The material included. The heading adopted for this section is used somewhat loosely to include those many and varied collections of stories which have with the passage of time been gradually brought together into so-called cycles, unified around some central figure, or by means of some kind of framework. It would thus bring into its scope the series of stories which make up the Greek Odyssey, the Anglo-Saxon Beowulf, the Finnish Kalevala, and other national epics. It would include the stories centering around King Arthur, Siegfried, Roland, the Cid, Alexander, Charlemagne, Robin Hood, and Reynard the Fox. Besides all these cycles and others like them, there is a great body of separate legends of persons and places, exemplified by "The Proud King," that seem almost to constitute a work by themselves. The extended body of eastern stories known as The Arabian Nights are also placed here, as is Cervantes' Don Quixote. The last inclusion may seem to violate even the wide range of the heading, as Don Quixote is distinctly one of the world's great modern masterpieces, and is by a known author. But that book is after all a cycle of adventures with a central figure not unlike the romance cycles, and, since it is popularly supposed to have had its origin in the purpose of humorously satirizing the romances of chivalry, it may be allowed to stand in connection with them.

The place for such stories. The developing child soon passes out of the period where the old fairy stories and their modern analogues satisfy his needs. He comes into a period of hero-worship where he demands not only courage and prowess of magnificent proportions, but also a sinking of self in as equally magnificent and disinterested service of great causes. To the child's mind there is nothing fantastical about the chivalric ideas of courtesy, and friendship, and all high personal ideals. It is the natural food of his mind. He will allow nothing mean or unclean. It seems, roughly speaking, that the time of greatest appeal for such stories is about the fourth, fifth, and sixth grades. By the end of that period he is already well along toward an interest in the real men and women of history, toward a more realistic and practical conception of the problems of human life.

The problems of choice and adaptation. The wealth of material available is so great as to be bewildering. As yet there is no common agreement as to just which stories are best for our purpose, nor is there any as to where particular stories should be used. The adapters and story-tellers differ much in their views on these questions. Young teachers, it is clear, cannot be expected to know this vast field in any detail. The saving fact is that teachers can hardly make a mistake by using any story that has awakened their own interest and enthusiasm, and which, for that reason, they will be able to present in a simple and striking form. Having in mind, then, the beginning teacher, we make the following specific suggestions:

SUGGESTIONS FOR READING

398

ALI BABA, AND THE FORTY THIEVES

In a town in Persia there lived two brothers, the sons of a poor man; the one was named Cassim, and the other Ali Baba. Cassim, the elder, married a wife with a considerable fortune, and lived at his ease in a handsome house, with plenty of servants; but the wife of Ali Baba was as poor as himself; they dwelt in a mean cottage in the suburbs of the city, and he maintained his family by cutting wood in a neighboring forest.

One day when Ali Baba was in the forest and preparing to load his three asses with the wood he had cut, he saw a troop of horsemen coming towards him. He had often heard of robbers who infested that forest, and, in a great fright, he hastily climbed a large thick tree, which stood near the foot of a rock, and hid himself among the branches.

The horsemen soon galloped up to the rock, where they all dismounted. Ali Baba counted forty of them, and he could not doubt but they were thieves, by their ill-looking countenances. They each took a loaded portmanteau from his horse; and he who seemed to be their captain, turning to the rock, said, "Open Sesame," and immediately a door opened in the rock, and all the robbers passed in, when the door shut itself. In a short time the door opened again, and the forty robbers came out, followed by their captain, who said, "Shut Sesame." The door instantly closed; and the troop, mounting their horses, were presently out of sight.

Ali Baba remained in the tree a long time, and seeing that the robbers did not return, he ventured down, and, approaching close to the rock, said, "Open Sesame." Immediately the door flew open, and Ali Baba beheld a spacious cavern, very light, and filled with all sorts of possessions,—merchandise, rich stuffs, and heaps of gold and silver coin, which these robbers had taken from merchants and travelers.

Ali Baba then went in search of his asses, and having brought them to the rock, took as many bags of gold coin as they could carry, and put them on their backs, covering them with some loose fagots of wood. Afterwards (not forgetting to say "Shut Sesame") he drove the asses back to the city; and having unloaded them in the stable belonging to his cottage, carried the bags into the house and spread the gold coin out upon the floor before his wife.

His wife, delighted with so much money, wanted to count it; but finding it would take up too much time, she was resolved to measure it, and running to the house of Ali Baba's brother, she entreated them to lend her a small measure. Cassim's wife was very proud and envious. "I wonder," she said to herself, "what sort of grain such poor people can have to measure; but I am determined I will find out what they are doing." So before she gave the measure, she artfully rubbed the bottom with some suet.

Away ran Ali Baba's wife, measured her money, and helped her husband to bury it in the yard. Then she carried back the measure to her brother-in-law's house, without perceiving that a piece of gold was left sticking to the bottom of it. "Fine doings, indeed!" cried Cassim's wife to her husband, after examining the measure. "Your brother there, who pretends to be so poor, is richer than you are, for he does not count his money, but measures it."

Cassim, hearing these words and seeing the piece of gold, grew as envious as his wife; and hastening to his brother, threatened to inform the Cadi of his wealth if he did not confess to him how he came by it. Ali Baba without hesitation told him the history of the robbers and the secret of the cave, and offered him half his treasure; but the envious Cassim disdained so poor a sum, resolving to have fifty times more than that out of the robbers' cave. Accordingly he rose early the next morning and set out with ten mules loaded with great chests. He found the rock easily enough by Ali Baba's description; and having said "Open Sesame," he gained admission into the cave, where he found more treasure than he had expected to behold even from his brother's account of it.

He immediately began to gather bags of gold and pieces of rich brocade, all which he piled close to the door; but when he had got together as much as his ten mules could possibly carry, or even more, and wanted to get out to load them, the thoughts of his wonderful riches had made him entirely forget the word which caused the door to open. In vain he tried "Bame," "Fame," "Lame," "Tetame," and a thousand others. The door remained as immovable as the rock itself, notwithstanding Cassim kicked and screamed till he was ready to drop with fatigue and vexation.

Presently he heard the sound of horses' feet, which he rightly concluded to be the robbers, and he trembled lest he should now fall a victim to his thirst for riches. He resolved, however, to make an effort to escape; and when he heard the "Sesame" pronounced, and saw the door open, he sprang out, but was instantly put to death by the swords of the robbers.

The thieves now held a council, but not one of them could possibly guess by what means Cassim had got into the cave. They saw the heaps of treasure he had piled ready to take away, but they did not miss what Ali Baba had secured before. At length they agreed to cut Cassim's body into four quarters and hang the pieces within the cave, that it might terrify any one from further attempts; and also determined not to return themselves for some time to the cave for fear of being watched and discovered.

When Cassim's wife saw night come on, and her husband not returned, she became greatly terrified; she watched at her window till daybreak and then went to tell Ali Baba of her fears. Cassim had not informed him of his design of going to the cave; but Ali Baba, now hearing of his journey thither, went immediately in search of him. He drove his asses to the forest without delay. He was alarmed to see blood near the rock; and on entering the cave, he found the body of his unfortunate brother cut to pieces and hung up within the door. It was now too late to save him; but he took down the quarters and put them upon one of his asses, covering them with fagots of wood; and, weeping for the miserable end of his brother, he regained the city. The door of his brother's house was opened by Morgiana, an intelligent, faithful female slave, who, Ali Baba knew, was worthy to be trusted with the secret.

He therefore delivered the body to Morgiana, and went himself to impart the sad tidings to the wife of Cassim. The poor woman was deeply afflicted, and reproached herself with her foolish envy and curiosity, as being the cause of her husband's death; but Ali Baba having convinced her of the necessity of being very discreet, she checked her lamentations and resolved to leave everything to the management of Morgiana.

Morgiana, having washed the body, hastened to an apothecary's and asked for some particular medicine, saying that it was for her master Cassim, who was dangerously ill. She took care to spread the report of Cassim's illness throughout the neighborhood; and as they saw Ali Baba and his wife going daily to the house of their brother, in great affliction, they were not surprised to hear shortly that Cassim had died of his disorder.

The next difficulty was to bury him without discovery; but Morgiana was ready to contrive a plan for that also. She put on her veil and went to a distant part of the city very early in the morning, where she found a poor cobbler just opening his stall. She put a piece of gold into his hand, and told him he should have another, if he would suffer himself to be blindfolded and go with her, carrying his tools with him. Mustapha, the cobbler, hesitated at first, but the gold tempted him and he consented; when Morgiana, carefully covering his eyes, so that he could not see a step of the way, led him to Cassim's house; and taking him into the room where the body was lying, removed the bandage from his eyes, and bade him sew the mangled limbs together. Mustapha obeyed her order; and having received two pieces of gold, was led blindfold the same way back to his own stall.

Morgiana then covered the body with a winding-sheet and sent for the undertaker to make preparations for the funeral. Cassim was buried with all due solemnity the same day. Ali Baba now removed his few goods, and all the gold coin that he had brought home from the cavern, to the house of his deceased brother, of which he took possession; and Cassim's widow received every kind attention from both Ali Baba and his wife.

After an interval of some months, the troop of robbers again visited their retreat in the forest, and were completely astonished to find the body taken away from the cave, and everything else remaining in its usual order. "We are discovered," said the captain, "and shall certainly be undone, if you do not adopt speedy measures to prevent our ruin. Which of you, my brave comrades, will undertake to search out the villain who is in possession of our secret?"

One of the boldest of the troop advanced, and offered himself; and was accepted on the following conditions: namely, that if he succeeded in his enterprise, he was to be made second in command of the troop; but that if he brought false intelligence, he was immediately to be put to death. The bold robber readily agreed to the conditions; and having disguised himself, he proceeded to the city.

He arrived there about daybreak, and found the cobbler Mustapha in his stall, which was always open before any other shop in the town. "Good morrow, friend," said the robber, as he passed the stall, "you rise betimes; I should think old as you are, you could scarcely see to work by this light."

"Indeed, sir," replied the cobbler, "old as I am, I do not want for good eyesight; as you must needs believe, when I tell you I sewed a dead body together the other day, where I had not so good a light as I have now."

"A dead body!" exclaimed the robber; "you mean, I suppose, that you sewed up the winding-sheet for a dead body."

"I mean no such thing," replied Mustapha; "I tell you that I sewed the four quarters of a man together."

This was enough to convince the robber he had luckily met with the very man who could give him the information he was in search of. However he did not wish to appear eager to learn the particulars, lest he should alarm the cobbler. "Ha! ha!" said he, "I find, good Mr. Cobbler, that you perceive I am a stranger here, and you wish to make me believe that the people of your city do impossible things."

"I tell you," said Mustapha in a loud and angry tone, "I sewed a dead body together with my own hands."—"Then I suppose you can tell me also where you performed this wonderful business." Upon this, Mustapha related every particular of his being led blindfold to the house, etc.

"Well, my friend," said the robber, "it is a fine story, I confess, but not very easy to believe; however, if you will convince me by showing me the house you talk of, I will give you four pieces of gold to make amends for my unbelief."

"I think," said the cobbler, after considering awhile, "that if you were to blindfold me, I should remember every turning we made; but with my eyes open I am sure I should never find it." Accordingly the robber covered Mustapha's eyes with his handkerchief; and the cobbler led him through most of the principal streets, and stopping by Cassim's door, said, "Here it is; I went no further than this house."

The robber immediately marked the door with a piece of chalk; and, giving Mustapha his four pieces of gold, dismissed him. Shortly after the thief and Mustapha had quitted the door, Morgiana, coming home from market, perceived the little mark of white chalk on the door. Suspecting something was wrong, she directly marked four doors on one side and five on the other of her master's, in exactly the same manner, without saying a word to any one.

The robber meantime rejoined his troop and boasted greatly of his success. His captain and comrades praised his diligence; and being well armed, they proceeded to the town in different disguises, and in separate parties of three and four together.

It was agreed among them that they were to meet in the market-place at the dusk of evening, and that the captain and the robber who had discovered the house were to go there first, to find out to whom it belonged. When they arrived in the street, having a lantern with them, they began to examine the doors, and found to their confusion and astonishment that ten doors were marked exactly alike. The robber, who was the captain's guide, could not say a word in explanation of this mystery; and when the disappointed troop got back to the forest, his enraged companions ordered him to be put to death.

Another now offered himself upon the same conditions as the former; and having bribed Mustapha, and discovered the house, he made a mark with the dark red chalk upon the door, in a part that was not in the least conspicuous; and carefully examined the surrounding doors, to be certain that no such marks were upon them. But nothing could escape the prying eyes of Morgiana; scarcely had the robber departed, when she discovered the red mark; and getting some red chalk, she marked seven doors on each side, precisely in the same place and in the same manner. The robber, valuing himself highly upon the precautions he had taken, triumphantly conducted his captain to the spot; but great indeed was his confusion and dismay when he found it impossible to say which, among fifteen houses marked exactly alike, was the right one. The captain, furious with his disappointment, returned again with the troop to the forest; and the second robber was also condemned to death.

The captain having lost two of his troop, judged that their hands were more active than their heads in such services; and he resolved to employ no other of them, but to go himself upon the business. Accordingly he repaired to the city and addressed himself to the cobbler Mustapha, who, for six pieces of gold, readily performed the services for him he had done for the other two strangers. The captain, much wiser than his men, did not amuse himself with setting a mark upon the door, but attentively considered the house, counted the number of windows, and passed by it very often, to be certain that he should know it again.

He then returned to the forest, and ordered his troop to go into the town, and buy nineteen mules and thirty-eight large jars, one full of oil and the rest empty. In two or three days the jars were bought, and all things in readiness; and the captain having put a man into each jar, properly armed, the jars being rubbed on the outside with oil, and the covers having holes bored in them for the men to breathe through, loaded his mules, and in the habit of an oil-merchant entered the town in the dusk of the evening. He proceeded to the street where Ali Baba dwelt, and found him sitting in the porch of his house. "Sir," said he to Ali Baba, "I have brought this oil a great way to sell, and am too late for this day's market. As I am quite a stranger in this town, will you do me the favor to let me put my mules into your court-yard, and direct me where I may lodge to-night?"

Ali Baba, who was a very good-natured man, welcomed the pretended oil-merchant very kindly, and offered him a bed in his own house; and having ordered the mules to be unloaded in the yard, and properly fed, he invited his guest in to supper. The captain, having seen the jars placed ready in the yard, followed Ali Baba into the house, and after supper was shown to the chamber where he was to sleep.

It happened that Morgiana was obliged to sit up later that night than usual, to get ready her master's bathing linen for the following morning; and while she was busy about the fire, her lamp went out, and there was no more oil in the house. After considering what she could possibly do for a light, she recollected the thirty-eight oil jars in the yard and determined to take a little oil out of one of them for her lamp. She took her oil pot in her hand and approached the first jar; the robber within said, "Is it time, captain?"

Any other slave, on hearing a man in an oil jar, would have screamed out; but the prudent Morgiana instantly recollected herself, and replied softly, "No, not yet; lie still till I call you." She passed on to every jar, receiving the same question and making the same answer, till she came to the last, which was really filled with oil.

Morgiana was now convinced that this was a plot of the robbers to murder her master, Ali Baba; so she ran back to the kitchen and brought out a large kettle, which she filled with oil, and set it on a great wood fire; and as soon as it boiled she went and poured into the jars sufficient of the boiling oil to kill every man within them. Having done this she put out her fire and her lamp, and crept softly to her chamber.

