NARENOR. — A TALE.

First published in the Knight’s Quarterly Magazine, April to August, 1824

Some are so curious in this behalf, as those old Romans, our modern Venetian, Dutch, or French; that if two parties dearly love, the one noble, the ether ignoble, they may not by their laws match, though equal otherwise in years, fortunes, and education, and all good affection. In Germany, except they can prove their gentility by three descents, they scorn to match with them. À noble man must marry a noble woman, a baron a baron’s daughter, ft knight a knight’s, a gentleman a gentleman’s; as slaters sort their slate, so do they degrees, and family. — BURTON’S Anatomie of Melancholy, p. 349. Folio edition.

 

IN the days of fairies and necromancers, (happy days! there is nothing like them now!) lived a peasant of the name of Narenor, who dwelt in a lonely hut in the wildest part of a wild forest in Germany. How he got there I cannot tell you; his father and mother had been dead time out of mind, and not one relation had he that he knew of in the whole world. But what was worst of all, he was of an Ugliness to inspire terror in all who saw him. No wonder that he had the forest all to himself, for woe to the unhappy wight who should see his ghastly visage peering out from the tangled branches there. He was sure to dream of goblins for several nights after; yet the savage of the Schelwer Forest, (for so he was called,) was of a very refined nature, and wished for nothing so much as to love, and to be loved again. I am afraid that he did not take proper measures to overcome the repugnance which his appearance caused in the female breast, and that his manners rather aided than softened the natural deformity of his person. At any rate, he had not the patience requisite for making himself agreeable, so he grew misanthropic, and wrapt himself up in a sort of proud despair, and in a wolf-skin, which did not at all improve his looks. But having mind, which would be fed somehow or other, and which could not be satisfied with the offals of every-day life, he turned his thoughts to studies of an uncommon nature for a peasant, especially to magic and alchymy. The hut in which he lived had been before tenanted by a hermit of rather questionable piety, who, indeed, might have been Dr. Faustus himself for any thing I know. Narenor had found him at the last extremity, and had received his dying injunction to bury his books and crucibles with him; but the hermit died before Narenor had made any promise to that effect, though I am not sure whether even a promise would have overcome his restless curiosity to read the prohibited volumes. Many choice secrets he found therein; but what he most eagerly, and hitherto in vain, sought for, was some beautifying elixir that might give him a little more resemblance to the human form, and afford him some chance of meeting with a fair partner of his (at present) joyless, solitary existence. One night, after he had combined some very powerful ingredients, and dissolved them in a crucible, as he was anxiously waiting for the result of his experiment, a thick vapour arose from the vessel, and gradually condensing, took the form of the old inhabitant of the cottage. Narenor, while he thrilled with fear at the presence of a disembodied being, was yet full of hope that his wishes were near their accomplishment. He was not disappointed; the hermit held forth in his fleshless hand a vial full of a bright sparkling liquid, and thus addressed Narenor—” Rash, daring mortal; thou wouldst not obey my last command to destroy the records of an art, which never made me happy. I spoke in pity to thyself, but thy folly requires a sterner lesson. The wish of thy heart is granted thee. I come from the place of the dead to bestow on thee the Elixir of Beauty. Take it, but remember, that if ever thou give way to anger, thy person shall resume its natural unsightliness, until a fresh application of the elixir restore the comeliness which thou dost so immoderately covet.” Having thus spoken, the old man gave the precious vial to Narenor, (who seized it with transport,) and then melted from his view, the folds of his dark garment blending with the smoke from the crucible, and the features fading into vapour, like the fantastic forms seen in autumn’s evening cloud. “Is it a dream?” said Narenor: but the vial still remained in his hand, and he hastened to prove the reality of what had passed, by an application of its contents. He placed himself before a large mirror of burnished steel, which he had often used for magical purposes, and touched his face with the liquid. Instantly the little red sunken eyes, that moved in different orbits, expanded into a large dark pair of hazel, which could look the same way very amicably; the nose, if nose it could be called, that seemed to consist of nothing but a bunch of various coloured tubercles, subsided into a most legitimate Grecian; the negro lips, which failing to hit the centre, appeared to have a particular attraction towards the left ear, shrunk into a mouth which Phidias might have been proud to copy. Nor did the elixir prove less efficacious in embellishing the whole person of the happy Narenor. He stood a model of manly grace and beauty. After the first rapture of surprise and admiration was over, he determined to wander forth in quest of adventures, and a ladye-love. Accordingly, early on the following morning, he locked the door of his hut, and taking with him nothing but a few books, a small stock of provision, and a change of raiment, left the cottage in quiet possession to the ghost of its late master. We will not say how often he looked at his taper leg, or made a mirror of the running brook, to take an exact inventory of his newly-acquired beauties; we pass on to more important matters. Just as twilight began to deepen the shades of the forest, shrieks as of a female in distress reached his ear. He made his way cautiously, but rapidly, to the spot whence the sound issued, and, screening himself behind the brushwood, beheld a band of robbers surrounding a coach, and in the act of dragging from it a lady richly apparelled. She resisted with all her feeble strength, and shrieked for help, but her cries grew every moment fainter.

