After Britomart had seen the figure of Sir Artegall in the magic mirror,
a strange thing happened. She grew pale and ill, and lost all her merry
spirits, and she no longer cared to do any of the things in which she
had formerly delighted. At night, instead of sleeping, she tossed about,
and sighed and wept; or if she did close her eyes for a few minutes, it
was only to dream of dreadful things, and to start awake again suddenly,
with cries of terror.
Her old nurse, Glaucé, was much distressed to see such a sad change in
her dear young mistress, and one night when Britomart had been more
restless than usual, she begged her to say what was troubling her, and
if she were secretly fretting over anything.
Then Britomart told Glaucé of the splendid Knight she had seen in the
magic mirror, and how she longed to see him again. If it were some
living person, there might have been some hope for her, but now there
was none, for it was only the shade or semblance of a knight. So grand
and noble was the appearance of Artegall that Britomart’s heart ached
with sorrow to think she should never see him in real life.
Glaucé tried to comfort her, and spoke cheerfully, but at first
Britomart would not be consoled, for she did not see how things could
ever be better for her. It was very foolish of her, she owned, to love
only a shadow, but she knew the remembrance of Sir Artegall would never
fade as long as life lasted, and she felt that death only could put an
end to her grief.
“Well,” said the faithful old nurse, “if it is a choice between death
and seeing him again, I swear to you by right or wrong to discover that
Knight.”
Her cheerful words quite soothed Britomart’s sad heart, and she lay down
again in bed, and actually got a little sleep; as for Glaucé, she turned
the lamp low, and sat by the bedside to watch and weep over her dear
young lady.
After that, Glaucé tried every way she could think of to cure
Britomart’s grief; but neither medicine, nor charms, nor good advice did
her any good, and the nurse began to fear the King would be very angry
with her when he heard what had happened to his dear daughter.
At last she thought that he who made the mirror in which Britomart had
seen the strange vision of the Knight, would surely be able to tell
where the real man could be found. Disguising themselves, therefore, in
poor clothes, so that no one would know who they were, she and Britomart
took their way to the place where the great magician, Merlin, had his
dwelling, low underneath the ground, in a deep dell, far from the light
of day. It was a hideous, hollow cave, under a rock that lay near a
swift river foaming down the woody hills.
Arrived here, Glaucé and Britomart at first loitered about outside,
afraid to go into the cave, and beginning to doubt whether they had done
well to come. The brave maiden, with love to befriend her, was the first
to enter, and there she found the magician deep in some work of wonder,
busily writing strange characters on the ground.
Merlin was not in the least surprised at their bold visit, for he knew
quite well beforehand of their coming; but he bade them unfold their
business,—as though anything in the world were hidden from him!
Then Glaucé told him that for the last three months some strange malady
had taken hold of the young maiden; what it was, or whence it sprang,
she knew not, but this she knew, that if a remedy were not found, she
would soon see her dead. Merlin began to smile softly at Glaucé’s smooth
speeches, for he knew quite well she was not telling him the whole
truth, and he said, “By what you say, your young lady has more need of a
doctor than of my skill. He who can get help elsewhere, seeks in vain
wonders from magic.”
Glaucé was rather taken aback at hearing these words, and yet she was
unwilling to let her purpose appear plainly.
“If any doctor’s skill could have cured my dear daughter,” she said, “I
should certainly not have wished to trouble you; but this sad illness
which has seized her is far beyond natural causes.”
[Illustration:
“=Deepe busied ’bout worke of wondrous end,
And writing straunge characters in the grownd.=”
]
The wizard could stand no more of this, but burst out laughing, and
said, “Glaucé, what need is there for these excuses to cover the cause
which has already betrayed itself? And you, fair Britomart, although
dressed in these poor clothes, are no more hidden than the sun in a veil
of clouds. You have done well to come to me for help, for I can give it
you.”
Britomart was quite abashed at finding herself discovered, and grew very
red; but the old nurse was not in the least discomfited.
“Since you know all our grief—for what is there that you do not
know?”—she said to Merlin, “I pray you to pity our trouble, and grant us
relief.”
Merlin reflected for a few minutes; then he spoke to Britomart, and told
her many things that would happen in the future. He bade her not to be
in the least troubled, for all would end well, and it was no misfortune
for her to love the most powerful knight that had ever lived.
The man whom she had seen in the magic mirror was Sir Artegall, the
champion Knight of _Justice_, and he dwelt in the land of the Faerie
Queene. He was a mighty warrior, and would fight many battles for his
native country, in which Britomart would aid him. He would win again for
himself the crown that was his father’s by right, and he would reign
with great happiness. His son would succeed him, and after him would
come a long race of kings.
When Britomart and her old nurse, Glaucé, had heard all they wanted to
know, they both felt very glad and hopeful, and they returned home with
much lighter hearts than they had set out.