The captain of the robbers, finding everything quiet in the house, and perceiving no light anywhere, arose and went down into the yard to assemble his men. Coming to the first jar, he felt the steam of the boiled oil; he ran hastily to the rest and found every one of his troop put to death in the same manner. Full of rage and despair at having failed in his design, he forced the lock of a door that led into the garden and made his escape over the walls.

On the following morning Morgiana related to her master, Ali Baba, his wonderful deliverance from the pretended oil-merchant and his gang of robbers. Ali Baba at first could scarcely credit her tale; but when he saw the robbers dead in the jars, he could not sufficiently praise her courage and sagacity; and without letting any one else into the secret, he and Morgiana the next night buried the thirty-seven thieves in a deep trench at the bottom of the garden. The jars and mules, as he had no use for them, were sent from time to time to the different markets and sold.

While Ali Baba took these measures to prevent his and Cassim's adventures in the forest from being known, the captain returned to his cave, and for some time abandoned himself to grief and despair. At length, however, he determined to adopt a new scheme for the destruction of Ali Baba. He removed by degrees all the valuable merchandise from the cave to the city and took a shop exactly opposite to Ali Baba's house. He furnished this shop with everything that was rare and costly, and went by the name of the merchant Cogia Hassan. Many persons made acquaintance with the stranger; among others, Ali Baba's son went every day to the shop. The pretended Cogia Hassan soon appeared to be very fond of Ali Baba's son, offered him many presents, and often detained him at dinner, on which occasions he treated him in the handsomest manner.

Ali Baba's son thought it was necessary to make some return to these civilities, and pressed his father to invite Cogia Hassan to supper. Ali Baba made no objection, and the invitation was accordingly given. The artful Cogia Hassan would not too hastily accept this invitation, but pretended he was not fond of going into company, and that he had business which demanded his presence at home. These excuses only made Ali Baba's son the more eager to take him to his father's house; and after repeated solicitations, the merchant consented to sup at Ali Baba's house the next evening.

A most excellent supper was provided, which Morgiana cooked in the best manner, and as was her usual custom, she carried in the first dish herself. The moment she looked at Cogia Hassan, she knew it was the pretended oil-merchant. The prudent Morgiana did not say a word to any one of this discovery, but sent the other slaves into the kitchen and waited at table herself; and while Cogia Hassan was drinking, she perceived he had a dagger hid under his coat.

When supper was ended, and the dessert and wine on the table, Morgiana went away and dressed herself in the habit of a dancing-girl; she next called Abdalla, a fellow slave, to play on his tabor while she danced. As soon as she appeared at the parlor door, her master, who was very fond of seeing her dance, ordered her to come in to entertain his guest with some of her best dancing. Cogia Hassan was not very well satisfied with this entertainment, yet was compelled, for fear of discovering himself, to seem pleased with the dancing, while, in fact, he wished Morgiana a great way off, and was quite alarmed lest he should lose his opportunity of murdering Ali Baba and his son.

Morgiana danced several dances with the utmost grace and agility; and then drawing a poniard from her girdle, she performed many surprising things with it, sometimes presenting the point to one and sometimes to another, and then seemed to strike it into her own bosom. Suddenly she paused, and holding the poniard in the right hand, presented her left to her master as if begging some money; upon which Ali Baba and his son each gave her a small piece of money. She then turned to the pretended Cogia Hassan, and while he was putting his hand into his purse, she plunged the poniard into his heart.

"Wretch!" cried Ali Baba, "thou hast ruined me and my family."

"No, sir," replied Morgiana, "I have preserved, and not ruined you and your son. Look well at this traitor, and you will find him to be the pretended oil-merchant who came once before to rob and murder you."

Ali Baba pulled off the turban and the cloak which the false Cogia Hassan wore and discovered that he was not only the pretended oil-merchant, but the captain of the forty robbers who had slain his brother Cassim; nor could he doubt that his perfidious aim had been to destroy him, and probably his son, with the concealed dagger. Ali Baba, who felt the new obligation he owed to Morgiana for thus saving his life a second time, embraced her and said, "My dear Morgiana, I give you your liberty; but my gratitude must not stop there: I will also marry you to my son, who can esteem and admire you no less than does his father." Then turning to his son, he added, "You, my son, will not refuse the wife I offer; for, in marrying Morgiana, you take to wife the preserver and benefactor of yourself and family." The son, far from showing any dislike, readily and joyfully accepted his proposed bride, having long entertained an affection for the good slave Morgiana.

Having rejoiced in their deliverance, they buried the captain that night with great privacy, in the trench along with his troop of robbers; and a few days afterwards, Ali Baba celebrated the marriage of his son and Morgiana with a sumptuous entertainment. Every one who knew Morgiana said she was worthy of her good fortune, and highly commended her master's generosity toward her.

During a twelvemonth Ali Baba forbore to go near the forest, but at length his curiosity incited him to make another journey.

When he came to the cave he saw no footsteps of either men or horses; and having said, "Open Sesame," he went in, and judged by the state of things deposited in the cavern that no one had been there since the pretended Cogia Hassan had removed the merchandise to his shop in the city. Ali Baba took as much gold home as his horse could carry.

Afterwards he carried his son to the cave and taught him the secret. This secret they handed down to their posterity; and using their good fortune with moderation, they lived in honor and splendor, and served with dignity some of the chief offices in the city.

The next morning away went Bruin the bear in quest of the fox, armed against all plots of deceit whatsoever. And as he came through a dark forest, in which Reynard had a bypath, which he used when he was hunted, he saw a high mountain, over which he must pass to go to Malepardus. For though Reynard has many houses, yet Malepardus is his chiefest and most ancient castle, and in it he lay both for defense and ease. Now at last when Bruin was come to Malepardus, he found the gates close shut, at which after he had knocked, sitting on his tail, he called aloud, "Sir Reynard, are you at home? I am Bruin your kinsman, whom the King hath sent to summon you to the court, to answer many foul accusations exhibited against you, and hath taken a great vow, that if you fail to appear to this summons, your life shall answer your contempt, and your goods and honors shall lie confiscate at his highness's mercy. Therefore, fair kinsman, be advised of your friend, and go with me to the court to shun the danger that else will fall upon you."

Reynard, lying close by the gate, as his custom was for the warm sun's sake, hearing those words, departed into one of his holes, for Malepardus is full of many intricate and curious rooms, which labyrinth-wise he could pass through, when either his danger or the benefit of any prey required the same. There he meditated awhile with himself how he might counterplot and bring the bear to disgrace (who he knew loved him not) and himself to honor; at last he came forth, and said, "Dear uncle Bruin, you are exceeding welcome. Pardon my slowness in coming, for at your first speech I was saying my even song, and devotion must not be neglected. Believe me, he hath done you no good service, nor do I thank him which hath sent you this weary and long journey, in which your much sweat and toil far exceeds the worth of the labor. Certainly had you not come, I had to-morrow been at the court of my own accord, yet at this time my sorrow is much lessened, inasmuch as your counsel at this present may return me double benefit. Alas, cousin, could his Majesty find no meaner a messenger than your noble self to employ in these trivial affairs? Truly it appears strange to me, especially since, next his royal self, you are of greatest renown both in blood and riches. For my part, I would we were both at court, for I fear our journey will be exceeding troublesome. To speak truth, since I made mine abstinence from flesh, I have eaten such strange new meats, that my body is very much distempered, and swelleth as if it would break."

"Alas, dear cousin," said the bear, "what meat is that which maketh you so ill?"

"Uncle," answered he, "what will it profit you to know? The meat was simple and mean. We poor men are no lords, you know, but eat that for necessity which others eat for wantonness; yet not to delay you, that which I ate was honeycombs, great, full, and most pleasant, which, compelled by hunger, I ate too unmeasurably and am thereby infinitely distempered."

"Ha," quoth Bruin, "honeycombs? Do you make such slight respect of them, nephew? Why it is meat for the greatest emperor in the world. Fair nephew, help me but to some of that honey, and command me whilst I live; for one little part thereof I will be your servant everlastingly."

"Sure," said the fox, "uncle, you but jest with me."

"But jest with you?" replied Bruin, "beshrew my heart then, for I am in that serious earnest, that for one lick thereat you shall make me the faithfullest of all your kindred."

"Nay," said the fox, "if you be in earnest, then know I will bring you where so much is, that ten of you shall not be able to devour it at a meal, only for your love's sake, which above all things I desire, uncle."

"Not ten of us?" said the bear, "it is impossible; for had I all the honey betwixt Hybla and Portugal, yet I could in a short space eat it all myself."

"Then know, uncle," quoth the fox, "that near at hand here dwelleth a husbandman named Lanfert, who is master of so much honey that you cannot consume it in seven years, which for your love and friendship's sake I will put into your safe possession."

Bruin, mad upon the honey, swore, that to have one good meal thereof he would not only be his faithful friend, but also stop the mouths of all his adversaries.

Reynard, smiling at his easy belief, said, "If you will have seven ton, uncle, you shall have it."

These words pleased the bear so well, and made him so pleasant, that he could not stand for laughing.

Well, thought the fox, this is good fortune. Sure I will lead him where he shall laugh more measurably; and then said, "Uncle, we must delay no time, and I will spare no pains for your sake, which for none of my kin I would perform."

The bear gave him many thanks, and so away they went, the fox promising him as much honey as he could bear, but meant as many strokes as he could undergo. In the end they came to Lanfert's house, the sight whereof made the bear rejoice. This Lanfert was a stout and lusty carpenter, who the other day had brought into his yard a great oak, which, as their manner is, he began to cleave, and had struck into it two wedges in such wise that the cleft stood a great way open, at which the fox rejoiced much, for it was answerable to his wish. So with a laughing countenance he said to the bear, "Behold now, dear uncle, and be careful of yourself, for within this tree is so much honey that it is unmeasurable. Try if you can get into it; yet, good uncle, eat moderately, for albeit the combs are sweet and good, yet a surfeit is dangerous, and may be troublesome to your body, which I would not for a world, since no harm can come to you but must be my dishonor."

"Sorrow not for me, nephew Reynard," said the bear, "nor think me such a fool that I cannot temper mine appetite."

"It is true, my best uncle, I was too bold. I pray you enter in at the end, and you shall find your desire."

The bear with all haste entered the tree, with his two feet forward, and thrust his head into the cleft, quite over the ears, which when the fox perceived, he instantly ran and pulled the wedges out of the tree, so that he locked the bear fast therein, and then neither flattery nor anger availed the bear. For the nephew had by his deceit brought the uncle into so false a prison that it was impossible by any art to free himself of the same. Alas, what profited now his great strength and valor? Why, they were both causes of more vexation; and finding himself destitute of all relief, he began to howl and bray, and with scratching and tumbling to make such a noise that Lanfert, amazed, came hastily out of his house, having in his hand a sharp hook, whilst the bear lay wallowing and roaring within the tree.

The fox from afar off said to the bear in scorn and mocking, "Is the honey good, uncle, which you eat? How do you? Eat not too much, I beseech you. Pleasant things are apt to surfeit, and you may hinder your journey to the court. When Lanfert cometh (if your belly be full) he will give you drink to digest it, and wash it down your throat."

And having thus said, he went towards his castle. But by this time, Lanfert, finding the bear fast taken in the tree, he ran to his neighbors and desired them to come into his yard, for there was a bear fast taken there. This was noised through all the town, so that there was neither man, nor woman, nor child but ran thither, some with one weapon, and some with another—as goads, rakes, broom-staves, or what they could gather up. The priest had the handle of the cross, the clerk the holy water sprinkler, and the priest's wife, Dame Jullock, with her distaff, for she was then spinning; nay, the old beldames came that had ne'er a tooth in their heads. This army put Bruin into a great fear, being none but himself to withstand them, and hearing the clamor of the noise which came thundering upon him, he wrestled and pulled so extremely that he got out his head, but he left behind him all the skin, and his ears also; insomuch that never creature beheld a fouler or more deformed beast. For the blood covering all his face, and his hands leaving the claws and skin behind them, nothing remained but ugliness. It was an ill market the bear came to, for he lost both motion and sight—that is, feet and eyes. But notwithstanding this torment, Lanfert, the priest, and the whole parish came upon him, and so becudgeled him about his body part, that it might well be a warning to all his misery, to know that ever the weakest shall still go most to the wall. This the bear found by experience, for every one exercised the height of their fury upon him. Even Houghlin with the crooked leg, and Ludolf with the long broad nose, the one with a leaden mall, and the other with an iron whip, all belashed poor sir Bruin; not so much but sir Bertolf with the long fingers, Lanfert and Ortam did him more annoyance than all the rest, the one having a sharp Welsh hook, the other a crooked staff well leaded at the end, which he used to play at stab ball withal. There was Birkin and Armes Ablequack, Bane the priest with his staff, and Dame Jullock his wife; all these so belabored the bear, that his life was in great danger. The poor bear in this massacre sat and sighed extremely, groaning under the burden of their strokes, of which Lanfert's were the greatest and thundered most dreadfully; for Dame Podge of Casport was his mother, and his father was Marob the steeple-maker, a passing stout man when he was alone. Bruin received of him many showers of stones till Lanfert's brother, rushing before the rest with a staff, struck the bear in the head such a blow that he could neither hear nor see, so that awaking from his astonishment the bear leaped into the river adjoining, through a cluster of wives there standing together, of which he threw divers into the water, which was large and deep, amongst whom the parson's wife was one; which the parson seeing how she floated like a sea-mew, he left striking the bear, and cried to the rest of the company, "Help! oh, help! Dame Jullock is in the water; help, both men and women, for whosoever saves her, I give free pardon of all their sins and transgressions, and remit all penance imposed whatsoever." This heard, every one left the bear to help Dame Jullock, which as soon as the bear saw, he cut the stream and swam away as fast as he could, but the priest with a great noise pursued him, crying in his rage, "Turn, villain, that I may be revenged of thee"; but the bear swam in the strength of the stream and suspected not his calling, for he was proud that he was so escaped from them. Only he bitterly cursed the honey tree and the fox, which had not only betrayed him, but had made him lose his hood from his face, and his gloves from his fingers. In this sort he swam some three miles down the water, in which time he grew so weary that he went on land to get ease, where blood trickled down his face; he groaned, sighed, and drew his breath so short, as if his last hour had been expiring.

Now whilst these things were in doing, the fox in his way home stole a fat hen, and threw her into his mail, and running through a bypath that no man might perceive him, he came towards the river with infinite joy; for he suspected that the bear was certainly slain: therefore he said to himself, "My fortune is as I wished it, for the greatest enemy I had in the court is now dead, nor can any man suspect me guilty thereof." But as he spake these words, looking towards the river, he espied where Bruin the bear lay and rested, which struck his heart with grief, and he railed against Lanfert the carpenter, saying, "Silly fool that thou art, what madman would have lost such good venison, especially being so fat and wholesome, and for which he took no pains, for he was taken to his hand; any man would have been proud of the fortune which thou neglectest." Thus fretting and chiding, he came to the river, where he found the bear all wounded and bloody, of which Reynard was only guilty; yet in scorn he said to the bear, "Monsieur, Dieu vous garde."

"O thou foul red villain," said the bear to himself, "what impudence is like to this?"