“It were madness to attempt to rescue her by my single arm,” thought Narenor; but taking advantage of his place of ambush, and the obscurity of evening, he called aloud in threatening terms, changing the tone of his voice as often, and as much as he could, and running from side to side, so as to deceive the robbers into a belief that a considerable band was approaching to the lady’s rescue. The echoes were extremely kind on the occasion, and gave all the assistance in their power, doubling and redoubling the single voice of Narenor into an alarming multitude of sounds. Perhaps also the fairies might have something to do with it; but, however this was, the robbers were certainly seized with a panic, and fled, leaving the poor lady very uncourteously stretched on the ground in a swoon. Narenor hastened to raise her. The terror which closed her eyes did not prevent her extreme beauty from being apparent at the first glance. Perhaps the disorder of her fine dark hair, contrasted with the marble whiteness of her complexion, heightened the effect of her charms. At any rate, Narenor thought so, and already, while holding in his arms the fainting beauty, he drank deep draughts of love, or vanity. The lady at length recovered to a sense of her situation, and was profuse of acknowledgments to her youthful deliverer, whom her two maids, Marion and Christine, pointed out as such by their voluble and rapturous expressions of gratitude. They were not of sufficient rank to be entitled to faint away; but, as all attendant damsels ought, they went into very becoming hysterics, and clung round Narenor’s neck, half crying, half laughing, and kissing him, but of course they did not know what they were about. Their mistress chid them very properly into a more decorous composure, and withdrew herself in rather a stately manner from the supporting arm of Narenor, saying—” The Countess of Ermengarde will be most happy to receive her deliverer within the walls of her own castle, until she can reward him, not according to the extent of his services, nor of her gratitude, but as far as lies in her poor power — a speech which Narenor interpreted in the most flattering manner, and intoxicated with hope and self-applause, he took the offered seat in the countess’s superb carriage.

Tramp, tramp, across the land they ride,

 

“Splash, splash across—”

 

 not the sea, but whatever splashy places they chanced to meet with, until they arrived at a magnificent castle, with every appendage of ancient and feudal splendour. The retainers of the Countess thronged around her preserver with grateful acclamations, and amidst universal applause Narenor was conducted to a gorgeous apartment, where lordly apparel was provided for him, and every luxury that could delight his proud heart. He seemed now to have nearly reached the summit of his wishes. A young and beautiful female, interested in his fate, and loading him with favours — it was but one more step — alas, how often is that one more step, one step too far! Day succeeded day, and Narenor was still immersed in a succession of pleasures, almost too bright for reality, and yet much too vivid for a dream. There were tournaments, and feasts, and dances in the lofty hall, in joy of the Countess’s happy escape from her late peril, and of course he who rescued her from that peril was in the very central group of the pageantry. What heart could withstand it? His name was harped with hers by the minstrel at the banquet — her hand crowned him with flowers, amid the gay assembly — her hand had clasped around his neck a gold chain worth a dukedom — and had not her eye told tales? So Narenor thought. He trembled — he doubted — he almost quite believed. He now only sought for a favourable opportunity to declare his passion. Love had levelled all distinctions in his eyes. Would it not in hers? It was a lovely evening, when he was fortunate enough to meet with the Countess alone, in a bower of roses, and myrtles, leaning on her harp in pensive meditation, and occasionally touching the strings with half-unconscious fingers. He fell at her feet. He ventured to interpret in his favour the soft abstraction in which he had found her. He urged his love with all a lover’s ardour. She was silent. He grew more eloquent, when just as he thought that her unclosing lips would bless him with the confession of a mutual passion, her words found their way in accents of scorn and indignation. “Wretch,” she exclaimed, (while any thing but Love’s tender fires darted from her eyes,) “can you have the boldness, the arrogance, the presumption, to talk to me of love? Was it not sufficient honour to rescue a Countess of the house of Ermengarde from a fate which, dreadful as it was, would have been far preferable to an alliance with a peasant like thee? Poor man! I pity you! (and she laughed insultingly) the splendour with which you have lately been surrounded has overthrown your reason! You! a creature, whom I took into my house out of charity! You, to whom, in the bounty of my heart, I purposed to espouse my favourite domestic, Marion! Go, and breathe forth your love-tales in her ear! I will do you the honour of being present at your nuptials.” The proud soul of Narenor swelled even to bursting during this insulting speech, which he was about to return with one of equal bitterness — but scarcely had he begun, “Woman, I despise thee!” when the Countess shrieked violently, and pressed both her hands before her eyes, as if to shut out some loathsome and terrific object, while alarm seemed to deprive her of the power of flight. Narenor looked around for the cause of this sudden emotion, and perceiving nothing remarkable, hastened to support the Countess, who again uttered a piercing shriek, saying, “Vile sorcerer, touch me not!” While she continued to call for help, Narenor became conscious that, (as the hermit had forewarned him,) his anger had caused him to return to his original deformity. He now felt that not a moment was to be lost in flying from the rage of the Countess, and withdrew precipitately from the arbour. He bad scarcely passed the precincts of the castle, when he heard an uproar within its walls, which convinced him that he should soon be pursued, and perhaps dragged to a summary death. He contrived, however, to bury himself in the forest, on the skirts of which the castle stood; and, after hearing all day the shouts of his pursuers, and even the rustling of the boughs, as they passed close to the place of his concealment, he reached in the course of the night his own solitary cottage, and flung himself, exhausted with mental, no less than bodily weariness, on his bed.

