, loses
itself in the wide sea. So I, unhappily, to find a mother and a
brother, do lose myself."
While he was thus meditating on his weary travels, which had hitherto
been so useless, Dromio (as he thought) returned. Antipholus,
wondering that he came back so soon, asked him where he had left the
money. Now it was not his own Dromio, but the twin brother that lived
with Antipholus of Ephesus, that he spoke to. The two Dromios and the
two Antipholuses were still as much alike as Ægeon had said they were
in their infancy; therefore no wonder Antipholus thought it was his
own slave returned, and asked him why he came back so soon. Dromio
replied, "My mistress sent me to bid you come to dinner. The capon
burns, and the pig falls from the spit, and the meat will be all cold
if you do not come home." "These jests are out of season," said
Antipholus, "where did you leave the money?" Dromio still answering
that his mistress had sent him to fetch Antipholus to dinner, "What
mistress?" said Antipholus. "Why, your worship's wife, sir," replied
Dromio. Antipholus having no wife, he was very angry with Dromio, and
said, "Because I familiarly sometimes chat with you, you presume to
jest with me in this free manner. I am not in a sportive humor now.
Where is the money? we being strangers here, how dare you trust so
great a charge from your own custody?" Dromio hearing his master, as
he thought him, talk of their being strangers, supposed Antipholus was
jesting, and replied merrily, "I pray you, sir, jest as you sit at
dinner: I had no charge but to fetch you home, to dine with my
mistress and her sister." Now Antipholus lost all patience, and beat
Dromio, who ran home, and told his mistress that his master had
refused to come to dinner, and said that he had no wife.
Adriana, the wife of Antipholus of Ephesus, was very angry, when she
heard that her husband said he had no wife; for she was of a jealous
temper, and she said her husband meant that he loved another lady
better than herself; and she began to fret and say unkind words of
jealousy and reproach of her husband; and her sister Luciana, who
lived with her, tried in vain to persuade her out of her groundless
suspicions.
Antipholus of Syracuse went to the inn and found Dromio with the money
in safety there, and seeing his own Dromio, he was going again to
chide him for his free jests, when Adriana came up to him, and not
doubting but it was her husband she saw, she began to reproach him for
looking strange upon her (as well he might, never having seen this
angry lady before); and then she told him how well he loved her before
they were married, and that now he loved some other lady instead of
her. "How comes it now, my husband," said she, "oh, how comes it that
I have lost your love?" "Plead you to me, fair dame?" said the
astonished Antipholus. It was in vain he told her he was not her
husband, and that he had been in Ephesus but two hours; she insisted
on his going home with her, and Antipholus at last being unable to get
away, went with her to his brother's house, and dined with Adriana and
her sister,--the one calling him husband and the other brother; he,
all amazed, thinking he must have been married to her in his sleep, or
that he was sleeping now. And Dromio, who followed them, was no less
surprised, for the cookmaid, who was his brother's wife, also claimed
him for her husband.
While Antipholus of Syracuse was dining with his brother's wife, his
brother, the real husband, returned home to dinner with his slave
Dromio; but the servants would not open the door, because their
mistress had ordered them not to admit any company; and when they
repeatedly knocked, and said they were Antipholus and Dromio, the
maids laughed at them, and said that Antipholus was at dinner with
their mistress, and Dromio was in the kitchen; and though they almost
knocked the door down, they could not gain admittance, and at last
Antipholus went away very angry, and strangely surprised at hearing a
gentleman was dining with his wife.
When Antipholus of Syracuse had finished his dinner, he was so
perplexed at the lady's still persisting in calling him husband, and
at hearing that Dromio had also been claimed by the cookmaid, that he
left the house, as soon as he could find any pretense to get away; for
though he was very much pleased with Luciana, the sister, yet the
jealous-tempered Adriana he disliked very much, nor was Dromio at all
better satisfied with his fair wife in the kitchen: therefore both
master and man were glad to get away from their new wives as fast as
they could.
The moment Antipholus of Syracuse had left the house, he was met by a
goldsmith, who mistaking him, as Adriana had done, for Antipholus of
Ephesus, gave him a gold chain, calling him by his name; and when
Antipholus would have refused the chain, saying it did not belong to
him, the goldsmith replied he made it by his own orders; and went
away, leaving the chain in the hands of Antipholus, who ordered his
man Dromio to get his things on board a ship, not choosing to stay in
a place any longer, where he met with such strange adventures that he
surely thought himself bewitched.
The goldsmith who had given the chain to the wrong Antipholus, was
arrested immediately after for a sum of money he owed; and Antipholus,
the married brother, to whom the goldsmith thought he had given the
chain, happened to come to the place where the officer was arresting
the goldsmith, who, when he saw Antipholus, asked him to pay for the
gold chain he had just delivered to him, the price amounting to nearly
the same sum as that for which he had been arrested. Antipholus
denying having received the chain, and the goldsmith persisting to
declare that he had but a few minutes before given it to him, they
disputed this matter a long time, both thinking they were right: for
Antipholus knew the goldsmith never gave him the chain, and, so like
were the two brothers, the goldsmith was as certain he had delivered
the chain into his hands, till at last the officer took the goldsmith
away to prison for the debt he owed, and at the same time the
goldsmith made the officer arrest Antipholus for the price of the
chain; so that at the conclusion of their dispute, Antipholus and the
merchant were both taken away to prison together.
As Antipholus was going to prison, he met Dromio of Syracuse, his
brother's slave, and mistaking him for his own, he ordered him to go
to Adriana his wife, and tell her to send the money for which he was
arrested. Dromio, wondering that his master should send him back to
the strange house where he dined, and from which he had just before
been in such haste to depart, did not dare to reply, though he came to
tell his master the ship was ready to sail; for he saw Antipholus was
in no humor to be jested with. Therefore he went away, grumbling
within himself, that he must return to Adriana's house, "Where," said
he, "Dowsabel claims me for a husband: but I must go, for servants
must obey their masters' commands."
Adriana gave him the money, and as Dromio was returning, he met
Antipholus of Syracuse, who was still in amaze at the surprising
adventures he met with; for his brother being well known in Ephesus,
there was hardly a man he met in the streets but saluted him as an old
acquaintance: some offered him money which they said was owing to him,
some invited him to come and see them, and others gave him thanks for
kindnesses they said he had done them, all mistaking him for his
brother. A tailor showed him some silks he had bought for him, and
insisted upon taking measure of him for some clothes.