الفصل الفصل 20 · Chapter XX

. Chapter XX

“Thou hadst no fame; that which thou didst like good

Was but thy appetite that swayed thy blood

For that time to the best; for as a blast

That through a house comes, usually doth cast

Things out of order, yet by chance may come

And blow some one thing to his proper room,

So did thy appetite, and not thy zeal,

Sway thee by chance to do some one thing well.”

FLETCHER’S _Faithful Shepherdess_.

“The noble hart that harbours vertuous thought

And is with childe of glorious great intent,

Can never rest, until it forth have brought

Th’ eternall brood of glorie excellent.”

SPENSER, _The Faerie Queene_.

I had not gone very far before I felt that the turf beneath my feet was

soaked with the rising waters. But I reached the isthmus in safety. It

was rocky, and so much higher than the level of the peninsula, that I

had plenty of time to cross. I saw on each side of me the water rising

rapidly, altogether without wind, or violent motion, or broken waves,

but as if a slow strong fire were glowing beneath it. Ascending a steep

acclivity, I found myself at last in an open, rocky country. After

travelling for some hours, as nearly in a straight line as I could, I

arrived at a lonely tower, built on the top of a little hill, which

overlooked the whole neighbouring country. As I approached, I heard the

clang of an anvil; and so rapid were the blows, that I despaired of

making myself heard till a pause in the work should ensue. It was some

minutes before a cessation took place; but when it did, I knocked

loudly, and had not long to wait; for, a moment after, the door was

partly opened by a noble-looking youth, half-undressed, glowing with

heat, and begrimed with the blackness of the forge. In one hand he held

a sword, so lately from the furnace that it yet shone with a dull fire.

As soon as he saw me, he threw the door wide open, and standing aside,

invited me very cordially to enter. I did so; when he shut and bolted

the door most carefully, and then led the way inwards. He brought me

into a rude hall, which seemed to occupy almost the whole of the ground

floor of the little tower, and which I saw was now being used as a

workshop. A huge fire roared on the hearth, beside which was an anvil.

By the anvil stood, in similar undress, and in a waiting attitude,

hammer in hand, a second youth, tall as the former, but far more

slightly built. Reversing the usual course of perception in such

meetings, I thought them, at first sight, very unlike; and at the

second glance, knew that they were brothers. The former, and apparently

the elder, was muscular and dark, with curling hair, and large hazel

eyes, which sometimes grew wondrously soft. The second was slender and

fair, yet with a countenance like an eagle, and an eye which, though

pale blue, shone with an almost fierce expression. He stood erect, as

if looking from a lofty mountain crag, over a vast plain outstretched

below. As soon as we entered the hall, the elder turned to me, and I

saw that a glow of satisfaction shone on both their faces. To my

surprise and great pleasure, he addressed me thus:

“Brother, will you sit by the fire and rest, till we finish this part

of our work?”

I signified my assent; and, resolved to await any disclosure they might

be inclined to make, seated myself in silence near the hearth.

The elder brother then laid the sword in the fire, covered it well

over, and when it had attained a sufficient degree of heat, drew it out

and laid it on the anvil, moving it carefully about, while the younger,

with a succession of quick smart blows, appeared either to be welding

it, or hammering one part of it to a consenting shape with the rest.

Having finished, they laid it carefully in the fire; and, when it was

very hot indeed, plunged it into a vessel full of some liquid, whence a

blue flame sprang upwards, as the glowing steel entered.

There they left it; and drawing two stools to the fire, sat down, one

on each side of me.

“We are very glad to see you, brother. We have been expecting you for

some days,” said the dark-haired youth.

“I am proud to be called your brother,” I rejoined; “and you will not

think I refuse the name, if I desire to know why you honour me with

it?”

“Ah! then he does not know about it,” said the younger. “We thought you

had known of the bond betwixt us, and the work we have to do together.

You must tell him, brother, from the first.”

So the elder began:

“Our father is king of this country. Before we were born, three giant

brothers had appeared in the land. No one knew exactly when, and no one

had the least idea whence they came. They took possession of a ruined

castle that had stood unchanged and unoccupied within the memory of any

of the country people. The vaults of this castle had remained uninjured

by time, and these, I presume, they made use of at first. They were

rarely seen, and never offered the least injury to any one; so that

they were regarded in the neighbourhood as at least perfectly harmless,

if not rather benevolent beings. But it began to be observed, that the

old castle had assumed somehow or other, no one knew when or how, a

somewhat different look from what it used to have. Not only were

several breaches in the lower part of the walls built up, but actually

some of the battlements which yet stood, had been repaired, apparently

to prevent them from falling into worse decay, while the more important

parts were being restored. Of course, every one supposed the giants

must have a hand in the work, but no one ever saw them engaged in it.