Narenor was, for some days, in a state of such complete discouragement and confusion of mind, that he thought not of the Elixir of Beauty, and was indeed utterly unconscious whether his soul’s outer raiment was the most unsightly or the most comely, among the sons of men. As, however, he began to recover his tranquillity, and to become sensible to outward forms and objects, his former disgust of his natural deformity recurred by degrees, and at length (with the observation that he might as well, in passing the large magic mirror, behold a pleasing as a terrific object) he made a new application of the beautifying Elixir. But of what use, sighed he, is the perfection of these features, or the gracefulness of this form, without the great talisman of human life — riches. Pool that I was to imagine that poverty, in whatever guise, could be any thing but scorned. Oh, that I had the golden key, which alone can unlock all the treasures of happiness. Wealth can render even deformity endurable — but with personal endowments, such as mine, it could not fail of being irresistible. From this moment Narenor searched the volumes of the old anchorite with a new aim. He panted to discover that chemical secret, which should turn all it touched into gold. Again his laboratory was the scene of occupation; again his crucibles sent up the smoke, which alarmed the lonely traveller of the forest with fancied shapes and shadowy resemblances. Nor did he fail to invocate the former inhabitant of the cottage, who had shewn so much superhuman power in granting his first request. His adjurations were heard. One night, after the most intense labours, just as his hopes were raised to their highest, the crucible, in which his precious materials were contained, burst asunder — but, almost ere he could vent his anger and disappointment, the form of the old man rose from amidst the encircling vapours. “Still,” he said, “O Narenor, you require to have your wishes granted, to learn their fallacy. I am permitted to teach you the humbling lesson. Behold the stone, whose wondrous touch converts the baser metals into gold and silver. But there is a condition annexed to the precious gift. Whenever you shall make a wrong or dishonourable use of the money, which you obtain from its talismanic touch, that money shall return to the substance of its original metal.”— “Bountiful Spirit,” replied Narenor, “I accept your gift with rapture, secure that nothing base or dishonourable exists in the heart of Narenor.” The shadowy form vanished with a smile of indefinable, yet peculiar, meaning, while Narenor hastened to make trial of the virtues of the talisman. They were in every respect answerable to his wishes. Once more he left his humble home, full of hope, joy, and confidence; at first, in disguise, lest he should meet any of the Countess of Ermengarde’s household — but at length throwing aside the poverty of his appearance, and having purchased an equipage befitting the heir of unbounded wealth, he entered the city of Cronstadt in princely pomp and splendour. Established in a magnificent house, or rather palace, with trains of servants, he drew universal attention, and nothing but the rich stranger was talked of, from the parlour to the kitchen, throughout the buzzing city. But the grand object of inquiry was, “Does his birth answer to his apparent nobility of pretension?” — for the inhabitants of Cronstadt were (in those days at least) as nice as the Ap-Shenkins in their pride of pedigree, and many of them could trace their origin as high as the Pre-Adamite Sultans. The old married ladies all said, without exception, “I must find out who he is, before I think of him for my daughter and the old unmarried ladies made the same wise determination on their own account. Dreadful would it have been to have tainted the blood, which had flowed unsullied from the Preadamites, with any ignoble mixture. There was one celebrated beauty, Lady Leonora Von Edelstein, to whom Narenor had been so fortunate as to render a trifling service, (her coach had been overturned, and he had conveyed her home in his own in a state of very pretty alarm,) who was determined to fathom, the mystery. She swore by her white arm and arched eyebrow, that she would dive into his genealogy, “and then” she said with a blush to her fair confidante, “Lady Wilhelmina, if I find him worthy, he shall not find me ungrateful.” In the mean time Narenor moved in the first circles, for the human heart is not proof against an imposing appearance. All eyes were upon him, and Lady Leonora, whose pretty oath had been whispered in confidence to — on the best computation-eight hundred and sixty-three particular friends. When a young and beautiful woman is determined to make herself agreeable, what heart against which the battery is directed can withstand it? Narenor was in that season of life when, as Milton singeth,

