There once lived, years ago, a man known only by the name of the Arch
Rogue. By dint of skill in the black art, and all arts of imposition,
he drove a more flourishing trade than all the rest of the sorcerers
of the age. It was his delight to travel from one country to another
merely to play upon mankind, and no living soul was secure, either in
house or field, nor could properly call them his own.
Now his great reputation for these speedy methods of possessing
himself of others' property excited the envy of a certain king of a
certain country, who considered them as no less than an invasion of
his royal prerogative. He could not sleep a wink for thinking about
it, and he despatched troops of soldiers, one after another, with
strict orders to arrest him, but all their search was in vain. At
length, after long meditation, the king said to himself--
"Only wait a little, thou villain cutpurse, and yet I will have thee."
Forthwith he issued a manifesto, stating that the royal mercy would
be extended to so light-fingered a genius, upon condition that he
consented to appear at court and give specimens of his dexterity for
his majesty's amusement.
One afternoon, as the king was standing at his palace window enjoying
the fine prospect of woods and dales, over which a tempest appeared to
be then just gathering, some one suddenly clapped him upon the
shoulder, and on looking round he discovered a very tall, stout,
dark-whiskered man close behind him, who said--
"Here I am."
"Who are you?" inquired the king.
"He whom you look for."
The king uttered an exclamation of surprise, not unmixed with fear, at
such amazing assurance. The stranger continued, "Don't be alarmed.
Only keep your word with me, and I will prove myself quite obedient to
your orders."
This being agreed on, the king acquainted his royal consort and the
whole court that the great sleight-of-hand genius had discovered
himself, and soon, in a full assembly, his majesty proceeded to
question him, and lay on him his commands.
"Mark what I say," he said, "nor venture to dispute my orders. To
begin, do you see yon rustic, not far from the wood, busy ploughing?"
The conjurer nodded assent.
"Then go," continued the king,--"go and rob him of his plough and
oxen without his knowing anything about it."
The king flattered himself that this was impossible, for he did not
conceive how the conjurer could perform such a task in the face of
open day,--and if he fail, thought he, I have him in my power, and
will make him smart.
The conjurer proceeded to the spot, and as the storm appeared to
increase, the rain beginning to pour down in torrents, the countryman,
letting his oxen rest, ran under a tree for shelter, until the rain
should have ceased. Just then he heard some one singing in the wood.
Such a glorious song he had never heard before in all his life. He
felt wonderfully enlivened, and, as the weather continued dull, he
said to himself--
"Well, there's no harm in taking a look. Yes; I'll see what sport is
stirring," and away he slipped into the wood, still further and
further, in search of the songster.
In the meanwhile the conjurer was not idle. He changed places with the
rustic, taking care of the oxen while their master went searching
through the wood. Darting out of the thicket, in a few moments he had
slashed off the oxen's horns and tails, and stuck them, half hid, in
the ploughman's last furrow. He then drove off the beasts pretty
sharply towards the palace. In a short time the rustic found his way
back, and looking towards the spot for his oxen could see nothing of
them. Searching on all sides, he came at last to examine the furrow,
and beheld, to his horror, the horns and tails of his poor beasts
sticking out of the ground. Imagining that a thunderbolt must have
struck the beasts, and the earth swallowed them up, he poured forth a
most dismal lamentation over his lot, roaring aloud until the woods
echoed to the sound. When he was tired of this, he bethought him of
running home to find a pick and a spade to dig his unlucky oxen out of
the earth as soon as possible.
As he went he was met by the king and the conjurer, who inquired the
occasion of his piteous lamentation.
"My oxen! my poor oxen!" cried the boor, and then he related all that
had happened to him, entreating them to go with him to the place. The
conjurer said--
"Why don't you see if you cannot pull the oxen out again by the horns
or by the tail?"
With this the rustic, running back, seized one of the tails, and,
pulling with all his might, it gave way and he fell backward.
"Thou hast pulled thy beast's tail off," said the conjurer. "Try if
thou canst succeed better with his horns. If not, thou must even dig
them out."
Again the rustic tried with the same result, while the king laughed
very heartily at the sight. As the worthy man now appeared excessively
troubled at his misfortunes, the king promised him another pair of
oxen, and the rustic was content.
"You have made good your boast," said the king to the conjurer, as
they returned to the palace; "but now you will have to deal with a
more difficult matter, so muster your wit and courage. To-night you
must steal my favourite charger out of his stable, and let nobody know
who does it."
Now, thought the king, I have trapped him at last, for he will never
be able to outwit my master of the horse, and all my grooms to boot.
To make the matter sure, he ordered a strong guard under one of his
most careful officers to be placed round the stable court. They were
armed with stout battle-axes, and were enjoined every half-hour to
give the word, and pace alternately through the court. In the royal
stables others had the like duty to perform, while the master of the
horse himself was to ride the favourite steed the whole time, having
been presented by the king with a gold snuff-box, from which he was to
take ample pinches in order to keep himself awake, and give signal by
a loud sneeze. He was also armed with a heavy sword, with which he was
to knock the thief on the head if he approached.
The rogue first arrayed himself in the master of the bedchamber's
clothes, without his leave. About midnight he proceeded to join the
guards, furnished with different kinds of wine, and told them that the
king had sent him to thank them for so cheerfully complying with his
orders. He also informed them that the impostor had been already
caught and secured, and added that the king had given permission for
the guards to have a glass or two, and requested that they would not
give the word quite so loudly, as her majesty had not been able to
close her eyes. He then marched into the stables, where he found the
master of the horse astride the royal charger, busily taking snuff and
sneezing at intervals. The master of the bedchamber poured him out a
sparkling glass to drink to the health of his majesty, who had sent
it, and it looked too excellent to resist. Both master and guards then
began to jest over the Arch Rogue's fate, taking, like good subjects,
repeated draughts--all to his majesty's health. At length they began
to experience their effects. They gaped and stretched, sank gradually
upon the ground, and fell asleep. The master, by dint of fresh
pinches, was the last to yield, but he too blinked, stopped the horse,
which he had kept at a walk, and said--
"I am so confoundedly sleepy I can hold it no longer. Take you care of
the charger for a moment. Bind him fast to the stall--and just keep
watch."
Having uttered these words, he fell like a heavy sack upon the floor
and snored aloud. The conjurer took his place upon the horse, gave it
whip and spur, and galloped away through the sleeping guards, through
the court gates, and whistled as he went.
Early in the morning the king, eager to learn the result, hastened to
his royal mews, and was not a little surprised to find the whole of
his guards fast asleep upon the ground, but he saw nothing of his
charger.
"What is to do here?" he cried in a loud voice. "Get up; rouse, you
idle varlets!"