THE MAGIC RING.
OLIVER & BOYD, PRINTERS.
THE
MAGIC RING;
A ROMANCE,
FROM THE GERMAN OF
FREDERICK, BARON DE LA MOTTE FOUQUÉ
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
EDINBURGH;
PUBLISHED BY
OLIVER & BOYD, TWEEDDALE-COURT;
AND GEO. B. WHITTAKER, LONDON.
1825.
THE
MAGIC RING.
VOL. III.
CHAPTER I.
How the Moor Alhafiz came for the Lady Bertha.
It was late in the evening, at the castle of the Lady Gabrielle in
Gascony, when Bertha von Lichtenried sat, studiously, with a large book
open on a reading-desk before her. The book contained the history of
pious saints and canonized martyrs; and she could devote her attention
thereto the more uninterruptedly, as, with the exception of a few
servants, she was now left quite alone in the castle, having through
many days looked in vain for the return of Sir Folko and the two
damsels. It seemed as if departing summer had taken her last farewell;
and this farewell was uttered in fearful claps of thunder, while the
ocean mirrored on its vasty depths the frequent bursts of lightning.
A heavy shower also beat upon the garden-terrace, and meanwhile the
warder failed not to ring with great perseverance the consecrated
bell, whose notes were to protect the castle from all injury. He was
answered, too, by the church-bells of all the neighbouring towns and
villages, so that it seemed as if the reverberations from the clouds
had been met and changed on earth into pious and pleasant harmony.
Threefold, therefore, was the piety of the Lady Bertha strengthened
and increased; first, by the thunder’s mighty voice above; then by the
musical notes of the church-bells; lastly, by the pious legends which
she then read in her favourite volumes.
So it happened at this time that there came into her chamber an old
Moorish woman, a servant at the castle, with an uncouth and swarth
visage, for she was a native of Africa, though now converted to the
Christian faith, and accustomed to the manners of life in Europe. By
her dress and conduct one would have thought that she was an ordinary
Suabian peasant, had it not been, that her dark complexion and strange
features betrayed her eastern origin.
“What news bring’st thou, Zulma?” said the lady. To which the old
Moor answered, “Nothing, forsooth, but an earnest entreaty which I
must especially address to the Lady Bertha von Lichtenried. On the
plain here, not far from the castle, there is a strange man, a Moorish
soldier, who lies mortally wounded. I know not if he has been attacked
by banditti, or overthrown in single combat. He wishes to obtain a
blessing ere he dies, according to the forms of the Catholic church;
but this he will not receive from any one but you; for the Lady Bertha
of Lichtenried has been renowned and praised, far and near, ever since
that evening, when, by clinging to the cross, and waving her hand, she
was able to repulse and drive away a bold-hearted and wicked comrade of
the Prince Mutza. It is not far from that old cross that I found the
wounded Moor, as I returned home from the sheepfold.”
“Call the chaplain then, that he may go with me,” said Bertha, hastily
searching for her veil and mantle; “order some squires also to attend
on us, and to render assistance to the poor man.”
“The chaplain,” answered Zulma, “is already gone to bed, and the
squires are snoring in the stables. Before we could rouse them,
and they were ready to go with us, the unfortunate Moor would have
breathed his last. What if he should thus depart without consolation,
and without the blessings of our holy religion, after which he so
earnestly longs?--But you, noble lady, must know the consequences far
better than I can describe them.”
“How comes it, Zulma,” said the Lady of Lichtenried, “that you
know so well how to bestow just reproaches on my slowness and
over-caution?--Doubtless what you have said is just and true. When we
are called on to fulfil our duties to God, we must not tarry nor look
round for assistance and protection. Let us then go forth straightway
to the wounded man. Good Heaven!--how much have the monks and nuns
achieved, of whose lives I was just now reading the pleasant history!
and should I then doubt whether I might go forth alone to the cross on
the sea-shore?--Let us hasten, good Zulma; for the poor dying man must
long grievously for our coming.”
Having thrown about her a large mantle, as a defence against the rain,
she stepped hastily with the Moorish servant down stairs to a private
portal, and taking a lamp from the wall to guide them on their way,
they walked boldly forth amid the tempest.
Zulma knew the road towards the cross better than the Lady of
Lichtenried had expected from such a new convert. She stepped so
hastily through the darkness, that Bertha was scarcely able to keep
pace with her, admiring all the while the zeal that she displayed
for the soul’s weal of the unfortunate Moor. Over hills covered with
brush-wood, and through pathless valleys, they pursued their way; and
when Bertha inquired why they had come through such lonely places,
the answer was,--“Because that was the straightest road. And this you
may trust to a native African; for among our sandy deserts, where a
well-beaten track may in a moment be effaced by a gust of wind, we
learn to find our way by other means.”--So indeed it happened, that
as often as a gleam of lightning revealed a rocky cliff, a cottage,
or a large tree, Zulma seemed to move on with new confidence; but ere
long Bertha perceived that she had more certain means of guiding her
course through the darkness. She began at intervals to utter a hateful
shrilling sound, like the blending of a whistle and a scream, and she
was answered by a voice like her own, that seemed to determine her
progress. At this Bertha many times started; and Zulma, observing her
fears, said,--“Truly such notes are unpleasant; but, nevertheless, they
serve to guide us on our way to the suffering man. It is well that he
has learned this Moorish art of making signals, although he belongs not
to our tribe of black-visaged Africans, but is rather a comely young
Arabian.”