 

“The young blood glows lively, and returns

Brisk as the April buds, in primrose season.”

 

Besides, he was in search of a wife as determinately as Cœlebs. Lady Leonora saw and triumphed in her power. Already in anticipation she heard the avowal tremble on his lips — already she heard him confess himself the chief “of a long line of noble ancestors” — already she exulted in fancy over the baffled malice of her friends, who began to see that her heart was not altogether uninterested in the question. Narenor, on his side, perceived that the Lady Leonora did not regard him with indifference, and seized the first opportunity of ascertaining her sentiments more unequivocally by a declaration of his own. As he knelt at her feet, and ardently pleaded his passion, the graces of his person, and the gallantry of his appearance, almost effaced from Leonora’s mind the recollection that a cloud hung over his origin, which it was her task to remove. “He must be noble,” she thought within herself. “That mien, which seems to dignify that splendid attire — that majestic brow — he must be noble.” She sighed, she looked assent — but ere she had confirmed it with her lips,

 

“The world, and its dread laugh

Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn,”

 

 rose to her remembrance. Again she sighed, but with a deeper meaning — drew back — hesitated. — Narenor interpreted this confusion as any thing but unfavourable. “Why trembles my dearest Lady Leonora? — May I — dare I hope — ? One little word!” At length Lady Leonora’s voice found its way from behind the screen of her fan, (that graceful emblem of the female heart, so light, so airy — and so full of folds — but, ah, how far more easily opened!) and, in becoming cadences, thus it murmured, “I am not insensible to the honour done me by the most accomplished of men, — but”— “Oh crush not my budding hopes,” he exclaimed, “by that cruel monosyllable, which was only meant for the cold, calculating lips of age! Let me arrest on its very threshold the yet unuttered objection!”   “Alas,” replied Lady Leonora, “would that I could yield to the dictates of my heart! — But we have a custom here, that may not be dispensed with. Each suitor must spread before the feet of his mistress the fair emblazoned roll of his armorial bearings, and the genealogical tree, whose branches must extend through centuries; and whose root must be deeply founded in years before the flood. Not that I doubt (continued the fair speaker in softer tones) of your being able to display a long line of noble ancestors — but (pardon me) it has not been your pleasure yet to declare your precise rank — and — the world, in short, the cruel, malignant world cannot appreciate that tenderness of heart, which would overlook all, but the merit of its object. (Here Lady Leonora glanced furtively from behind her fan.) But, good Heaven! you are pale — you are ill!”

“A sudden dizziness; (Narenor with difficulty replied, and with still more difficulty forcing a distorted smile). I am well — quite well now. Empress of my heart, you shall be satisfied. To-morrow, I will lay at your feet the tablet of my genealogy, and Leonora shall know that she is not solicited to unite her fate with the representative of a mean or inglorious ancestry!”

 

“Thus spoke he, — vaunting loud,

But racked with deep despair,”

 

 and, with a profound obeisance, left the apartment.