But the fox went on with his speech, and said, "What, uncle? Have you forgot anything at Lanfert's, or have you paid him for the honeycombs you stole? If you have not, it will redound much to your disgrace, which before you shall undergo, I will pay him for them myself. Sure the honey was excellent good, and I know much more of the same price. Good uncle, tell me before I go, into what order do you mean to enter, that you wear this new-fashioned hood? Will you be a monk, an abbot, or a friar? Surely he that shaved your crown hath cropped your ears; also your foretop is lost, and your gloves are gone; fie, sloven, go not bare-handed; they say you can sing peccavi rarely."

These taunts made Bruin mad with rage, but because he could not take revenge, he was content to let him talk his pleasure. Then after a small rest he plunged again into the river, and swam down the stream, and landed on the other side, where he began with much grief to meditate how he might get to the court, for he had lost his ears, his talons, and all the skin off his feet, so that had a thousand deaths followed him, he could not go. Yet of necessity he must move, that in the end compelled by extremity, he set his tail on the ground, and tumbled his body over and over; so by degrees, tumbling now half a mile, and then half a mile, in the end he tumbled to the court, where divers beholding his strange manner of approach, they thought some prodigy had come towards them; but in the end the King knew him, and grew angry, saying, "It is sir Bruin, my servant; what villains have wounded him thus, or where hath he been that he brings his death thus along with him?"

"O my dread Sovereign Lord the King," cried out the bear, "I complain me grievously unto you; behold how I am massacred, which I humbly beseech you revenge on that false Reynard, who, for doing your royal pleasure, hath brought me to this disgrace and slaughter."

Then said the King, "How durst he do this? Now by my crown I swear I will take the revenge which shall make the traitors tremble!"

Whereupon the King sent for all his council, and consulted how and in what sort to persecute against the fox, where it was generally concluded that he should be again summoned to appear and answer his trespasses; and the party to summon him they appointed to be Tibert the cat, as well for his gravity as wisdom; all which pleased the King well.

400

THE BATTLE BETWEEN THE FOX AND THE WOLF

The fox answered not a word, but bowing himself down humbly to the earth, both before the King and the Queen's Majesties, went forth into the field; and at the same time the wolf was also ready, and stood boasting, and giving out many proud and vainglorious speeches. The marshals and rulers of the lists were the leopard and the loss. These brought forth a book, on which the wolf swore and maintained his assertion that the fox was a traitor and a murderer, which he would prove on his body, or else be counted a recreant. Then Reynard took the book, and swore he lied as a false traitor and a thief, which he would prove on his body, or be accounted a recreant.

When these ceremonies were done, the marshals of the field bade them do their devoir. And then every creature avoided the lists, save Dame Rukenaw, who stood by the fox, and bade him remember the words and instructions she had given him, and call to mind how, when he was scarce seven years old, he had then wisdom enough to pass the darkest night without lantern or candle-light, or the help of the moon, when any occasion required him; and that his experience was much greater, and his reputation of wisdom more frequent with his companions; and therefore to work so as he might win the day, which would be an eternal monument to him and his family for ever.

To this the fox answered, "My best aunt, assure yourself I will do my best, and not forget a tittle of your counsel. I doubt not but my friends shall reap honor and my foes shame by my actions." To this the ape said amen, and so departed.

When none but the combatants were in the lists, the wolf went toward the fox with infinite rage and fury, and thinking to take the fox in his forefeet, the fox leaped nimbly from him and the wolf pursued him, so that there began a tedious chase between them, on which their friends gazed. The wolf taking larger strides than the fox often overtook him, and lifting up his feet to strike him, the fox avoided the blow and smote him on the face with his tail, so that the wolf was stricken almost blind, and he was forced to rest while he cleared his eyes; which advantage when Reynard saw, he scratched up the dust with his feet, and threw it in the eyes of the wolf.

This grieved him worse than the former, so that he durst follow him no longer, for the dust and sand sticking in his eyes smarted so sore, that of force he must rub and wash it away, which Reynard seeing, with all the fury he had he ran upon him, and with his teeth gave him three sore wounds on his head, and scoffing said, "Have I hit you, Mr. Wolf? I will yet hit you better; you have killed many a lamb and many an innocent beast, and would impose the fault upon me, but you shall find the price of your knavery. I am marked to punish thy sins, and I will give thee thy absolution bravely. It is good for thee that thou use patience, for thy evil life is at my mercy. Yet, notwithstanding, if thou wilt kneel down and ask my forgiveness, and confess thyself vanquished, though thou be the worst thing living, yet I will spare thy life, for my pity makes me loath to kill thee."

These words made Isegrim both mad and desperate, so that he knew not how to express his fury; his wounds bled, his eyes smarted, and his whole body was oppressed. So that in the height of his fury he lifted up his foot and struck the fox so great a blow that he felled him to the ground. But Reynard, being nimble, quickly rose up again and encountered the wolf, that between them began a dreadful and doubtful combat.

The wolf was exceeding furious, and ten times he leaped to catch Reynard fast, but his skin was so slippery and oily he could not hold him. Nay, so wondrous nimble was he in the fight, that when the wolf thought to have him surest, he would shift himself between his legs and under his belly, and every time gave the wolf a bite with his teeth, or a slap on the face with his tail, that the poor wolf found nothing but despair in the conflict, albeit his strength was much the greater.

Thus many wounds and bitings passing on either side, the one expressing cunning, and the other strength; the one fury, the other temperance. In the end the wolf being enraged that the battle had continued so long, for had his feet been sound it had been much shorter, he said to himself, "I will make an end of this combat, for I know my very weight is able to crush him to pieces; and I lose much of my reputation, to suffer him thus long to contend against me."

And this said, he struck the fox again so sore a blow on the head with his foot, that he fell down to the ground, and ere he could recover himself and arise, he caught him in his feet and threw him under him, lying upon him in such wise, as if he would have pressed him to death.

Now began the fox to be grievously afraid, and all his friends also, and all Isegrim's friends began to shout for joy; but the fox defended himself as well as he could with his claws, lying along, and the wolf could not hurt him with his claws, his feet were so sore; only with his teeth he snatched at him to bite him, which, when the fox saw, he smote the wolf on the head with his fore-claws, so that he tore the skin between his brows and his ears, and one of his eyes hung out of his head, which put the wolf to infinite torment, and he howled out extremely. Then Isegrim wiping his face, the fox took advantage thereof, and with his struggling got upon his feet.

At which the wolf was angry, and striking after him, caught the fox in his arms, and held him fast; never was Reynard in so great a strait as then, for at that time great was their contention; but anger now made the wolf forget his smart, and gripping the fox altogether under him, as Reynard was defending himself his hand lighted into Isegrim's mouth, so that he was in danger of losing it. Then said the wolf to the fox, "Now either yield thyself as vanquished, or else certainly I will kill thee; neither thy dust, thy mocks, nor any subtle invention shall now save thee; thou art now left utterly desperate, and my wounds must have their satisfaction."

When the fox heard this he thought it was a hard election, for both brought his ruin; and suddenly concluding, he said, "Dear uncle, since fortune commands me, I yield to be your servant, and at your commandments will travel for you to the Holy Land, or any other pilgrimage, or do any service which shall be beneficial to your soul or the souls of your forefathers. I will do for the King or for our holy father the Pope, I will hold of you my lands and revenues, and as I, so shall all the rest of my kindred; so that you shall be a lord of many lords, and none shall dare to move against you.

"Besides, whatsoever I get of pullets, geese, partridges, or clover, flesh or fish, you, your wife, and children shall have the first choice, ere any are eaten by me. I will ever stand by your side, and wheresoever you go, no danger shall come near you; you are strong, and I am subtle; we two joined together, what force can prevail against us? Again, we are so near in blood that nature forbids there should be any enmity between us; I would not have fought against you had I been sure of victory, but that you first appealed me, and then you know of necessity I must do my uttermost. I have also in this battle been courteous to you, and not shown my worst violence, as I would on a stranger, for I know it is the duty of a nephew to spare his uncle; and this you might well perceive by my running from you. I tell you, it was an action much contrary to my nature, for I might often have hurt you when I refused, nor are you worse for me by anything more than the blemish of your eye, for which I am sorry, and wished it had not happened; yet thereby know that you shall reap rather benefit than loss thereby, for when other beasts in their sleep shut two windows, you shall shut but one.

"As for my wife, children, and lineage, they shall fall down at your feet before you in any presence; therefore, I humbly desire you, that you will suffer poor Reynard to live. I know you will kill me, but what will that avail you, when you shall never live in safety for fear of revengement of my kindred? Therefore, temperance in any man's wrath is excellent, whereas rashness is ever the mother of repentance. But, uncle, I know you to be valiant, wise, and discreet, and you rather seek honor, peace, and good fame than blood and revenge."

Isegrim the wolf said, "Infinite dissembler, how fain wouldst thou be freed of my servitude? Too well I understand thee, and know that if thou wert safe on thy feet thou wouldst forswear this submission; but know all the wealth in the world shall not buy out thy ransom, for thee and thy friends I esteem them not, nor believe anything thou hast uttered. Too well I know thee, and am no bird for thy lime bush; chaff cannot deceive me. Oh, how wouldst thou triumph if I should believe thee, and say I wanted wit to understand thee; but thou shalt know I can look both on this side and beyond thee. Thy many deceits used upon me have now armed me against thee. Thou sayest thou hast spared me in the battle; but look upon me, and my wounds will show how falsely thou liest; thou never gavest me a time to breathe in, nor will I now give thee a minute to repent in."

Now whilst Isegrim was thus talking, the fox bethought himself how he might best get free, and thrusting his other hand down he caught the wolf fast by the neck, and he wrung him so extremely hard thereby, that he made him shriek and howl out with the anguish; then the fox drew his other hand out of his mouth, for the wolf was in such wondrous torment that he had much ado to contain himself from swooning; for this torment exceeded above the pain of his eye, and in the end he fell over and over in a swoon; then presently Reynard leaped upon him, and drew him about the lists and dragged him by the legs, and struck, wounded, and bit him in many places, so that all the whole field might take notice thereof.

At this, all Isegrim's friends were full of sorrow, and with great weeping and lamentation went to the King and prayed him to be pleased to appease the combat and take it into his own hands; which suit the King granted, and then the leopard and the loss, being marshals, entered the lists and told the fox and the wolf that the King would speak with them, and that the battle should there end, for he would take it into his own hands and determine thereof; as for themselves they had done sufficiently, neither would the King lose either of them. And to the fox they said the whole field gave him the victory.

401

HOW ARTHUR BECAME KING

After the death of Uther Pendragon, stood the realm in great jeopardy long while, for every lord that was mighty of men made him strong, and many weened to have been king. Then Merlin went to the Archbishop of Canterbury and counselled him to send for all the lords of the realm and all the gentlemen of arms, that they should to London come by Christmas.

So the Archbishop, by the advice of Merlin, sent for all the lords and gentlemen of arms that they should come by Christmas even unto London. So in the greatest church of London, whether it were Paul's or not the French book maketh no mention, all the estates were long or day in the church for to pray. And when matins and the first mass were done, there was seen in the churchyard, against the high altar, a great stone four square, like unto a marble stone, and in midst thereof was like an anvil of steel a foot on high, and therein stuck a fair sword, and letters there were written in gold about the sword that said thus:

Then the people marveled and told it to the Archbishop. "I command," said the Archbishop, "that you keep you within your church, and pray unto God still; that no man touch the sword till the high mass be all done."

So when all masses were done, all the lords went to behold the stone and the sword. And when they saw the scripture, some assayed; such as would have been king. But none might stir the sword nor move it. "He is not here," said the Archbishop, "that shall achieve the sword, but doubt not God will make him known. But this is my counsel," said the Archbishop, "that we provide ten knights, men of good fame, and they to keep this sword."

So it was ordained, and there was made a cry, that every man should essay that would, for to win the sword. And upon New Year's Day the barons let make a jousts and a tournament, that all knights that would joust or tourney there might play, and all this was ordained for to keep the lords and the commons together, for the Archbishop trusted that God would make him known that should win the sword. So upon New Year's Day, when the service was done, the barons rode unto the field, some to joust and some to tourney, and so it happened that Sir Ector rode unto the jousts, and with him rode Sir Kay his son, and young Arthur that was his nourished brother; and Sir Kay had been made knight at All Hallowmass afore.

So as they rode to the joustsward, Sir Kay had lost his sword, for he had left it at his father's lodging, and so he prayed young Arthur for to ride for his sword. "I will well," said Arthur, and rode fast after the sword, and when he came home, the lady and all were out to see the jousting. Then was Arthur wroth, and said to himself, "I will ride to the churchyard and take the sword with me that sticketh in the stone, for my brother Sir Kay shall not be without a sword this day." So when he came to the churchyard, Sir Arthur alit and tied his horse to the stile, and so he went to the tent and found no knights there, for they were at jousting; and so he handled the sword by the handles, and lightly and fiercely pulled it out of the stone, and took his horse and rode his way until he came to his brother Sir Kay, and delivered him the sword.

As soon as Sir Kay saw the sword, he wist well it was the sword of the stone, and so he rode to his father, Sir Ector, and said, "Sir, lo here is the sword of the stone, wherefore I must be king of this land."

When Sir Ector beheld the sword, he returned again and came to the church, and there they alit, all three, and went into the church. And anon he made Sir Kay to swear upon a book how he came to that sword. "Sir," said Sir Kay, "by my brother Arthur, for he brought it to me."

"How gat ye this sword?" said Sir Ector to Arthur.

"Sir, I will tell you. When I came home for my brother's sword, I found nobody at home to deliver me his sword, and so I thought my brother Sir Kay should not be swordless, and so I came hither eagerly and pulled it out of the stone without any pain."

"Found ye any knights about this sword?" said Sir Ector.

"Nay," said Arthur.

"Now," said Sir Ector to Arthur, "I understand ye must be king of this land."

"Wherefore I," said Arthur, "and for what cause?"

"Sir," said Ector, "for God will have it so, for there should never man have drawn out this sword, but he that shall be rightways king of this land. Now let me see whether ye can put the sword there as it was and pull it out again."

"That is no mastery," said Arthur, and so he put it in the stone; therewithal Sir Ector essayed to pull out the sword and failed.

"Now essay," said Sir Ector unto Sir Kay. And anon he pulled at the sword with all his might, but it would not be.

"Now shall ye essay," said Ector to Arthur.

"I will well," said Arthur, and pulled it out easily. And therewithal Sir Ector knelt down to the earth, and Sir Kay. "Alas," said Arthur, "my own dear father and brother, why kneel ye to me?"

"Nay, nay, my lord Arthur, it is not so. I was never your father nor of your blood, but I wot well ye are of an higher blood than I weened ye were." And then Sir Ector told him all, how he had taken him for to nourish him, and by whose commandment, and by Merlin's deliverance. Then Arthur made great doole when he understood that Sir Ector was not his father.

"Sir," said Ector unto Arthur, "will ye be my good and gracious lord when ye are king?"

"Else were I to blame," said Arthur, "for ye are the man in the world that I am most beholden to, and my good lady and mother your wife, that as well as her own hath fostered me and kept. And if ever it be God's will that I be king as ye say, God forbid that I should fail you."

"Sir," said Sir Ector, "I will ask no more of you but that ye will make my son, your foster brother, Sir Kay, seneschal of all your lands."