The peasants became yet more uneasy, after one, who had concealed

himself, and watched all night, in the neighbourhood of the castle,

reported that he had seen, in full moonlight, the three huge giants

working with might and main, all night long, restoring to their former

position some massive stones, formerly steps of a grand turnpike stair,

a great portion of which had long since fallen, along with part of the

wall of the round tower in which it had been built. This wall they were

completing, foot by foot, along with the stair. But the people said

they had no just pretext for interfering: although the real reason for

letting the giants alone was, that everybody was far too much afraid of

them to interrupt them.

“At length, with the help of a neighbouring quarry, the whole of the

external wall of the castle was finished. And now the country folks

were in greater fear than before. But for several years the giants

remained very peaceful. The reason of this was afterwards supposed to

be the fact, that they were distantly related to several good people in

the country; for, as long as these lived, they remained quiet; but as

soon as they were all dead the real nature of the giants broke out.

Having completed the outside of their castle, they proceeded, by

spoiling the country houses around them, to make a quiet luxurious

provision for their comfort within. Affairs reached such a pass, that

the news of their robberies came to my father’s ears; but he, alas! was

so crippled in his resources, by a war he was carrying on with a

neighbouring prince, that he could only spare a very few men, to

attempt the capture of their stronghold. Upon these the giants issued

in the night, and slew every man of them. And now, grown bolder by

success and impunity, they no longer confined their depredations to

property, but began to seize the persons of their distinguished

neighbours, knights and ladies, and hold them in durance, the misery of

which was heightened by all manner of indignity, until they were

redeemed by their friends, at an exorbitant ransom. Many knights have

adventured their overthrow, but to their own instead; for they have all

been slain, or captured, or forced to make a hasty retreat. To crown

their enormities, if any man now attempts their destruction, they,

immediately upon his defeat, put one or more of their captives to a

shameful death, on a turret in sight of all passers-by; so that they

have been much less molested of late; and we, although we have burned,

for years, to attack these demons and destroy them, dared not, for the

sake of their captives, risk the adventure, before we should have

reached at least our earliest manhood. Now, however, we are preparing

for the attempt; and the grounds of this preparation are these. Having

only the resolution, and not the experience necessary for the

undertaking, we went and consulted a lonely woman of wisdom, who lives

not very far from here, in the direction of the quarter from which you

have come. She received us most kindly, and gave us what seems to us

the best of advice. She first inquired what experience we had had in

arms. We told her we had been well exercised from our boyhood, and for

some years had kept ourselves in constant practice, with a view to this

necessity.

“‘But you have not actually fought for life and death?’ said she.

“We were forced to confess we had not.

“‘So much the better in some respects,’ she replied. ‘Now listen to me.

Go first and work with an armourer, for as long time as you find

needful to obtain a knowledge of his craft; which will not be long,

seeing your hearts will be all in the work. Then go to some lonely

tower, you two alone. Receive no visits from man or woman. There forge

for yourselves every piece of armour that you wish to wear, or to use,

in your coming encounter. And keep up your exercises. As, however, two

of you can be no match for the three giants, I will find you, if I can,

a third brother, who will take on himself the third share of the fight,

and the preparation. Indeed, I have already seen one who will, I think,

be the very man for your fellowship, but it will be some time before he

comes to me. He is wandering now without an aim. I will show him to you

in a glass, and, when he comes, you will know him at once. If he will

share your endeavours, you must teach him all you know, and he will

repay you well, in present song, and in future deeds.’

“She opened the door of a curious old cabinet that stood in the room.

On the inside of this door was an oval convex mirror. Looking in it for

some time, we at length saw reflected the place where we stood, and the

old dame seated in her chair. Our forms were not reflected. But at the

feet of the dame lay a young man, yourself, weeping.

“‘Surely this youth will not serve our ends,’ said I, ‘for he weeps.’

“The old woman smiled. ‘Past tears are present strength,’ said she.

“‘Oh!’ said my brother, ‘I saw you weep once over an eagle you shot.’

“‘That was because it was so like you, brother,’ I replied; ‘but

indeed, this youth may have better cause for tears than that—I was

wrong.’

“‘Wait a while,’ said the woman; ‘if I mistake not, he will make you

weep till your tears are dry for ever. Tears are the only cure for

weeping. And you may have need of the cure, before you go forth to

fight the giants. You must wait for him, in your tower, till he comes.’

“Now if you will join us, we will soon teach you to make your armour;

and we will fight together, and work together, and love each other as

never three loved before. And you will sing to us, will you not?”

“That I will, when I can,” I answered; “but it is only at times that

the power of song comes upon me. For that I must wait; but I have a

feeling that if I work well, song will not be far off to enliven the

labour.”

This was all the compact made: the brothers required nothing more, and

I did not think of giving anything more. I rose, and threw off my upper

garments.