Now Narenor had a strong suspicion that, even in the virtuous town of Cronstadt, any thing was to be had for money; and, though he at first gave way to feelings of despondency, yet the comfortable idea soon occurred, “I may buy, though I have not a genealogy.” So he hastened to the herald’s office, and begged to speak with Peter Breslau, “Garter King at Arms” of that city. Mynheer Peter was a little “round, fat, oily man,” with a visage as plump, and as red, as a crimson cushion; and a cushion it was, whereon care had never sate long or heavily enough to leave one crease, or wrinkle. Whenever he spoke, he smiled placidly, deranging not the smooth expansion of his cheeks, with a good-humoured twinkle of the eye, and a courteous wave of the hands, which seemed to imply the utmost readiness to oblige. And now he stood before Narenor seemingly prepared to acquiesce in the most impossible request that could be made him. At length, finding that Narenor spoke not, he said, with alacrity, “If your Lordship will be pleased to step this way, I will shew your Lordship a most beautiful piece of blazonry; Argent on a cross sable, five etoiles Or, between four lions rampant, regardant gules vulned in the shoulder, with a beviled spear azure. Perhaps your Lordship would be so condescending as to give me an order to have your Lordship’s arms executed in a similar manner.” Narenor followed his little bustling guide into an inner apartment, and there informed the astonished Peter that he did not merely require his coat of arms to be emblazoned, but invented, Peter was somewhat staggered; he certainly had heretofore given scope to fancy in tracing the ramifications of an heraldic tree; but to cause one to sprout forth, branch upward, bud and blossom, from a merely imaginary root, seemed almost beyond the powers of even his creative genius. He put his hand to his forehead, where, for the first time, a wrinkle made its appearance, and mused awhile in unwonted perplexity — but soon a returning ray of joy serened his countenance; he flew to an old iron chest in a corner of the room, and drew forth from its dusty depth a piece of parchment of the most satisfactory length, and duly adorned with seals and blazonries. “Is not your Lordship of the family of De Senliz! (he exclaimed.) That noble family has been indeed thought for many years to be extinct — but the cast of your countenance — all declares that it revives in you.”

“Oh, certainly! (replied Narenor,) and for so happy a discovery allow me to present you with this purse of gold. Complete the genealogy, for I am in haste, and concentre all the beams of its glory in the person of Narenor, Baron De Senliz.”

With this irresistible addition to his merits, the newly-created Baron waited upon the illustrious Lady Leonora. “How vexed the spiteful creatures will be; (she thought to herself,) poor Adeline will die of mortification. She, who smiled yesterday so bitterly with anticipated triumph!” Then, with the sweetest expression of countenance, she gave Narenor to understand that she was all his own; listened with an air of the most engaging modesty to his rapturous expressions of gratitude; and, after a good deal of very pretty and proper reluctance, allowed him to reduce the ante-nuptial period — from a year — to six months — to three months — to one month — to a fortnight — a week — a day; and finally (as there was no good reason to the contrary) it was settled that the marriage should take place on the following morning.

Dear me!” methinks I hear a gentle voice exclaim, “There was not time for Lady Leonora to have her lace night-cap made.”

“My dear girl, remember that Narenor wielded the magic wand of wealth, and lie had only to wave it to make the sky rain lace night-caps.”)

Fair dawned the sun on the nuptial morning, and shone brightly on the gay and busy streets of Cronstadt. The news of the wedding had spread like wild-fire — after Lady Leonora had communicated the intelligence to her dear friend, Lady Wilhelmina. Bells were ringing, garlands waving, tapestry was hung from the windows, and white ribbon displayed in the utmost profusion. Narenor had bought the acclamations of the mob by setting a river of wine afloat over the town, and giving orders that a few score of oxen should be roasted whole; so the air rang with shouts, and all were rushing, and scrambling to get a peep at the bonny bride, and munificent bridegroom. Lady Leonora was dressed in a robe of white satin, girdled with one broad cincture of oriental pearls. Her dark locks were confined by a wreath, of artificial orange-blossoms, also wrought in pearl, and nestling among leaves of emerald. Already had the procession begun to wind along the flower-strewn streets; — when suddenly murmurs arose from a distant quarter of the crowd, and, like gathering thunder, rolling nearer and nearer, at length burst in audible sentences around the very chariot of the hymeneal pair. “He is an impostor — a swindler — a thief! Seize on him. Drag him to justice.” In vain the postilions brandished their whips — in vain Narenor raved against the unaccountable delay. The horses’ heads were seized, and the doors of the chariot forced open, by the enraged populace. Narenor soon perceived that the zeal of the mob was any thing but complimentary, and hastened to throw handfuls of money among them, as the huntsman tosses pieces of flesh to the hungry open-mouthed pack, which seem ready to devour him. But for once the universal panacea failed of its effect. “It is all forged! (they cried.) We will have none of it!” Entering at this critical juncture (as I once heard a schoolmaster say, who happened to pay me a visit while I was at tea) upon the scene, appeared an official band, armed with batons of authority, who made their way through the yielding mob, and politely — though in a manner that there was no resisting — requested Narenor to give them the honour of his company. “There is some mistake! There must be some mistake!” sobbed Lady Leonora between the pauses of her hysterical screams. “No, my Lady, there is no mistake! We are sure of our man, (replied the head of the police.) Come, Baron — or — Sir. I am really very sorry to separate you from this Lady — but she may thank me one of these days.”