"That shall be done," said Arthur, "and more, by the faith of my body, that never man shall have that office but he, while he and I live."

Therewithal they went unto the Archbishop and told him how the sword was achieved, and by whom; and on the Twelfth-day all the barons came thither, and to essay to take the sword, who that would essay. But there afore them all, there might none take it out but Arthur; wherefore there were many lords wroth, and said it was great shame unto them all and the realm to be over-governed with a boy of no high blood born, and so they fell out at that time that it was put off until Candlemas, and then all the barons should meet there again; but always the ten knights were ordained to watch the sword day and night, and so they set a pavilion over the stone and the sword, and five always watched. So at Candlemas many more great lords came thither for to have won the sword, but there might none prevail. And right as Arthur did at Christmas, he did at Candlemas, and pulled out the sword easily, whereof the barons were sore agrieved and put it off in delay till the high feast of Easter, yet there were some of the great lords had indignation that Arthur should be king, and put it off in a delay till the feast of Pentecost. And at the feast of Pentecost all manner of men essayed to pull at the sword that would essay, but none might prevail but Arthur, and he pulled it out afore all the lords and commons that were there, wherefore all the commons cried at once, "We will have Arthur unto our king. We will put him no more in delay, for we all see that it is God's will that he shall be our king, and who that holdeth against it, we will slay him." And therewith they all kneeled at once, both rich and poor, and cried Arthur mercy because they had delayed him so long, and Arthur forgave them, and took the sword between both his hands, and offered it upon the altar where the Archbishop was, and so was he made knight of the best man that was there. And so anon was the coronation made. And there was he sworn unto his lords and the commons for to be a true king and to stand with true justice from thenceforth the days of his life.

402

A TOURNEY WITH THE FRENCH

Then the king let purvey for a great feast, and let cry a great jousts. And by All Hallowmass the two kings were come over the sea with three hundred knights well arrayed both for peace and for war. And King Arthur met with them ten miles out of London, and there was great joy as could be thought or made. And on All Hallowmass at the great feast, sat in the hall the three kings, and Sir Kay seneschal served in the hall, and Sir Lucas the butler, and Sir Griflet. These three knights had the rule of all the service that served the kings. And anon, as they had washed and risen, all knights that would joust made them ready. By when they were ready on horseback there were seven hundred knights. And Arthur, Ban, and Bors, with the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Sir Ector, Kay's father, they were in a place covered with cloth of gold like an hall, with ladies and gentlewomen, for to behold who did the best, and thereon to give judgment.

And King Arthur and the two kings let depart the seven hundred knights into two parties. And there were three hundred knights of the realm of Benwick and of Gaul turned on the other side. Then they dressed their shields, and began to couch their spears many good knights. So Griflet was the first that met with a knight, one Ladinas, and they met so eagerly that all men had wonder; and they so fought that their shields fell to pieces, and horse and man fell to the earth; and both French knight and English knight lay so long that all men weened they had been dead. When Lucas the butler saw Griflet so lie, he horsed him again anon, and they two did marvelous deeds of arms with many bachelors. Also Sir Kay came out of an enbushment with five knights with him, and they six smote other six down. But Sir Kay did that day marvelous deeds of arms that there was none did so well as he that day. Then there come Ladinas and Gracian, two knights of France, and did passing well, that all men praised them. Then come there Sir Placidas, a good knight, and met with Sir Kay, and smote him down horse and man, wherefore Sir Griflet was wroth, and met with Sir Placidas so hard that horse and man fell to the earth. But when the five knights wist that Sir Kay had a fall, they were wroth out of wit, and therewith each of them five bare down a knight. When King Arthur and the two kings saw them begin to wax wroth on both parties, they leaped on small hackneys and let cry that all men should depart unto their lodging. And so they went home and unarmed them, and so to evensong and supper. And after, the three kings went into a garden and gave the prize unto Sir Kay, and to Lucas the butler, and unto Sir Griflet.

403

ADVENTURES OF ARTHUR

Then on a day there came in the court a squire on horseback, leading a knight before him wounded to the death. He said, "There is a knight in the forest who hath reared up a pavilion by a well, and hath slain my master, a good knight whose name was Miles; wherefore I beseech you that my master may be buried, and that some knight may revenge my master's death."

Then the noise was great of that knight's death in the court, and every man said his advice. Then came Griflet that was but a squire, and he was but young, of the age of King Arthur; so he besought the king for all his service that he had done him to give him the order of knighthood.

"Thou art full young and tender of age," said Arthur, "for to take so high an order on thee."

"Sir," said Griflet, "I beseech you make me knight."

"Sir," said Merlin, "it were great pity to lose Griflet, for he will be a passing good man when he is of age, abiding with you the term of his life. And if he adventure his body with yonder knight at the fountain, it is in great peril if ever he come again, for he is one of the best knights in the world, and the strongest man of arms."

"Well," said Arthur. So at the desire of Griflet the king made him knight. "Now," said Arthur unto Sir Griflet, "sith I have made you knight thou must give me a gift."

"What ye will," said Griflet.

"Thou shalt promise me by the faith of thy body, when thou hast jousted with the knight at the fountain, whether it fall ye to be on foot or on horseback, that right so ye shall come again unto me without making any more debate."

"I will promise you," said Griflet, "as you desire."

Then took Griflet his horse in great haste, and dressed his shield and took a spear in his hand, and so he rode at a great wallop till he came to the fountain, and thereby he saw a rich pavilion, and thereby under a cloth stood a fair horse well saddled and bridled, and on a tree a shield of divers colors and a great spear. Then Griflet smote on the shield with the butt of his spear, that the shield fell down to the ground. With that the knight came out of the pavilion and said, "Fair knight, why smote ye down my shield?"

"For I will joust with you," said Griflet.

"It is better ye do not," said the knight, "for ye are but young, and late made knight, and your might is nothing to mine."

"As for that," said Griflet, "I will joust with you."

"That is me loath," said the knight, "but sith I must needs, I will dress me thereto. Of whence be ye?" said the knight.

"Sir, I am of Arthur's court."

So the two knights ran together that Griflet's spear all to-shivered; and therewithal he smote Griflet through the shield and the left side, and brake the spear that the truncheon stuck in his body, that horse and knight fell down.

When the knight saw him lie so on the ground, he alit, and was passing heavy, for he weened he had slain him, and then he unlaced his helm and gat him wind, and so with the truncheon he set him on his horse and gat him wind, and so betook him to God, and said he had a mighty heart, and if he might live he would prove a passing good knight. And so Sir Griflet rode to the court, where great dole was made for him. But through good leeches he was healed and saved.

Right so came into the court twelve knights, who were aged men, and they came from the Emperor of Rome, and they asked of Arthur truage for this realm, other-else the emperor would destroy him and his land.

"Well," said King Arthur, "ye are messengers, therefore ye may say what ye will, other-else ye should die therefore. But this is mine answer: I owe the emperor no truage, nor none will I hold him, but on a fair field I shall give him my truage that shall be with a sharp spear, or else with a sharp sword, and that shall not be long."

And therewith the messengers departed passingly wroth, and King Arthur as wroth, for in evil time came they then; for the king was passingly wroth for the hurt of Sir Griflet. And so he commanded a privy man of his chamber that or it be day his best horse and armor with all that longeth unto his person, be without the city or to-morrow day. Right so or to-morrow day he met with his man and his horse, and so mounted up and dressed his shield and took his spear, and bade his chamberlain tarry there till he came again. And so Arthur rode a soft pace till it was day, and then was he ware of three churls chasing Merlin, and would have slain him. Then the king rode unto them and bade them, "Flee, churls!" Then were they afeard when they saw a knight, and fled.

"O Merlin," said Arthur, "here hadst thou been slain for all thy crafts had I not been."

"Nay," said Merlin, "not so, for I could save myself an I would; and thou art more near thy death than I am, for thou goest to the deathward, an God be not thy friend."

So as they went thus talking they came to the fountain and the rich pavilion there by it. Then King Arthur was ware where sat a knight armed in a chair. "Sir knight," said Arthur, "for what cause abidest thou here, that there may no knight ride this way but he joust with thee? I rede thee leave that custom," said Arthur.

"This custom," said the knight, "have I used and will use maugre who saith nay, and who is grieved with my custom let him amend it that will."

"I will amend it," said Arthur.

"I shall defend thee," said the knight.

Anon he took his horse and dressed his shield and took a spear, and they met so hard either on other's shield, that all to-shivered their spears. Therewith anon Arthur pulled out his sword. "Nay, not so," said the knight; "it is fairer that we twain run more together with sharp spears."

"I will well," said Arthur, "an I had any more spears."

"I have enow," said the knight, so there came a squire and brought two good spears, and Arthur chose one and he another; so they spurred their horses and came together with all their mights, that either brake their spears to their hands. Then Arthur set hand on his sword. "Nay," said the knight, "ye shall do better. Ye are a passing good jouster as ever I met withal, and once more for the love of the high order of knighthood let us joust once again."

"I assent me," said Arthur.

Anon there were brought two great spears, and every knight gat a spear, and therewith they ran together that Arthur's spear all to-shivered. But the other knight hit him so hard in midst of the shield that horse and man fell to the earth, and therewith Arthur was eager, and pulled out his sword and said, "I will assay thee, sir knight, on foot, for I have lost the honor on horseback."

"I will be on horseback," said the knight.

Then was Arthur wroth, and dressed his shield toward him with his sword drawn. When the knight saw that, he alit, for him thought no worship to have a knight at such avail, he to be on horseback and he on foot, and so he alit and dressed his shield unto Arthur. And there began a strong battle with many great strokes, and so hewed with their swords that the cantels flew in the fields, and much blood they bled both, that all the place there as they fought was overbled with blood, and thus they fought long and rested them, and then they went to battle again, and so hurtled together like two rams that either fell to the earth. So at the last they smote together that both their swords met even together. But the sword of the knight smote King Arthur's sword in two pieces, wherefore he was heavy. Then said the knight unto Arthur, "Thou art in my daunger whether me list to save thee or slay thee, and but thou yield thee as overcome and recreant, thou shalt die."

"As for death," said King Arthur, "welcome be it when it cometh, but to yield me unto thee as recreant I had liefer die than be so shamed."

And therewithal the king leaped unto Pellinore, and took him by the middle and threw him down, and raised off his helm. When the knight felt that, he was adread, for he was a passing big man of might, and anon he brought Arthur under him, and raised off his helm and would have smitten off his head.

Therewithal came Merlin and said, "Knight, hold thy hand, for an thou slay that knight thou puttest this realm in the greatest damage that ever was realm; for this knight is a man of more worship that thou wotest of."

"Why, who is he?" said the knight.

"It is King Arthur."

Then would he have slain him for dread of his wrath, and heaved up his sword, and therewith Merlin cast an enchantment to the knight, that he fell to the earth in a great sleep. Then Merlin took up King Arthur, and rode forth on the knight's horse.

"Alas!" said Arthur, "what hast thou done, Merlin? Hast thou slain this good knight by thy crafts? There liveth not so worshipful a knight as he was; I had liefer than the stint of my land a year that he were alive."

"Care ye not," said Merlin, "for he is wholer than ye; for he is but asleep, and will awake within three hours. I told you," said Merlin, "what a knight he was; here had ye been slain had I not been. Also there liveth not a bigger knight than he is one, and he shall hereafter do you right good service; and his name is Pellinore, and he shall have two sons that shall be passing good men; save one they shall have no fellow of prowess and of good living, and their names shall be Percivale of Wales and Lamerake of Wales."

Right so the king and he departed and went unto an hermit that was a good man and a great leech. So the hermit searched all his wounds and gave him good salves; so the king was there three days, and then were his wounds well amended that he might ride and go, and so departed.

And as they rode, Arthur said, "I have no sword."

"No force," said Merlin, "hereby is a sword that shall be yours, an I may."

So they rode till they came to a lake, the which was a fair water and broad, and in the midst of the lake Arthur was ware of an arm clothed in white samite, that held a fair sword in that hand.

"Lo!" said Merlin, "yonder is that sword that I spake of."

With that they saw a damosel going upon the lake. "What damosel is that?" said Arthur.

"That is the Lady of the Lake," said Merlin; "and within that lake is a rock, and therein is as fair a place as any on earth, and richly beseen; and this damosel will come to you anon, and then speak ye fair to her that she will give you that sword."

Anon withal came the damosel unto Arthur and saluted him, and he her again. "Damosel," said Arthur, "what sword is that, that yonder the arm holdeth above the water? I would it were mine, for I have no sword."

"Sir Arthur, king," said the damosel, "that sword is mine, and if ye will give me a gift when I ask it you, ye shall have it."

"By my faith," said Arthur, "I will give you what gift ye will ask."

"Well!" said the damosel. "Go ye into yonder barge, and row yourself to the sword, and take it and the scabbard with you, and I will ask my gift when I see my time."

So Sir Arthur and Merlin alit and tied their horses to two trees, and so they went into the ship, and when they came to the sword that the hand held, Sir Arthur took it up by the handles, and took it with him, and the arm and the hand went under the water. And so they came unto the land and rode forth, and then Sir Arthur saw a rich pavilion.

"What signifieth yonder pavilion?"

"It is the knight's pavilion," said Merlin, "that ye fought with last, Sir Pellinore; but he is out; he is not there. He hath ado with a knight of yours that hight Egglame, and they have foughten together, but at the last Egglame fled, and else he had been dead, and he hath chased him even to Carlion, and we shall meet with him anon in the highway."

"That is well said," said Arthur, "now have I a sword; now will I wage battle with him, and be avenged on him."

"Sir, you shall not so," said Merlin, "for the knight is weary of fighting and chasing, so that ye shall have no worship to have ado with him; also he will not be lightly matched of one knight living, and therefore it is my counsel, let him pass, for he shall do you good service in short time, and his sons after his days. Also ye shall see that day in short space, you shall be right glad to give him your sister to wed."

"When I see him, I will do as ye advise me," said Arthur. Then Sir Arthur looked on the sword, and liked it passing well.

"Whether liketh you the better," said Merlin, "the sword or the scabbard?"

"Me liketh better the sword," said Arthur.

"Ye are more unwise," said Merlin, "for the scabbard is worth ten of the swords, for whiles ye have the scabbard upon you, ye shall never lose no blood be ye never so sore wounded, therefore keep well the scabbard always with you."

So they rode unto Carlion, and by the way they met with Sir Pellinore; but Merlin had done such a craft, that Pellinore saw not Arthur, and he passed by without any words.

"I marvel," said Arthur, "that the knight would not speak."

"Sir," said Merlin, "he saw you not, for an he had seen you, ye had not lightly departed."

So they came unto Carlion, whereof his knights were passing glad. And when they heard of his adventures, they marveled that he would jeopard his person so, alone. But all men of worship said it was merry to be under such a chieftain, that would put his person in adventure as other poor knights did.

This meanwhile came a messenger from King Rience of North Wales, and king he was of all Ireland, and of many isles. And this was his message, greeting well King Arthur in this manner wise, saying that King Rience had discomfited and overcome eleven kings, and every each of them did him homage, and that was this, they gave him their beards clean flayed off, as much as there was; wherefore the messenger came for King Arthur's beard. For King Rience had purfled a mantle with king's beards, and there lacked one place of the mantle; wherefore he sent for his beard, or else he would enter his lands, and burn and slay, and never leave till he have the head and the beard.