“I know the uses of the sword,” I said. “I am ashamed of my white hands

beside yours so nobly soiled and hard; but that shame will soon be

wiped away.”

“No, no; we will not work to-day. Rest is as needful as toil. Bring the

wine, brother; it is your turn to serve to-day.”

The younger brother soon covered a table with rough viands, but good

wine; and we ate and drank heartily, beside our work. Before the meal

was over, I had learned all their story. Each had something in his

heart which made the conviction, that he would victoriously perish in

the coming conflict, a real sorrow to him. Otherwise they thought they

would have lived enough. The causes of their trouble were respectively

these:

While they wrought with an armourer, in a city famed for workmanship in

steel and silver, the elder had fallen in love with a lady as far

beneath him in real rank, as she was above the station he had as

apprentice to an armourer. Nor did he seek to further his suit by

discovering himself; but there was simply so much manhood about him,

that no one ever thought of rank when in his company. This is what his

brother said about it. The lady could not help loving him in return. He

told her when he left her, that he had a perilous adventure before him,

and that when it was achieved, she would either see him return to claim

her, or hear that he had died with honour. The younger brother’s grief

arose from the fact, that, if they were both slain, his old father, the

king, would be childless. His love for his father was so exceeding,

that to one unable to sympathise with it, it would have appeared

extravagant. Both loved him equally at heart; but the love of the

younger had been more developed, because his thoughts and anxieties had

not been otherwise occupied. When at home, he had been his constant

companion; and, of late, had ministered to the infirmities of his

growing age. The youth was never weary of listening to the tales of his

sire’s youthful adventures; and had not yet in the smallest degree lost

the conviction, that his father was the greatest man in the world. The

grandest triumph possible to his conception was, to return to his

father, laden with the spoils of one of the hated giants. But they both

were in some dread, lest the thought of the loneliness of these two

might occur to them, in the moment when decision was most necessary,

and disturb, in some degree, the self-possession requisite for the

success of their attempt. For, as I have said, they were yet untried in

actual conflict. “Now,” thought I, “I see to what the powers of my gift

must minister.” For my own part, I did not dread death, for I had

nothing to care to live for; but I dreaded the encounter because of the

responsibility connected with it. I resolved however to work hard, and

thus grow cool, and quick, and forceful.

The time passed away in work and song, in talk and ramble, in friendly

fight and brotherly aid. I would not forge for myself armour of heavy

mail like theirs, for I was not so powerful as they, and depended more

for any success I might secure, upon nimbleness of motion, certainty of

eye, and ready response of hand. Therefore I began to make for myself a

shirt of steel plates and rings; which work, while more troublesome,

was better suited to me than the heavier labour. Much assistance did

the brothers give me, even after, by their instructions, I was able to

make some progress alone. Their work was in a moment abandoned, to

render any required aid to mine. As the old woman had promised, I tried

to repay them with song; and many were the tears they both shed over my

ballads and dirges. The songs they liked best to hear were two which I

made for them. They were not half so good as many others I knew,

especially some I had learned from the wise woman in the cottage; but

what comes nearest to our needs we like the best.

I

The king sat on his throne

Glowing in gold and red;

The crown in his right hand shone,

And the gray hairs crowned his head.

His only son walks in,

And in walls of steel he stands:

Make me, O father, strong to win,

With the blessing of holy hands.”

He knelt before his sire,

Who blessed him with feeble smile

His eyes shone out with a kingly fire,

But his old lips quivered the while.

“Go to the fight, my son,

Bring back the giant’s head;

And the crown with which my brows have done,

Shall glitter on thine instead.”

“My father, I seek no crowns,

But unspoken praise from thee;

For thy people’s good, and thy renown,

I will die to set them free.”

The king sat down and waited there,

And rose not, night nor day;

Till a sound of shouting filled the air,

And cries of a sore dismay.

Then like a king he sat once more,

With the crown upon his head;

And up to the throne the people bore

A mighty giant dead.

And up to the throne the people bore

A pale and lifeless boy.

The king rose up like a prophet of yore,

In a lofty, deathlike joy.

He put the crown on the chilly brow:

“Thou should’st have reigned with me

But Death is the king of both, and now

I go to obey with thee.

“Surely some good in me there lay,

To beget the noble one.”

The old man smiled like a winter day,

And fell beside his son.

II

“O lady, thy lover is dead,” they cried;

“He is dead, but hath slain the foe;

He hath left his name to be magnified

In a song of wonder and woe.”

“Alas! I am well repaid,” said she,

“With a pain that stings like joy:

For I feared, from his tenderness to me,

That he was but a feeble boy.

“Now I shall hold my head on high,

The queen among my kind;

If ye hear a sound, ‘tis only a sigh

For a glory left behind.”

The first three times I sang these songs they both wept passionately.

But after the third time, they wept no more. Their eyes shone, and

their faces grew pale, but they never wept at any of my songs again.