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.

CHAPTER II.

How Blanchefleur and Gabrielle were rescued from their captivity.

Before the adventure which we have now related had come to pass, many strange occurrences had happened in Carthagena. On the evening of that day when Sir Folko de Montfaucon had been carried as a dead man into the royal cemetery, behold! there came some one late in the night, disguised in such manner that the sentinels could not distinguish his features; but they heard him strike three times as with an iron-glove, or somewhat else that rung and rattled in his hand, against the iron trellis-work by which the vault was secured. On hearing that sound, they thought of rushing from their posts, and demanding of the stranger what was his purpose there at such an hour; but in the same moment weariness and sleep fell heavily upon them, so that, one by one, they dropped down powerless, and as if fainting and insensible, on the ground.

Meanwhile the disguised man continued to ring and rattle against the iron-bars, till at length there was a strange noise of heaving and struggling within the vault, as if the dead were starting into life. This was indeed Sir Folko de Montfaucon, who now raised himself from amid the bloody clothes in which he had been wrapt, and said in a strange hoarse voice, “Good Heaven, how cold and dark is this bed!” Then, after a pause of recollection, he began again, “Or if I am really among the dead, how comes it that I yet feel such burning and feverish pain? And wherefore am I not relieved from this earthly prison, and floating through the wide realms of the blue sky?” “Sir knight,” said the disguised man without, “you are indeed alive, only you are not yet recovered from your fever and your wounds. Only be of good courage, and beware of falling into dreams. I shall be with you anon, and will make you sound and well.” Thereafter, as the strange man continued to beat upon the iron-bars, the Chevalier de Montfaucon felt his senses more and

more bewildered, and saw the strangest phantoms floating around him. He felt indeed as one who struggles with sleep and frightful visions, and could have fallen once more into death-like slumbers, had not the mysterious stranger ever and anon repeated in a loud voice the same words,—“Beware of dreams, Knight of Montfaucon! Beware of dreams!”

At last the iron-wickets no longer resisted; slowly and solemnly they rolled asunder, and the disguised man stept into the house of death. “My wounds are become cold,” said the chevalier, shivering with fever, “and yet are very painful” “Ere long you shall be better,” said the stranger, who thereupon drawing forth a light that he had in a dark-lantern under his cloak, began to examine the wounds, and poured into them a healing balsam from a vial that he had brought with him. Moreover, he gently touched and rubbed them with a glittering gem in the fashion of a ring; and while the Knight of Montfaucon felt his pains appeased as by the resistless spells of enchantment, and new strength poured through every limb, he recognised the ring to be the long-contested property of Gabrielle; and in his kind physician beheld the merchant, Theobaldo.

“Now, you perceive,” said the latter, “how much more fitting it was that the ring should be in my hands than in those of the lady. You looked on it as indifferently as if it were but a part of your apparel as a knight, even like a brooch for your helmet-plume, or a bright jewel on your sword-hilt; while Gabrielle only dallied therewith as young damsels are wont to do with glittering toys. There was need of a wise merchant like Theobaldo, to find out the hidden virtues of the ring, in order that he might therewith assist both ladies and knights in the hour of distress. Are you now then sufficiently awake and refreshed? Then come with me to the palace of the grand emir. He has taken under his protection the two beautiful damsels; but, forsooth, he will not long have that trouble on his shoulders, for they shall go hence with us. Don Hernandez is on the watch with his ships in the harbour, and a boat is in waiting to take us on board.” Up started the chevalier, shaking off the last remains of his weakness and weariness, and seized boldly on his crooked Persian sword.

Perceiving how it was stained with blood, he sighed and said to the merchant, “Is Vinciguerra then still alive?” “Ay,” said Theobaldo, “he also has been healed through my assistance. He has fallen into such bad humour, however, at his own evil fortune in that encounter, that he has already gone down alone to the sea-shore, and will not, unless by compulsion, permit himself to be looked upon by you, nor by the ladies.” Thereupon the merchant laughed heartily, and holding up the lantern to his own face, cut some hideous grimaces, in mockery of the proud Count de Vinciguerra, thinking therewith to entertain the chevalier. “Remember, thou strange man,” said Sir Folko, “that we stand here among the dead. But for Mutza, that perjured and lying robber, has he too been called to life again by your art?” “Heaven forbid,” said Theobaldo, “that I should be guilty of such wickedness and folly. Besides, had it been my wish to have done so, that would have been more than the ring would have placed within my power. The blow of your battle-axe has struck him too

deeply and effectually. He also has been carried off in his turn, and doubtless by assailants yet fiercer and blacker than his own Moors.” “Nay, do not judge him, he is in the hands of God,” said Sir Folko, stepping solemnly out of the vault; “and lead me quickly from hence, that we may secure Gabrielle and Blanchefleur.” So Theobaldo walked away with the chevalier, shaking his head after a strange fashion, as if in disapprobation and scorn of what had been said, and yet not venturing any more to clothe his thoughts in audible words.

In a dim and solitary valley, not far from the town, lay the palace of the powerful emir Nurreddin. As they approached near the gates, they heard within the court a growling and roaring of some wild beast, whose thundering voice was such as in all their lives they had never known before. “The voice,” said Theobaldo, “is that of a monstrous tiger brought hither from Asia. The emir is pleased to lead about this wild beast with him wherever he goes, and by night he is always chained as a guard on the threshold.” Hearing these words, the Knight of Montfaucon straightway drew his Persian sabre, swung it several times over his head, so that it whistled in the wind, and then began to feel the edge with his fingers, to prove whether it were yet sharp enough for the encounter which he now meditated. “Nay,” said Theobaldo, “methinks you will not use that weapon against the tiger. Keep it rather for some other assailant, for chances may fall out against us of which we know not yet; although methinks we need not doubt of success in the end.” At the same time he drew

from his girdle an arrow with a glittering metal point, and began to beat thereon with the ring; whereupon there arose gentle and melodious sounds, that gradually increased both in strength and sweetness, till it seemed as if the whole air was filled with music that floated far and wide, and then died away in remote echoes. After Theobaldo had several times repeated the same notes, the growling of the tiger became interrupted and less fierce, till at length he was altogether silent. “The monster sleeps,” said Theobaldo; “however I must continue the same music, both that he may not awake, and that I may close the eyes of other watchers in the castle. Should it happen, however, that you also should feel slumber stealing upon you, make but the sign of the cross on your forehead, and the charm then will lose its strength.” Sir Folko, who in truth had become drowsy, did as the merchant commanded; and both went on towards the lofty castle.

The tiger had stretched himself out at its whole length across the threshold of the outward portal; so that, when the door opened behind him on being touched with the ring, the two warriors were obliged to pass over him. Thereupon a gleam of the lamp which Theobaldo carried fell on the wild grinning visage of the beast; he looked like some frightful giant, whom they had slain, and who lay beneath their feet in the battle-field. In all haste they fled from such a horrid sight.