"Well," said Arthur, "thou hast said thy message, the which is the most villainous and lewdest message that ever man heard sent unto a king; also thou mayest see my beard is full young yet to make a purfle of it. But tell thou thy king this: I owe him none homage, nor none of mine elders, but or it be long to, he shall do me homage on both his knees, or else he shall lose his head, by the faith of my body, for this is the most shamefulest message that ever I heard speak of. I have espied thy king met never yet with worshipful man, but tell him I will have his head without he do me homage." Then the messenger departed.

"Now is there any here," said Arthur, "that knoweth King Rience?"

Then answered a knight that hight Naram, "Sir, I know the king well. He is a passing good man of his body, as few be living, and a passing proud man, and Sir, doubt ye not he will make war on you with a mighty puissance."

"Well," said Arthur, "I shall ordain for him in short time."

404

There was a woman in Arthur's Court named Morgan le Fay, who had learned a great deal about magic. She was a wicked woman, and hated the king because he was more powerful than she, and because he was so good.

However, she pretended to be a true friend to him, and the king believed in her. One day when they were talking together, she asked him if he would not let her take charge of his wonderful sword Excalibur, and its scabbard. She said that she would guard them so carefully that they would never be stolen. As she was very eager, Arthur granted her request.

One day in time of peace, King Arthur went out hunting with a certain knight named Sir Accalon, who was the lover of Morgan le Fay. They rode for a long time, and when they were tired, stopped to rest beside a great lake. As they looked over its shining waters, they saw a beautiful little ship, which sailed straight towards them, and ran up to the sands at their feet. It was all covered with golden silks, which waved in the gentle wind. King Arthur and Sir Accalon climbed into it and examined it thoroughly, but they found no one on board.

They rested on two couches which were on the deck, until it grew dark. Then they were about to return home, when all at once, a hundred torches set on the sides of the ship were lighted, and suddenly there appeared twelve beautiful damsels who told the two that they were welcome, and that they should be served with a banquet.

Presently the maidens led the king and the knight into a room which had a table covered with a white cloth embroidered in purple. It bore many golden dishes, and each dish had a beautiful design carved upon it. Some dishes had vine-leaves, others ivy-leaves; some had angels with long robes sweeping back in graceful lines; and all these dishes held choice food. The king and Sir Accalon ate to their hearts' content.

Then the damsels led them into two separate chambers. King Arthur was tired and so sleepy that he gave but one glance at his bedroom. He saw that it was hung in red silk embroidered with gold dragons and griffins. Then he threw himself on his bed and slept very soundly.

When he awoke, he found himself not in the pretty bed-chamber, but in a dark place. He could see nothing, but all about him he heard the sound of complaining and weeping. He was much bewildered, but in a moment he cried:

"What is this? Where am I?"

Then a voice answered:

"You are in prison, as we are."

"Who are you?" asked Arthur.

The voice replied:

"We are twenty knights, prisoners, and some of us have been here as long as seven years. We are in the dungeons of a wicked lord named Sir Damas. He has a younger brother, and the two brothers are enemies, quarreling about their inheritance. Now the younger brother, Sir Ontzlake, is very strong, but Sir Damas is not strong, and moreover, he is a coward. So he tries to find a knight who will fight for him against Sir Ontzlake.

"But Sir Damas is so much hated that no one will fight for him. So he goes about the country with a body of rough men, and whenever he sees a knight, he captures him. Then he asks him to fight with Sir Ontzlake. So far, all the knights have refused, and have been thrown into prison. We do not have food enough, but we would rather die here than fight for Sir Damas, who is so wicked."

At that moment a damsel entered the prison with a torch, which faintly lighted the dismal place, and advanced to the king.

"Sir," she said, "will you fight for my lord, Sir Damas? If you will, you shall be taken from this prison. If you will not, you shall die here."

Arthur considered for some time, and then said:

"I would rather fight than die in prison. If I fight, will you deliver also all these prisoners?"

The damsel promised, and Arthur consented to fight. While she went to tell Sir Damas, Arthur said to the other prisoners:

"My friends, I do not know Sir Damas, and I do not know Sir Ontzlake. I do not know whether they are bad or good. But I will fight, and then, when I have conquered, I shall judge between them, and do justice to both."

"That is a good plan," said the knights, "but why are you so sure that you will conquer?"

"I am Arthur, the King," he replied.

At that the knights set up a great cry of joy, and the king continued:

"I shall send for my good sword Excalibur and the scabbard, and with these I shall surely win."

So when Arthur and the knights were let out of prison, the king sent the damsel who had visited them to Morgan le Fay for his sword and scabbard.

Meantime, the knight who had accompanied Arthur on the little ship, Sir Accalon, also awoke. He found himself in the palace of Morgan le Fay, and he wondered very much where Arthur was. He went to the lady, who said to him:

"My dear lord, the day has come when you can have great power if you want it. Should you like to be king of this land, instead of Arthur?"

Now Sir Accalon was a traitor at heart. He wanted very much to be king, even if the good Arthur was to be killed; so he said:

"Yes, truly."

Then she said:

"You shall be king, and I shall be your queen. All you need to do is to fight a great battle, which you shall win. I have been using my magic. It was I who sent the ship of silk to you and Arthur. I had him put into prison, and I had you brought here."

Sir Accalon wondered very much. Then she told him of the fight King Arthur was to make against Sir Ontzlake.

"But I have caused Sir Ontzlake to fall sick," she said, "and he cannot fight. I shall go with you to his castle and you can offer to fight for him."

"I to fight with the king!" cried Sir Accalon. "He would surely overthrow me."

"He cannot," said Morgan le Fay, "because you are to fight with his sword. A little while ago he sent to me for Excalibur and the scabbard, but I returned him a false sword which looks like Excalibur, and a false scabbard. You shall take the true ones, and then you will surely overcome him and rule this land."

Then Sir Accalon was glad, and he hastened with the lady to the castle of Sir Ontzlake. They found him groaning because he was ill and because Sir Damas had sent him a challenge to fight with a knight, and he could not accept it. He was much relieved when Morgan le Fay told him that Sir Accalon would fight in his place.

Early in the afternoon, King Arthur and Sir Accalon rode into the field where the combat was to be held. Arthur did not know who Sir Accalon was, nor did any one else, except Morgan le Fay. Two sides of the field were full of people, who came to watch, half of whom were friends of Sir Damas, and the other half were friends of Sir Ontzlake.

Arthur and Sir Accalon rode at each other so furiously that at the shock of the meeting both fell off their horses. Then they began to fight fiercely with their swords. The king could make no headway with his false steel, but whenever Sir Accalon struck at Arthur he drew blood.

The king was much amazed. He grew weaker and weaker, but still he kept on his feet. Those who watched him were sorry for him; they thought they had never seen a man fight so bravely. At last Arthur's sword broke, and fell in two pieces on the ground. When Sir Accalon saw this, he cried:

"Now, yield to me."

"I will never yield," said the king, "and if you do not get me another sword, you will be shamed before all men, for it is an unknightly thing to fight with a defenseless man."

"I do not care," said Sir Accalon. "If you will not yield, defend yourself with your shield as best you can."

He rushed at the king. Arthur was so weak that he could hardly stand, but he guarded himself as well as he could with his shield. Soon he could do no more, and fell to the ground.

At this moment the Lady of the Lake, who had given Arthur his sword, came upon the field. She was invisible, but anyone who had listened intently could have heard a sound like a ripple of water as she walked. She caused Excalibur to fall out of the hand of Sir Accalon and drop near Arthur.

When it fell, Arthur saw that it was his own Excalibur. He grasped its handle and some of his strength came back. He struggled to his feet, and rushing up to Sir Accalon, seized the scabbard of Excalibur and threw it far over the field.

"Now," he said, "send for a second sword and fight with me."

Then Sir Accalon was afraid. Yet he thought that Arthur was so weak that he could still be overcome. So he sent for a second sword, and they began to fight again. Arthur's strength, however, had largely returned, and in a short time he gave Sir Accalon a mortal stroke.

Sir Accalon fell to the ground, and the king, leaning over him, cried:

"Tell me who you are."

Then Sir Accalon was filled with remorse, and he said:

"Oh, my King, I have been a traitor to you, but now I am dying, and I am sorry for what I have done. I deserve my death."

He told the king his name, and all about his treachery, and that of Morgan le Fay.

King Arthur was sad.

"It is very hard to be deceived in a friend," he said, "but I forgive you freely. I will try to cure your wound, and sometime I shall trust you again."

"You cannot cure me," said Sir Accalon. "I am dying. Let them carry me off the field."

So he was taken to a neighboring abbey, while the people crowded about the king to congratulate him, but Arthur said:

"I am sad at heart. My victory is no comfort to me, for to-day I have lost a friend whom I believed true."

Then he called the two brothers, Sir Damas and Sir Ontzlake, and judged their cause. He decided that their property must be divided equally between them, and that they must be friends. They promised never to quarrel again. Arthur told them that they must be kind to other knights and to all people. He said that if he heard that they were not, he could come and punish them.

After this, Sir Damas gave back to the twenty knights all their money, and they went on their way rejoicing. King Arthur mounted his horse and rode over to the abbey, where he sat by the bed of Sir Accalon till the poor knight died. Then the king went back alone to his Court at Camelot.

405-411

STORIES FROM DON QUIXOTE

The scene is laid in a village of La Mancha, a high and arid district of Central Spain; and the time is towards the close of the sixteenth century. On the outskirts of the village there stood at the time mentioned a house of modest size, adjoining a little farm, the property of a retired gentleman whose real name was Quisada or Quijada, but who is now known to all mankind by the immortal title of Don Quixote. How he came to alter his name we shall see presently.

On a hot summer afternoon this worthy gentleman was sitting in a small upper room, which served him as a study, absorbed in the contents of a huge folio volume, which lay open on the table before him. Other volumes, of like bulky proportions, were piled up on chairs or strewn on the floor around him. The reader was a man some fifty years of age, tall and spare of figure, and with high, stern features of the severest Spanish type. In his eyes, when from time to time he paused in his reading and gazed absently before him, there was a look of wild abstraction, as of one who lives in a world of dreams and shadows. One hand, with bony, nervous fingers, rested on the open page; with the other he grasped his sword, which lay sheathed on his lap.

No sound disturbs the sultry stillness of the chamber, save only the droning of an imprisoned bee and the rustling of paper when the eager student turned a leaf. Deeper and deeper grew his absorption; his eyes seemed to devour the lines, and he clutched his hair with both hands, as if he would tear it out by the roots. At last, overpowered by a frenzied impulse, he leaped from his seat, and plucking his sword from the scabbard, began cutting and thrusting at some invisible object, shouting in a voice of thunder: "Unhand the maiden, foul caitiff! Give place, I say, and let the princess go! What, wilt thou face me, vile robber? Have at thee, then, and take the wages of thy villainy." As he uttered the last words he aimed a tremendous thrust at his visionary opponent and narrowly escaped transfixing the comely person of a young lady who at this very moment entered the room, with signs of haste and alarm. Behind her, in the dimly-lighted passage, appeared the portly figure of an elderly dame, who was proclaimed, by the bunch of keys which hung at her girdle, to be the gentleman's housekeeper.

"Dear uncle, what ails thee?" said the young lady, gazing with pity and wonder at the poor distracted man, who stood arrested in his last attitude, with rolling eyes and hair in wild disorder, while great beads of sweat poured down his face. But he, whose mind was still soaring in the regions of high romance, at once converted his niece into a rescued princess, saved from violence by his prowess; and, lowering his blade and dropping gracefully on one knee, he raised her hand to his lips and said: "Fear nothing, gentle lady! There lies thine enemy in his gore"; and he pointed to a table which had been overset in one of his wild rushes, carrying with it an inkstand, the contents of which were now trickling in a black stream across the uncarpeted boards.

His niece was accustomed to the strange fits of her eccentric relative, and, humoring his fancy, she answered: "Thou hast done well, and I thank thee. But sit down now and rest awhile after thy toils; and I will bring thee something to drink." With that she led him to a couch and left the room, taking the housekeeper with her. In a few moments she returned, bearing a great pitcher of cold water.

"'Tis a most rare elixir," said he, after taking a deep draught, "prepared by the great enchanter Alquife, and of a magic potency." Then, being exhausted by his violent exertions of body and mind he stretched himself on the couch and soon sank into a quiet sleep.

The extraordinary scene which has just been described was only one among many which had occurred during several months, down to the time when our story begins; and we must now go back a little and give some account of our hero's habits and studies, which ended by bringing him to so desperate a state. At that time by far the most popular form of light literature was the Romances of Chivalry,—huge interminable fictions, filled with the most extravagant visions that ever visited the slumbers of a mad poet. Merely to unravel the story of one of these gigantic romances is a task which would tax the strongest brain. They dealt with the adventures of Knights-Errant, who wandered about the earth redressing grievances and succoring the oppressed. Those who venture into these vast jungles of romance are occasionally rewarded by passages of great sweetness, nobility, and charm; but the modern reader soon grows weary of enchanted forests, haunted by giants, dragons, and other impossible monsters, of deserts where despairing lovers roam haggard and forlorn, of dwarfs, goblins, wizards, and all the wild and grotesque creations of the mediÆval fancy.

But in the times of which we are writing the passion for Books of Chivalry rose to such a height that it became a serious public evil. In Spain it reached its climax; and our humble gentleman of La Mancha is only an extreme example of the effect which such studies produced on the national mind. Being bitten by the craze for chivalrous fiction, he gradually forsook all the healthy pursuits of a country life and gave himself up entirely to reading such books as Amadis of Gaul, Palmerin of England, and Belianis of Greece; and his infatuation reached such a point that he sold several acres of good arable land to provide himself with funds for the purchase of those ponderous folios with which we saw him surrounded when he was first introduced to our notice. From dawn till eve he pored over his darling books, and sometimes passed whole nights in the same pursuit, until at last, having crammed his brain with this perilous stuff, he began to imagine that these wild inventions were sober reality. From this delusion there was but one step to the belief that he himself was a principal actor in the adventures of which he read; and when the fit was on him, he would take his sword and engage in single combat with the creatures of his brain, stamping his feet and alarming the household with his cries.

At first his frenzy was intermittent, and each attack was followed by a lucid interval; but finally he lost his wits altogether and came to the insane resolution of turning knight-errant and going out into the world as the redresser of wrongs and the champion of the innocent. His intention once formed, he at once took steps to carry it into effect. From a dark corner of the house he brought out an old suit of armor, which had been lying neglected for generations and was now covered with mould and eaten with rust. He cleaned the pieces and repaired them as well as he could; and observing that the helmet was a simple morion, wanting a protection for the face, he made a vizor of pasteboard to supply the defect. Then, wishing to prove the strength of his vizor, he drew his sword and with one stroke destroyed what had cost him the labor of a week. He was considerably shocked by the ease with which he had demolished his handiwork; but having made a second vizor and strengthened it with bars of iron, he did not choose to try any further experiments, but accepted the helmet, thus fortified, as the finest headpiece in the world.

Then he paid a visit to his old horse, and though the poor beast was a mere living skeleton, broken-winded and with his feet full of sandcracks, to his master's eyes he seemed a nobler steed than Bucephalus, or Bavieca, the famous charger of the Cid. It was evident that such a noble steed, who was to carry a warrior so famous, must have a name by which all the world might know him; and accordingly, after deliberating for four days and passing in review a multitude of titles, he determined to call the beast Rozinante.