Along those streets through which he had just passed in triumph, followed by the blessings and admiring acclamations of the crowd, was Narenor now led in infamy, pursued by the curses and taunts of the fickle populace — many of whom were asking of one another the offence of their ci-devant idol. The place of destination was (as the reader may have supposed) a court of justice, where Narenor was somewhat surprised to find himself confronted with his little fat friend, Peter Breslau. “So Mynheer Breslau, (said the worshipful the Judge) you are ready to swear that you received this counterfeit money from the prisoner at the bar.”—” Yes, your Worship.”—” For what service on your part did you receive the money?’— “For drawing up a genealogy, please your Worship.”

“And the prisoner assured you that he was of the noble family of De Senliz?”

“Undoubtedly, my Lord — your Worship!”

“A most fraudulent fellow, indeed! (exclaimed the serene Judge.) And, pray, did any one see his Baronship give you the purse?”

“My son, here!” (replied Peter, pushing forward a little Peter, “the soften’d image of his fubsy sire.”)—” My good lad, (said the Judge) can you swear that you saw that gentleman, or person, at the bar, give this money to your father?”

“Yes, (replied the young Peter, manfully,) I’ll swear I did!”

“A clear case, indeed! (pursued the learned Judge.) And pray, Mr. Baron, what have you to say in your defence?”

“Nothing! (exclaimed Narenor, proudly and indignantly) Nothing!”

“That’s good! — And pray, have you any reason to give why the law should not pronounce, and execute her just sentence upon you?” — . “None! (cried Narenor, still more impatiently.) But if I am to be hanged — at least string up that Peter Breslau, by the side of me; for a greater knave never existed.”

“Hold your profane tongue, wretch! (replied the very reverend the Judge.) Dare not to asperse an honest citizen of this honourable town, who is above reproach. Your doom is fixed! — Officers, carry him away! See that he is safely lodged in the Blue Tower, for to-night. To-morrow, the law pronounces, that he be hanged by his neck, like a common malefactor!”

Left alone, in chains, and in a solitary dungeon, Narenor gave way to all the bitterness of despair. The cup of happiness had been dashed from his lips at the very moment when he was about to quaff it mantling to the brim. He cursed his destiny, himself, the old man, and his fatal gift, of which the dishonourable use that he had been tempted to make had reduced him to his present situation. He now, too late, remembered the words of the old sage of the forest, who had warned him that whenever he should employ to base purposes the transmuted gold, it should return to its original metal. “Fool that I was (he exclaimed, as he clanked his heavy fetters along the dully-echoing cell.) Oh, that I had been content with my native deformity and obscurity! And thou, vile old man! — why didst thou pamper my diseased appetites? — Oh that thou wert less of a shade, and that I had thee here to tear thee limb from limb!”

“Narenor! you are unjust! (said the sage, who at that moment appeared) I gave you fair warning! Remember that it was only in compliance with your own earnest wish that I bestowed on you those wondrous endowments, of which you have made so bad a use. However, for once the conditions attached to my gifts will be of use to you. The fit of rage, in which you have just indulged has caused your person to resume its natural conformation, and when the guards appear with to-morrow’s dawn, to lead you forth to execution, they will take you for another; only be careful not to speak, nor even to seem to understand what is spoken; imitate the gestures and behaviour of one born deaf and dumb, and assume the unconscious gaze of harmless idiotcy. To-morrow, long ere this hour you will be free. Farewell! Though you are so much out of humour with me at present, I think that it will not be long ere you again require my services.”

“Never, never!” exclaimed Narenor, as the old man vanished into the depths of the dungeon’s darkness! “Welcome this misshapen form, the mask of security — the herald of unambitious tranquillity! Welcome, my native poverty — the only true state of happiness! — the only part on the great theatre of life which is not all delusion and bitter mockery!”

END OF PART FIRST.

[To be concluded in the next Number.]