As she thus spoke, a sudden flash of lightning broke forth over the
cross, to which they were now drawing very near; and at the same moment
they could perceive a man in a Moorish dress, who was endeavouring to
raise himself from the ground, by leaning on its rocky pedestal. Bertha
immediately hastened up to him.--“Thank Heaven!” cried she, “that we
find you still alive. I am Bertha von Lichtenried, whom you have so
earnestly desired to see, and I come to offer you the consolations of
our holy church.”
But what was her surprise, when the man (who, as she believed, had
been mortally wounded), suddenly leaped up, clasped her wildly in his
arms, and, while the same shrilling signals which she had before heard
from a distance now vibrated in her ears, all the desolate thickets of
the forest seemed at once to start into life, and a troop of Moorish
warriors formed themselves into a circle round the cross. Meanwhile
Zulma laughed aloud.--“Have we caught thee at last,” cried she, “thou
rarest and shyest of birds?--Methinks thou wilt not again escape from
us!”--The Lady Bertha, however, with a vehemence and strength which
the Moor little expected, forced herself out of his embrace, and fled,
as she had before done (when Gabrielle and Blanchefleur were carried
away), to the cross, climbing up the high rocky pedestal on which it
was placed, and clinging to the pillar of this holy emblem. It was
indeed moving and wonderful, to behold how that innocent damsel stood
there on high, with the light of the lamp on her graceful form, and
contrasting in her beauty like a visitant from heaven with the crowd
of hateful figures that now moved around her. Zulma, meanwhile, had
folded her veil into the shape of a turban round her swarthy visage,
and said,--“Now I am again like myself. Did you indeed believe, lady,
that I was contented with the life that I have dragged on here among
the Christians?--You must now go with us to Carthagena, and will there
learn more of this world’s happiness, than in your whole simple life
till now you could even have dreamed.”
With contempt and disgust Bertha turned from her, and in a firm voice
addressed herself to the Moorish chief, calling on him to remember
his own honour as a knight and soldier, and not to debase himself by
joining with a mean and lying slave, in order to force from her home
a virtuous damsel of noble birth. The reckless libertine, however,
answered her with scornful laughter, and then said,--“For this time
your old stratagems, your saintly gestures, and severe looks, may not
avail; for now, lady, you have no sighing lover before you (like my
countryman, who was so easily repulsed), but the wise Alhafiz, who is
here to fulfil the commands of Nurreddin, the grand emir, and will
without fail bear you to his master’s arms in Carthagena.”
“Let no one approach me who values his own life!” exclaimed Bertha; “I
know not indeed whence I obtain this knowledge, but feel that I but
speak the truth, as it happened before, when I warned the companion
of Prince Mutza. Whoever dares to tear me from the cross, will for
that crime forfeit his own life; therefore beware!”--Alhafiz laughed,
and stepped boldly towards her; but, at that moment, behold! a broad
flash of lightning illuminated all the southern sky, and a clap of
thunder broke, as it seemed, right over his head. Hereupon the Moor
and his rabble route (the vile Zulma among the rest) were dazzled and
confounded, so that they all sank kneeling on the ground.--“The voice
of God has now spoken against you,” said Bertha; “and this warning
is indeed the last favour that you will receive from Heaven, should
you not give up your wicked designs. Be wise then, and return to your
ships.”--At these words it seemed as if the multitude of swarthy Moors
seemed inclined to disperse; even Alhafiz himself had become silent
and irresolute,--turning away from the disdainful glances which the
damsel threw upon him. Suddenly, however, the hateful Zulma started
up, and called aloud,--“Hast thou forgotten, Alhafiz, the promised
third of all Nurreddin’s treasures?--That must not be lost to thee, nor
shall I forfeit the eighth share, which by contract was to have been
mine!”--Then, with tiger-like swiftness and rage, she flew up to the
rocky pedestal, forced the light out of Bertha’s hand, and screamed
aloud,--“Thus, you will be dazzled no longer by the sight of this
deceitful enchantress. Take her, then, and bear her from hence!”--In
the same moment, Alhafiz had come up, and, without farther hesitation,
clasped the unfortunate damsel in his arms, and bore her rapidly
towards the bay, where his bark was in waiting, his attendants all the
while shouting and rejoicing as if for a great victory. Thereafter the
skies became wholly dark; no gleams of lightning broke forth on the
horizon; they arrived on the shore, and embarked amid this gloom, and,
under the same mournful influence, sailed out into the wide desolate
sea.