Having settled this weighty question, he next began to consider what name he should assume himself, being by no means satisfied with that which he had received from his father. Eight days were passed in debating a matter so important to himself and to posterity, and at the end of that time he resolved to call himself Don Quixote. But, remembering that Amadis, not contented with his simple name, had taken the additional title of Amadis of Gaul, he determined, in imitation of that illustrious hero, his model and teacher in all things, to style himself Don Quixote de La Mancha, and thereby confer immortal honor on the land of his birth.

Nothing now remained but to choose a lady to be the mistress of his affections and the load-star of his life; for, as he wisely reflected, a knight-errant without a lady-love was like a tree without fruit or a body without a soul. "If," he said to himself, "I should encounter some giant, as commonly happens to knights-errant, and cut him in twain or otherwise vanquish him and make him my prisoner, will it not be well to have some lady to whom I may send him as a gift, so that he may enter the presence of my sweet mistress and bow the knee before her, saying in a humble and submissive voice: 'Lady, I am the giant Caraculiambro, vanquished in single combat by the knight Don Quixote de La Mancha, whose praise no tongue can tell, and I have been commanded by him to present myself to your grace, that you may dispose of me as your Highness pleases.'"

Our good knight was highly pleased with his own eloquence, and still more so when he had made choice of his lady. In a neighboring village there was a young girl, employed on a farm, with whom he had at one time been in love, though he had never brought himself to declare his passion. Her name was Aldonza Lorenzo, and her he resolved to constitute the queen of his heart, having conferred on her the sounding title of Dulcinea del Toboso, or "The Sweet Lady of Toboso," the village where she was born.

"The world is waiting for me," murmured our enthusiast, leaping from his bed at the first peep of dawn and arming himself from head to foot. Then treading softly, so as not to alarm the household, he went to the stable, saddled Rozinante, and leading him out through a back gate of the yard, mounted and rode forth into the plain, hugely delighted to find himself fairly started on his great enterprise.

But hardly had he reached the open country when the terrible thought occurred to him that he had not been dubbed a knight and by the laws of chivalry was not entitled to engage in combat with any one who bore that rank, and further, even if he were already a knight, he was obliged as a novice to wear plain armor, without device of any kind. So much was he perturbed by these reflections that he was within an ace of giving up his whole design, and would have done so but for a happy inspiration, which saved mankind from so dire a calamity. Many of the heroes of his books of chivalry had got themselves dubbed knight by the first person whom they met, and remembering this, he resolved to follow their example. And as to his armor, he would rub and polish it until it was whiter than ermine.

His scruples thus removed, he continued his journey, leaving his good steed to choose what direction he pleased, as was the fashion with knights-errant when they set out on their adventures. Thus pacing along and dreaming of mighty deeds, he gave vent to his feelings in the following rhapsody: "What a theme for the eloquence of some great master of style—the feats of high emprise wrought by the valiant arm of Don Quixote de La Mancha! Happy the pen which shall describe them, happy the age which shall read the wondrous tale! And thou, brave steed, shalt have thy part in the honor which is done to thy master, when poet and sculptor and painter shall vie with one another in raising an eternal monument to his fame."

Then recalling his part as an afflicted lover, he began to mourn his hard lot in soft and plaintive tones: "O lady Dulcinea, queen of this captive heart! Why hast thou withdrawn from me the light of thy countenance and banished thy faithful servant from thy presence? Shorten, I implore thee, the term of my penance and leave me not to wither in solitude and despair."

Lost in these sublime and melancholy thoughts he rode slowly on from hour to hour, until the sun became so hot that it was enough to melt his brains, if he had possessed any. All that day he continued his journey without meeting with any adventure, which vexed him sorely, for he was eager to encounter some foeman worthy of his steel. Evening came on, and both he and his horse were ready to drop with hunger and fatigue, when, looking about him in search of some castle—or some hovel—where he might find shelter and refreshment, he saw not far from the roadside a small inn, and, setting spurs to Rozinante, rode up to the door at a hobbling canter just as night was falling.

The inn was of the poorest and meanest description, frequented by muleteers and other rude wayfarers; but to his perverted fancy it seemed a turreted castle, with battlements of silver, drawbridge, and moat, and all that belonged to a feudal fortress. Before the door were standing two women, vagabonds of the lowest class, who were traveling in the company of certain mule-drivers; but for him they were instantly transformed into a pair of high-born maidens taking the air before the castle gate.

To complete his illusion, just at this moment a swineherd, who was collecting his drove from a neighboring stubble field, sounded a few notes on his horn. This Don Quixote took for a signal which had been given by some dwarf from the ramparts, to inform the inmates of the castle of his approach; and so, with huge satisfaction, he lifted his pasteboard vizor, and uncovering his haggard and dusty features, thus addressed the women who were eyeing him with looks of no small alarm, and evidently preparing to retreat: "Fly not, gracious ladies, neither wrong me by dreaming that ye have aught to fear from me, for the order of chivalry which I profess suffers not that I should do harm to any, least of all to maidens of lofty lineage, such as I perceive you to be."

Hearing themselves accosted by that extraordinary figure in language to which they were so little used, the women could not restrain their mirth, but laughed so long and loud that Don Quixote began to be vexed and said in a tone of grave rebuke, "Beauty and discourtesy are ill-matched together, and unseemly is the laugh which folly breeds in a vacant mind. Take not my words amiss, for I mean no offence, but am ready to serve you with heart and hand."

At this dignified reproof, the damsels only laughed louder than before, and there is no saying what might have come of it if the innkeeper, who appeared at this moment, had not undertaken the office of peacemaker, for which he was well fitted, being a fat, good-humored fellow, who loved a quiet life. At first, when he saw that fantastic warrior on his spectral steed, he was much inclined to join the girls in their noisy merriment. But finding some ground for alarm in so many engines of war, he contrived to swallow his laughter, and going up to Don Quixote, said to him civilly enough: "If your honor is in search of quarters for the night, you will find in this inn all that you require excepting a bed, which is not to be had here."

Finding the governor of the fortress—that is to say, the landlord of the inn—so obsequious, Don Quixote replied cheerfully: "Sir Castellan, you will not find me hard to please, for

"If that be your case, then," answered the innkeeper, humoring his strange guest, "'tis plain that

As he said this, he went and held the stirrup for Don Quixote, who was so weak from his long fast that it cost him much pain and effort to dismount. "I commend to thy especial care this my good steed," said he, as soon as he had found his feet: "he is the rarest piece of horseflesh that ever lived by bread."

The innkeeper bestowed but one glance on poor Rozinante, and finding little to admire in him, he thrust him hastily into the stable and came back to attend to the wants of his guest. Meanwhile Don Quixote submitted to be disarmed by the young women, who had now made their peace. Having removed his body armor, they tried to relieve him of his helmet, which was attached to his neck by green ribbons. Being unable to loose the knots, they proposed to cut the ribbons, but as he would not allow them to do this, he was obliged to keep his helmet on all that night, which made him the strangest and most diverting object that could be imagined.

While the ladies were thus employed, our brave adventurer entertained them with a strain of high-flown gallantry, seasoned with scraps from the old ballads and romances which he had read. Not understanding a word of what he said, they simply asked him, when they had finished, if he wanted anything to eat. "A slight refection would not be ill-timed," answered Don Quixote, and learning that there was nothing to be had but a "little trout," he bade them bring it with all speed. "Many little trouts," he added jestingly, "will serve my turn as well as one big one. Only let it be brought at once, for I begin to be conscious of a wondrous void within the compass of my sword-belt."

The "little trout" proved to be neither more nor less than a dish of stockfish, Poor John, or in plain English, salted cod, and that of the rankest. An odor the reverse of savory heralded its approach, and Don Quixote sat down at the table, which had been set, for coolness, before the door, and applied himself to his lenten fare. But being much incommoded by his helmet, he could not find the way to his mouth, and remained staring in dismay at the reeking mess and the filthy black bread which accompanied it, until one of the damsels, perceiving his distress, came to his relief and fed him with small morsels, which she deftly conveyed to their proper destination through the opening of his helmet. To give him drink was a harder matter, but this problem was solved with great ingenuity by the landlord, who brought a hollow cane, and placing one end in his mouth, poured the wine in at the other.

And so in solemn silence, broken now and then by the stifled laughter of the onlookers, the strange meal proceeded; and when it was nearly at an end, a clownish fellow passed by, blowing on a rustic pipe. But for Don Quixote, who had transformed the inn into a castle, the fat publican into a powerful governor, and the vagabond damsels into high-born ladies, it was an easy matter to find in those rude notes a strain of rare music, provided for his delectation while he sat at table; and he concluded his repast in a state of high satisfaction with his first day's adventures.

But one uncomfortable thought chilled the heat of his enthusiasm—he had not yet been dubbed a knight and was therefore still unqualified to engage in any chivalrous adventure. Accordingly, as soon as he had finished his scanty and sordid meal, he took the landlord aside, and shutting himself up with him in the stable and falling on his knees before him, said: "I will never rise from this posture, valiant knight, until thou hast granted me of thy courtesy the favor which I desire, and which shall redound to thine honor and to the benefit of the human race."

Dumbfoundered at the strange attitude and still stranger language of his guest, the landlord stared at him, not knowing what to do or say. He begged him to rise, but Don Quixote steadily refused, so that at last he was obliged to give the promise required.

"I expected no less from your High Mightiness," answered Don Quixote. "And now hear what I desire: to-morrow at dawn you shall dub me knight, and to that end I will this night keep the vigil of arms in the chapel of your castle, so that I may be ready to receive the order of chivalry in the morning and forthwith set out on the path of toil and glory which awaits those who follow the perilous profession of knight-errant."

By this time the landlord began to perceive that Don Quixote was not right in his wits, and being somewhat of a wag he resolved to make matter for mirth by humoring his whim; and so he replied that such ambition was most laudable, and just what he would have looked for in a gentleman of his gallant presence. He had himself, he said, been a cavalier of fortune in his youth—which in a certain sense was true, for he had been a notorious thief and rogue, known to every magistrate in Spain—and now, in his declining years, he was living in the retirement of his castle, where his chief pleasure was to entertain wandering knights; which, being interpreted, meant that he was a rascally landlord and grew fat by cheating the unfortunate travelers who stayed at his inn.

Then he went on to say that, with regard to the vigil of arms, it could be held in the courtyard of the castle, as the chapel had been pulled down to make place for a new one. "And to-morrow," he concluded, "you shall be dubbed a knight—a full knight, and a perfect knight, so that none shall be more so in all the world."

Having thanked the landlord for his kindness, and promised to obey him, as his adoptive father, in all things, Don Quixote at once prepared to perform the vigil of arms. Collecting his armor, he laid the several pieces in a horse-trough which stood in the center of the inn-yard, and then, taking his shield on his arm and grasping his lance, he began to pace up and down with high-bred dignity before the trough.

The landlord had lost no time in informing those who were staying at the inn of the mad freaks of his guest, and a little crowd was gathered to watch his proceedings from a distance, which they were the better able to do as the moon was shining with unusual brightness. Sometimes they saw him stalking to and fro, with serene composure, and sometimes he would pause in his march and stand for a good while leaning on his lance and scanning his armor with a fixed and earnest gaze.

While this was going on, one of the mule-drivers took it into his head to water his team, and approaching the horse-trough prepared to remove Don Quixote's armor, which was in his way. Perceiving his intentions, Don Quixote cried to him in a loud voice, saying: "O thou, whoever thou art, audacious knight who drawest near to touch the armor of the bravest champion that ever girt on sword, look what thou doest, and touch it not, if thou wouldst not pay for thy rashness with thy life!"

The valiant defiance was thrown away on the muleteer, whose thick head needed other arguments, and taking the armor by the straps, he flung it a good way from him. Which when Don Quixote saw, he raised his eyes to heaven, and fixing his thoughts (as may be supposed) on his lady Dulcinea, he exclaimed: "Shine on me, light of my life, now, when the first insult is offered to my devoted heart! Let not thy countenance and favor desert me in this, my first adventure."

As he put up this pious appeal he let go his shield, and lifting his lance in both hands, brought it down with such force on the muleteer's head that he fell senseless to the ground; and if the blow had been followed by another, he would have needed no physician to cure him. Having done this, Don Quixote collected his armor, and began pacing up and down again, with the same tranquility as before.

Presently another muleteer, knowing nothing of what had happened, came up to the trough with the same intention as the first and was about to lay hands on the armor when Don Quixote, without uttering a word or asking favor of any one, once more lifted his lance and dealt the fellow two smart strokes, which made two cross gashes on his crown.

Meanwhile the alarm had been raised in the house, and the whole troop of muleteers now came running to avenge their comrades. Seeing himself threatened by a general assault, Don Quixote drew his sword, and thrusting his arm into his shield cried: "Queen of Beauty, who givest power and might to this feeble heart, now let thine eyes be turned upon thy slave, who stands on the threshold of so great a peril."

His words were answered by the muleteers with a shower of stones, which he kept off as well as he could with his shield. At the noise of the fray the innkeeper came puffing up, and called upon the muleteers to desist. "The man is mad," said he, "as I told you before, and the law cannot touch him, though he should kill you all."

"Ha! art thou there, base and recreant knight?" shouted Don Quixote in a voice of thunder. "Is this thy hospitality to knights-errant? 'Tis well for thee that I have not yet received the order of knighthood, or I would have paid thee home for this outrage. As to you, base and sordid pack, I care not for you a straw. Come one, come all, and take the wages of your folly and presumption."

His tones were so threatening, and his aspect was so formidable, that he struck terror into the hearts of his assailants, who drew back and left off throwing stones; and, after some further parley, he allowed them to carry off the wounded, and returned with unruffled dignity to the vigil of arms.

The landlord was now thoroughly tired of his guest's wild antics, and, resolving to make an end of the business, lest worse should come of it, he went up to Don Quixote and asked pardon for the violence of that low-born rabble, who had acted, he said, without his knowledge, and had been properly chastised for their temerity. He added that the ceremony of conferring knighthood might be performed in any place, and that two hours sufficed for the vigil of arms, so that Don Quixote had fulfilled this part of his duty twice over, as he had now been watching for double that time.

All this was firmly believed by Don Quixote, and he requested that he might be made a knight without further delay; for if, he said, he were attacked again, after receiving the order of chivalry, he was determined not to leave a soul alive in the castle, excepting those to whom he might show mercy at the governor's desire.

The landlord, whose anxiety was increased by this alarming threat, went and fetched a book in which he kept his accounts, and came back, attended by a boy who carried a stump of candle, and by the two damsels aforesaid. Then, bidding Don Quixote to kneel before him, he began to murmur words from his book, in the tone of one who was saying his prayers, and in the midst of his reading he raised his hand and gave Don Quixote a smart blow on the neck, and then taking the sword laid it gently on his shoulder, muttering all the time between his teeth with the same air of devotion. Then he directed one of the ladies to gird on his sword, which she did with equal liveliness and discretion—and she had much need of the latter quality to prevent an explosion of laughter—; however, the specimen which the new knight had just given of his prowess kept their merriment in check.

When his spurs had been buckled on by the other damsel, the ceremony was completed, and after some further compliments Don Quixote saddled Rozinante and rode forth, a new-made knight, ready to astonish the world with feats of arms and chivalry. The innkeeper, who was glad to see the last of him, let him go without making any charge for what he had consumed.

On leaving the inn Don Quixote turned his horse's steps homewards, being resolved to obtain a supply of money, and, above all, to provide himself with a squire before seeking more distant scenes of adventure. Presently he came to a cross-road, and after hesitating a moment, he resolved to imitate his favorite heroes by leaving the direction to his steed, who immediately took the nearest way to his stable. After advancing about two leagues, our knight came in view of a great troop of people, who, as it afterwards turned out, were merchants of Toledo, on their way to Murcia to buy silk. There were six of them jogging comfortably along under their umbrellas, with four servants on horseback, and three mule-drivers walking and leading their beasts.

Here was a new opportunity, as Don Quixote thought, of displaying his knightly valor, so he settled himself firmly in his stirrups, grasped his lance, covered his breast with his shield, and stood waiting for the arrival of those knights-errant,—for such he judged them to be; and when they were come within hearing, he raised his voice and cried with an air of proud defiance: "Halt, every mother's son of you, and confess that in all the world there is no damsel more beautiful than the empress of La Mancha, the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso!"

Hearing the strange words and seeing the extravagant figure of him who uttered them, the merchants drew up, and one of them, who was of a waggish disposition, answered for the whole company and said: "Sir Knight, we do not know the good lady of whom you speak; let us see her, and if she is of such beauty as you describe, we will most gladly make the confession which you require."

"If you were to see her," replied Don Quixote, "you must needs be convinced that what I say is true, and that would be a poor triumph for me. No, on the faith of my word alone, you must believe it, confess it, assert it, swear to it, and maintain it! If not, I defy you to battle, ye sons of lawlessness and arrogance! Here I stand ready to receive you, whether ye come singly, as the rule of knighthood demands, or all together, as is the custom with churls like you."

"Sir Knight," answered the merchant, "I entreat you in the name of all this noble company, that you constrain us not to lay perjury to our souls by swearing to a thing which we have neither seen nor heard. Show us, at least, some portrait of this lady, though it be no bigger than a grain of wheat, that our scruples may be satisfied. For so strongly are we disposed in favor of the fair dame, that even if the picture should exhibit her squinting with one eye, and dropping brimstone and vermilion from the other, for all that we will vow and profess that she is as lovely as you say."

"There drops not from her," shouted Don Quixote, aflame with fury, "there drops not, I say, that which thou namest, but only sweet perfumes and pearly dew. Neither is she cross-eyed nor hunch-backed, but straight and slender as a peak of Guadarrama. But ye shall pay for the monstrous blasphemy which ye have spoken against the angelic beauty of my lady and queen."

With these words he leveled his lance and hurled himself upon the speaker with such vigor and frenzy that if Rozinante had not chanced to stumble and fall in mid career, the rash merchant would have paid dear for his jest. Down went Rozinante, and his master rolled over and over for some distance across the plain. Being brought up at last by a projecting rock, he made frantic efforts to rise, but was kept down by the weight of his armor and lay plunging and kicking on his back, but ceased not for a moment to hurl threats and defiances at his laughing foes. "Fly not, ye cowards, ye dastards! Wait awhile! Tis not by my fault, but by the fault of my horse that I lie prostrate here."

One of the mule-drivers, who was somewhat hot-tempered, was so provoked by the haughty language of the poor fallen knight, that he resolved to give him the answer on his ribs, and running up he snatched the lance from Don Quixote's hands, broke it in pieces, and taking one of them began to beat him with such good-will that in spite of the armor he bruised him like wheat in a mill-hopper. And he found the exercise so much to his liking that he continued it until he had shivered every fragment of the broken lance into splinters. Nevertheless he could not stop the mouth of our valiant knight, who during all that tempest of blows went on defying heaven and earth and shouting menaces against those bandits, as he now supposed them to be.

At length the mule-driver grew weary, and the whole party rode off, leaving the battered champion on the ground. When they were gone he made another attempt to rise. But if he failed when he was sound and whole, how much less could he do it now that he was almost hammered to pieces! Notwithstanding, his heart was light and gay, for in his own fancy he was a hero of romance, lying covered with wounds on honor's field.

Two days had passed since Don Quixote left his home, and his niece and his housekeeper were growing very anxious about him. More than once they had heard him declare his intention to turn knight-errant, and they began to fear that he had carried out his mad design. On the evening of the second day, a few hours after he had been so roughly handled by the muleteer, they heard a loud voice calling outside the street door: "Open to Sir Baldwin and the Lord Marquis of Mantua, who is brought to your gates grievously wounded." They made haste to unbar the door, and when it was opened they saw a strange sight: mounted on an ass, whose head was held by a laboring man of the village, sat Don Quixote, huddled together in a most uncavalier-like posture, his armor all battered and his face begrimed with dirt. Hard by stood Rozinante, a woeful object, crooking his knees and drooping his head; and tied in a bundle on his back were the splintered fragments of Don Quixote's lance.

When they saw who it was, they gathered round him with eager questions and cries of welcome; but he checked them with a gesture and said: "Control yourselves, all of you! I am grievously hurt, and if it be possible let some one go and fetch Urganda the wise woman, that she may examine and heal my wounds."

"Alack-a-day!" cried the housekeeper, lifting up her hands. "Did I not tell you, gentlemen, that I knew on which foot my master halted? Come, dear sir, and we will cure you, without the help of Urganda or anyone else." And with many maledictions against the books of chivalry which had done the kind gentleman so ill a turn, she assisted him to dismount, and amongst them they carried him to his room, took off his armor, and laid him on his bed. Then they inquired where he was hurt, and Don Quixote exclaimed that he was bruised from head to foot, having been thrown from his horse in an encounter with ten giants, the most outrageous and ferocious in the world.

For two weeks Don Quixote remained peacefully at home, and many were the pleasant discussions which passed between him and his old friends, the priest and barber, on his favorite theme—the pressing need of reviving the profession of knight-errantry, and his own peculiar fitness for rendering this great service to the world. All this time he was secretly negotiating with a certain peasant, a neighbor of his, whose name was Sancho Panza, an honest, poor man, not much better furnished with wits than the knight himself. This simple fellow lent a ready ear to his grand tales of glory and conquest, and at last consented to follow him as his squire, being especially tempted by certain mysterious hints which Don Quixote let fall concerning an "Isle," of which his new master promised to make him governor at the first opportunity.

This matter being arranged Don Quixote patched up his armor, obtained a new lance, and having provided himself with a sum of money, gave notice to his squire of the day on which he proposed to start. Sancho, who was short and fat and little used to traveling on foot, asked leave to bring his ass, remarking that it was a very good one. This proposal gave the knight pause, for, try as he would, he could remember no authority for a squire on a long-eared charger; but finally he gave the required permission, resolving to furnish him with a worthier steed as soon as possible, by taking the horse of the first discourteous knight whom he met.

When all was ready they set off together one night, without taking leave of their families, and rode steadily on, so that by daybreak they were beyond the reach of pursuit. Sancho Panza sat his ass like a patriarch, carrying with him his saddle-bags and leather bottle; and all his thoughts were of the Isle which his master had promised him. Don Quixote was lost in loftier meditations until he was roused from his reverie by the voice of his squire, who said: "I hope your Grace has not forgotten the Isle which I was to have, for I shall know well how to govern it, however big it may be."

"As to that," replied Don Quixote "thou needest have no fear; I shall only be complying with an ancient and honorable custom of knights-errant, and, indeed, I purpose to improve on their practice, for, instead of waiting, as they often did, until thou art worn out in my service, I shall seek the first occasion to bestow on thee this gift; and it may be that before a week has passed thou wilt be crowned king of that Isle."

"Well," said Sancho, "if this miracle should come to pass, my good wife Joan will be a queen and my sons young princes."

"Who doubts it?" answered Don Quixote.

"I do," rejoined Sancho. "My Joan a queen! Nay, if it rained crowns, I don't believe that one would ever settle on my dame's head. Believe me, your honor, she's not worth three farthings as a queen; she might manage as a countess, though that would be hard enough."

"Think not so meanly of thyself, Sancho," said Don Quixote, gravely. "Marquis is the very least title which I intend for thee, if thou wilt be content with that."

"That I will, and heaven bless your honor," said Sancho heartily. "I will take what you give and be thankful, knowing that you will not make the burden too heavy for my back."

Chatting thus, they reached the top of rising ground and saw before them thirty or forty windmills in the plain below; and as soon as Don Quixote set eyes on them he said to his squire: "Friend Sancho, we are in luck to-day! See, there stands a troop of monstrous giants, thirty or more, and with them I will forthwith do battle and slay them every one. With their spoils we will lay the foundation of our fortune, as is the victor's right; moreover it is doing heaven good service to sweep this generation of vipers from off the face of the earth."

"What giants do you mean?" asked Sancho Panza.

"Those whom thou seest yonder," answered his master, "with the long arms, which in such creatures are sometimes two leagues in length."

"What is your honor thinking of?" cried Sancho. "Those are not giants, but windmills, and their arms, as you call them, are the sails, which, being driven by the wind, set the millstones going."

"'Tis plain," said Don Quixote, "that thou hast still much to learn in our school of adventures. I tell thee they are giants, and if thou art afraid, keep out of the way and pass the time in prayer while I am engaged with them in fierce and unequal battle."

Saying this, he set spurs to Rozinante, and turning a deaf ear to the cries of Sancho, who kept repeating that the supposed giants were nothing but windmills, he thundered across the plain, shouting at the top of his voice: "Fly not, ye cowardly loons, for it is only a single knight who is coming to attack you!"

Just at this moment there came a puff of wind, which set the sails in motion; seeing which, Don Quixote cried: "Ay, swing your arms! If ye had more of them than Briareos himself, I would make you pay for it." Then, with a heartfelt appeal to his lady Dulcinea, he charged full gallop at the nearest mill, and pierced the descending sail with his lance. The weapon was shivered to pieces, and horse and rider, caught by the sweep of the sail, were sent rolling with great violence across the plain.

"Heaven preserve us!" cried Sancho, who had followed as fast as his ass could trot, and found his master lying very still by the side of his steed. "Did I not warn your honor that those things were windmills and not giants at all? Surely none could fail to see it, unless he had such another whirligig in his own pate!"

"Be silent, good Sancho!" replied Don Quixote, "and know that the things of war, beyond all others, are subject to continual mutation. Moreover, in the present case I think, nay, I am sure, that an alien power has been at work, even that wicked enchanter Friston; he it is who has changed those giants into windmills to rob me of the honor of their defeat. But in the end all his evil devices shall be baffled by my good sword."

"Heaven grant that it may be so!" said Sancho, assisting him to rise; and the knight then remounted Rozinante, whose shoulders were almost splayed by his fall, and turned his face towards the Puerto Lapice, a rugged mountain pass through which ran the main road from Madrid to Andalusia; for such a place, he thought, could not fail to afford rich and varied matter for adventures.

412

THE PROUD KING

There was once a king who ruled over many lands; he went to war, and added one country after another to his kingdom. At last he came to be emperor, and that is as much as any man can be. One night, after he was crowned emperor, he lay awake and thought about himself.

"Surely," he said, "no one can be greater than I am, on earth or in heaven."

The proud king fell asleep with these thoughts. When he awoke, the day was fair, and he looked out on the pleasant world.

"Come," he said to the men about him; "to-day we will go a-hunting."

The horses were brought, the dogs came leaping, the horns sounded, and the proud king with his courtiers rode off to the sport. They had hunted all the morning, and were now in a deep wood. In the fields the sun had beat upon their heads, and they were glad of the shade of the trees; but the proud king wished for something more. He saw a lake not far off, and he said to his men:

"Bide ye here, while I bathe in the lake and cool myself."

Then he rode apart till he came to the shore of the lake. There he got down from his horse, laid aside his clothes, and plunged into the cool water. He swam about, and sometimes dived beneath the surface, and so was once more cool and fresh.

Now while the proud king was swimming away from the shore and diving to the bottom, there came one who had the same face and form as the king. He drew near the shore, dressed himself in the king's clothes, mounted the king's horse and rode away. So when the proud king was once more cool and fresh, and came to the place where he had left his clothes and his horse, there were no clothes to be seen, and no horse.

The proud king looked about, but saw no man. He called, but no one heard him. The air was mild, but the wood was dark, and no sunshine came through to warm him after his cool bath. He walked by the shore of the lake and cast about in his mind what he should do.

"I have it," he cried at last. "Not far from here lives a knight. It was but a few days ago that I made him a knight and gave him a castle. I will go to him, and he will be glad enough to clothe his king."

The proud king wove some reeds into a mat and bound the mat about him, and then he walked to the castle of the knight. He beat loudly at the gate of the castle and called for the porter. The porter came and stood behind the gate. He did not draw the bolt at once, but asked:—

"Who is there?"

"Open the gate," said the proud king, "and you will see who I am."

The porter opened the gate, and was amazed at what he saw.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Wretch!" said the proud king; "I am the emperor. Go to your master. Bid him come to me with clothes. I have lost both clothes and horse."

"A pretty emperor!" the porter laughed. "The great emperor was here not an hour ago. He came with his court from a hunt. My master was with him and sat at meat with him. But stay you here. I will call my master. Oh, yes! I will show him the emperor," and the porter wagged his beard and laughed, and went within.

He came forth again with the knight and pointed at the proud king.

"There is the emperor!" he said. "Look at him! look at the great emperor!"

"Draw near," said the proud king to the knight, "and kneel to me. I gave thee this castle. I made thee knight. I give thee now a greater gift. I give thee the chance to clothe thy emperor with clothes of thine own."

"You dog!" cried the knight. "You fool! I have just ridden with the emperor, and have come back to my castle. Here!" he shouted to his servants, "beat this fellow and drive him away from the gate."

The porter looked on and laughed.

"Lay on well," he said to the other servants. "It is not every day that you can flog an emperor."

Then they beat the proud king, and drove him from the gate of the castle.

"Base knight!" said the proud king. "I gave him all he has, and this is how he repays me. I will punish him when I sit on my throne again. I will go to the duke who lives not far away. Him I have known all my days. He will know me. He will know his emperor."

So he came to the gate of the duke's great hall, and knocked three times. At the third knock the porter opened the gate, and saw before him a man clad only in a mat of reeds, and stained and bleeding.

"Go, I pray you, to the duke," said the proud king, "and bid him come to me. Say to him that the emperor stands at the gate. He has been robbed of his clothes and of his horse. Go quickly to your master."

The porter closed the gate between them, and went within to the duke.

"Your Grace," said he, "there is a madman at the gate. He is unclad and wild. He bade me come to you and tell you that he was the emperor."

"Here is a strange thing indeed," said the duke; "I will see it for myself."

So he went to the gate, followed by his servants, and when the porter opened it there stood the proud king. The proud king knew the duke, but the duke saw only a bruised and beaten madman.

"Do you not know me?" cried the proud king. "I am your emperor. Only this morning you were on the hunt with me. I left you that I might bathe in the lake. While I was in the water, some wretch took both my clothes and my horse, and I—I have been beaten by a base knight."

"Put him in chains," said the duke to his servants. "It is not safe to have such a man free. Give him some straw to lie on, and some bread and water."

The duke turned away and went back to his hall, where his friends sat at table.

"That was a strange thing," he said. "There was a madman at the gate. He must have been in the wood this morning, for he told me that I was on the hunt with the emperor, and so I was; and he told me that the emperor went apart to bathe in the lake, and so he did. But he said that some one stole the clothes and the horse of the emperor, yet the emperor rode back to us cool and fresh, and clothed and on his horse. And he said"—And the duke looked around on his guests.

"What did he say?"

"He said that he was the emperor."

Then the guests fell to talking and laughing, and soon forgot the strange thing. But the proud king lay in a dark prison, far even from the servants of the duke. He lay on straw, and chains bound his feet.

"What is this that has come upon me?" he said. "Am I brought so low? Am I so changed that even the duke does not know me? At least there is one who will know me, let me wear what I may."

Then, by much labor, he loosed the chains that bound him, and fled in the night from the duke's prison. When the morning came, he stood at the door of his own palace. He stood there awhile; perhaps some one would open the door and let him in. But no one came, and the proud king lifted his hand and knocked; he knocked at the door of his own palace. The porter came at last and looked at him.

"Who are you?" he asked, "and what do you want?"

"Do you not know me?" cried the proud king. "I am your master. I am the king. I am the emperor. Let me pass"; and he would have thrust him aside. But the porter was a strong man; he stood in the doorway, and would not let the proud king enter.

"You my master! you the emperor! poor fool, look here!" and he held the proud king by the arm while he pointed to a hall beyond. There sat the emperor on his throne, and by his side was the queen.

"Let me go to her! she will know me," cried the proud king, and he tried to break away from the porter. The noise without was heard in the hall. The nobles came out, and last of all came the emperor and the queen. When the proud king saw these two, he could not speak. He was choked with rage and fear, and he knew not what.

"You know me!" at last he cried. "I am your lord and husband."

The queen shrank back.

"Friends," said the man who stood by her, "what shall be done to this wretch?"

"Kill him," said one.

"Put out his eyes," said another.

"Beat him," said a third.

Then they all hustled the proud king out of the palace court. Each one gave him a blow, and so he was thrust out, and the door was shut behind him.

The proud king fled, he knew not whither. He wished he were dead. By and by he came to the lake where he had bathed. He sat down on the shore. It was like a dream, but he knew he was awake, for he was cold and hungry and faint. Then he knelt on the ground and beat his breast, and said:

"I am no emperor. I am no king. I am a poor, sinful man. Once I thought there was no one greater than I, on earth or in heaven. Now I know that I am nothing, and there is no one so poor and so mean. God forgive me for my pride."

As he said this, tears stood in his eyes. He wiped them away and rose to his feet. Close by him he saw the clothes which he had once laid aside. Near at hand was his horse, eating the soft grass. The king put on his clothes; he mounted his horse and rode to his palace. As he drew near, the door opened and servants came forth. One held his horse; another helped him dismount. The porter bowed low.

"I marvel I did not see thee pass out, my lord," he said.

The king entered, and again saw the nobles in the great hall. There stood the queen also, and by her side was the man who called himself emperor. But the queen and the nobles did not look at him; they looked at the king, and came forward to meet him.

This man also came forward, but he was clad in shining white, and not in the robes of the emperor. The king bowed his head before him.

"I am thy angel," said the man. "Thou wert proud, and made thyself to be set on high. Therefore thou hast been brought low. I have watched over thy kingdom. Now I give it back to thee, for thou art once again humble, and the humble only are fit to rule."

Then the angel disappeared. No one else heard his voice, and the nobles thought the king had bowed to them. So the king once more sat on the throne, and ruled wisely and humbly ever after.

413

ROBIN AND THE MERRY LITTLE OLD WOMAN

So sang the merry little old woman as she sat at her wheel and spun; but when she came to the last line she really could not help pushing back the flax-wheel and springing to her feet. Then she held out her skirt and danced a gay little jig as she sang,—

She curtseyed to one side of the room and then to another, and before she knew it she was curtseying to a man who stood in the open door.

"Oh, oh, oh!" cried the merry little old woman. "Whatever shall I do? An old woman ought to sit and spin and not be dancing like a young girl. Oh, but it's Master Robin! Glad am I to set eyes on you, Master Robin. Come in, and I'll throw my best cloak over the little stool for a cushion. Don't be long standing on the threshold, Master Robin."

"It'll mayhap come to pass that I'll wish I had something to stand on," said Robin, grimly, "for the proud bishop is in the forest, and he's after me with all his men. It's night and day that he's been following me, and now he's caught me surely. You've no meal chest, have you, and you've no press, and you've no feather-bed that'll hide me? There's but the one wee bit room, and there's not even a mousehole."

The little woman's heart beat fast. What could she do?

"I mind me well of a Saturday night," said she, "when I'd but little firewood and it was bitter cold, that you and your men brought me such fine logs as the great folks at the hall don't have; and then you came in yourself and gave me a pair of shoon and some brand-new hosen, all soft and fine and woolly—I don't believe the king himself has such a pair—oh, Master Robin, I've thought of something. Give me your mantle of green and your fine gray tunic, and do you put on my kirtle and jacket and gown, and tie my red and blue kerchief over your head—you gave it to me yourself, you did; it was on Easter Day in the morning—and do you sit down at the wheel and spin. See, you put your foot on the treadle so, to turn the wheel, and you twist the flax with your fingers so. Don't you get up, but just turn the wheel and grumble and mumble to yourself."

It was not long before the bishop and all his men came riding up to the little old woman's house. The bishop thrust open the door and called:—

"Old woman, what have you done with Robin Hood?" but Robin sat grumbling and mumbling at the wheel and answered never a word to the proud bishop.

"She's mayhap daft," said one of the bishop's men. "We'll soon find him"; and in a minute he had looked up the chimney and behind the dresser and under the wooden bedstead. Then he turned to the corner cupboard.

"You're daft yourself," said the bishop, "to look in that little place for a strong man like Robin." And all the time the spinner at the wheel sat grumbling and mumbling. It was a queer thread that was wound on the spool, but no one thought of that. It was Robin that they wanted, and they cared little what kind of thread an old woman in a cottage was a-spinning.

"He's here, your Reverence," called a man who had opened the lower door of the corner cupboard.

"Bring him out and set him on the horse," ordered the bishop, "and see to it that you treat him like a wax candle in the church. The king's bidden that the thief and outlaw be brought to him, and I well know he'll hang the rogue on a gallows so high that it will show over the whole kingdom; but he has given orders that no one shall have the reward if the rascal has but a bruise on his finger, save that it came in a fair fight."

So the merry little old woman in Robin's tunic and Robin's green cloak was set gently on a milk-white steed. The bishop himself mounted a dapple-gray, and down the road they went.

It was the cheeriest party that one can imagine. The bishop went laughing all the way for pure delight that he had caught Robin Hood. He told more stories than one could make up in an age of leap-years, and they were all about where he went and what he did in the days before he became bishop. The men were so happy at the thought of having the great reward the king had offered that they laughed at the bishop's stories louder than any one had ever laughed at them before. And as for the merry little old woman, she had the gayest time of all, though she had to keep her face muffled in her hood, and couldn't laugh aloud the least bit, and couldn't jump down from the great white horse and dance the gay little jig that her feet were fairly aching to try.

While the merry little old woman was riding off with the bishop and his men, Robin sat at the flax-wheel and spun and spun till he could no longer hear the beat of the horses' hoofs on the hard ground. No time had he to take off the kirtle and the jacket and the kerchief of red and blue, for no one knew when the proud bishop might find out that he had the wrong prisoner, and would come galloping back to the cottage on the border of the forest.

"If I can only get to my good men and true!" thought Robin; and he sprang up from the little flax-wheel with the distaff in his hand, and ran out of the open door.

All the long day had Robin been away from his bowmen, and as the twilight time drew near, they were more and more fearful of what might have befallen him. They went to the edge of the forest, and there they sat with troubled faces.

"I've heard that the sheriff was seen but two days ago on the eastern side of the wood," said Much the miller's son.

"And the proud bishop's not in his palace," muttered Will Scarlet. "Where he's gone I know not, but may the saints keep Master Robin from meeting him. He hates us men of the greenwood worse than the sheriff does, and he'd hang any one of us to the nearest oak."

"He'd not hang Master Robin," declared Much the miller's son, "for the bishop likes good red gold, and the king's offered a great reward for him alive and unhurt." The others laughed, but in a moment they were grave again, and peered anxiously through the trees in one way and then in another, while nearer came the twilight.

"There are folks who say the forest is haunted," said Little John. "I never saw anything, but one night when I was close to the little black pond that lies to the westward, I heard a cry that wasn't from bird or beast; I know that."

"And didn't you see anything?" asked Much the miller's son.

"No," answered Little John, "but where there's a cry, there's something to make the cry, and it wasn't bird or beast; I'm as sure of that as I am that my name is Little John."

"But it isn't," declared Friar Tuck. "You were christened John Little." No one smiled, for they were too much troubled about Robin.

"When I was a youngster," said William Scarlet, "I had an old nurse, and she told me that a first cousin of hers knew a woman whose husband was going through the forest by night, and he saw a witch carry a round bundle under her arm. It was wrapped up in a brown kerchief; and while he looked, the wind blew the kerchief away, and he saw that the round bundle was a man's head. The mouth of it opened and called, 'Help! help!' He shot an arrow through the old witch, and then he said to the head, 'Where do you want to go? Whose head are you?' The head answered, 'I'm your head, and I want to go on your shoulders.' Then he put up his hand, and, sure enough, his own head was gone, and there it lay on the ground beside the dead witch with the arrow sticking through her. He took up the head and set it on his shoulders. This was the story that he told when he came back in the morning, but no one knew whether really to believe it all or not. After that night he always carried his head a bit on one side, and some said it was because he hadn't set it back quite straight: but there are some folks that won't believe anything unless they see it themselves, and they said he had had a drink or two more than he should and that he took cold in his neck from sleeping with his head on the wet moss."

"Everybody knows there are witches," said Will Scarlet, "and folks say that wherever they may be through the day, they run to the forest when the sun begins to sink, and while they're running they can't say any magic words to hurt a man if he shoots them."

"What's that?" whispered Much the miller's son softly, and he fitted an arrow to the string.

"Wait; make a cross on it first," said Little John.

Something was flitting over the little moor. The soft gray mist hid the lower part of it, but the men could see what looked like the upper part of a woman's body, scurrying along through the fog in some mysterious fashion. Its arms were tossing wildly about, and it seemed to be beckoning. The head was covered with what might have been a kerchief, but it was too dusky to see clearly.

"Don't shoot till it's nearer," whispered William Scarlet. "They say if you hurt a witch and don't kill her outright, you'll go mad forever after."

Nearer came the witch, but still Much the miller's son waited with his bow bent and the arrow aimed. The witch ran under the low bough of a tree, the kerchief was caught on a broken limb, and—

"Why, it's Master Robin!" shouted Much the miller's son. "It's Master Robin himself"; and so it was. No time had he taken to throw off the gray kirtle and the black jacket and the blue and red kerchief about his head; for as soon as ever he could no longer hear the tramp of the horses's hoofs, he had run with the distaff still in his hand to the shelter of the good greenwood and the help of his own faithful men and true.

Meanwhile the bishop was still telling stories of what he did before he was a bishop, and the men were laughing at them, and the merry little old woman was having the gayest time of all, even though she dared not laugh out loud.

Now that the bishop had caught Robin Hood he had no fear of the greenwood rangers; and as the forest road was much nearer than the highway, down the forest road the happy company went. The merry little old woman had sometimes sat on a pillion and ridden a farm beast from the plough; but to be on a great horse like this, one that held his head so high and stepped so carefully where it was rough, and galloped so lightly and easily where it was smooth—why, she had never even dreamed of such a magnificent ride. Not a word did she speak, not even when the bishop began to tell her that no gallows would be high enough to hang such a wicked outlaw. "You've stolen gold from the knights," said he, "you've stolen from the sheriff of Nottingham, and you've even stolen from me. Glad am I to see Robin Hood—but what's that?" the bishop cried. "Who are those men, and who is their leader? And who are you?" he demanded of the merry little old woman.

Now the little woman had been taught to order herself lowly and reverently to all her betters, so before she answered the bishop she slipped down from the tall white horse and made a deep curtsey to the great man.

"If you please, sir," said she, "I think it's Robin Hood and his men."

"And who are you?" he demanded again.

"Oh, I'm nobody but a little old woman that lives in a cottage alone and spins," and then she sang in a lightsome little chirrup of a voice:—

I fear that the bishop did not hear the little song, for the arrows were flying thick and fast. The little old woman slipped behind a big tree, and there she danced her

It was not long before the great bishop was Robin's prisoner, and ere he could go free, he had to open his strong leather wallet and count out more gold than the moon had shone on in the forest for many and many a night. He laid down the goldpieces one by one, and at every piece he gave a groan that seemed to come from the very bottom of his boots.

"That's for all the world like the cry I heard from the little black pond to the westward," said Little John. "It wasn't like bird and it wasn't like beast, and now I know what it was; it was the soul of a stingy man, and he had to count over and over the money that he ought to have given away when he was alive."

As for the merry little old woman, she was a prisoner too, and such a time as she had! First there was a bigger feast than she had ever dreamed of before, and every man of Robin's followers was bound that she should eat the bit that he thought was nicest. They made her a little throne of soft green moss, and on it they laid their hunting cloaks. They built a shelter of fresh boughs over her head, and then they sang songs to her. They set up great torches all round about the glade. They wrestled and they vaulted and they climbed. They played every game that could be played by torchlight, and it was all to please the kind little woman who had saved the life of their master.

The merry little woman sat and clapped her hands at all their feats, and she laughed until she cried. Then she wiped her eyes and sang them her one little song.

The men shouted and cheered, and cheered and shouted, and the woods echoed so long and so loud that one would have thought they, too, were trying to shout.

By and by the company all set out together to carry the little old woman to her cottage. She was put upon their very best and safest horse, and Robin Hood would have none lead it but himself. After the horse came a long line of good bowmen and true. One carried a new cloak of the finest wool. Another bore a whole armful of silken kerchiefs to make up for the one that Robin had worn away. There were "shoon and hosen," and there was cloth of scarlet and of blue, and there were soft, warm blankets for her bed. There were so many things that when they were all piled up in the little cottage, there was no chance for one tenth of the men to get into the room. Those that were outside pushed up to the window and stretched their heads in at the door: and they tried their best to pile up the great heap of things so she could have room to go to bed that night and to cook her breakfast in the morning.

"And to-morrow's sweeping day," cried Robin. "'Thursday I brew and Friday I sweep,' and how'll she sweep if she has no floor?"

"We'll have to make her a floor," declared Friar Tuck.

"So we will," said Robin. "There's a good man not far away who can work in wood, and he shall come in the morning and build her another room."

"Oh, oh!" cried the merry little old woman with delight, "I never thought I should have a house with two rooms; but I'll always care for this room the most, for there's just where Master Robin stood when he came in at the door, and there's where he sat when he was spinning the flax. But, Master Robin, Master Robin, did any one ever see such a thread as you've left on the spool!"

It was so funny that the merry little old woman really couldn't help jumping up and dancing.

And then the brave men and true all said good-night and went back to the forest.

414

ALLEN-A-DALE