I SHOULD like, my young friends, to give you a horrible—an alarming—a terrific description of the Fortress of Fear. The subject is a tempting one enough, but I am the slave of truth, and moreover, imagination has built it after such a fashion that every one sees it under a different aspect. I can, however, tell you a little about it.

The Fortress of Fear is only seen at night, and scarcely can its black outline be made out against the black sky. If the moon shows herself, it is only with an evil purpose to bring out more clearly some hideous combination of lines. The stones are leperous, and the snakes that dwell among them seem like worms that feed on them. Life is represented there by the mere refuse of creation—vultures, adders, centipedes, rats, scorpions, toads, woodlice, and owls; and yet one could not help wondering how even such foul broods as these could inhabit such a place. Those who have had the misfortune to behold this ominous sight perceive only an irregular line of towers, half fallen into ruins, and resembling nothing so much as the fangs of some ogress seven hundred years old. The Fortress of Fear is the oldest of all fortresses; that it still stands is a miracle, for a breath can overthrow it;—and yet it is eternal. Each of us reckons an hour in his life in which it has appeared to him; and even the bravest of us must confess to having paid it a visit.

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Mitaine discovered a low portal, almost concealed by the ivy; the wood was worm-eaten, the iron was rusty, there was the slimy track of a snail across the handle. In the archway roosted a flock of night birds, which flew out, expressing their disgust at being disturbed, by melancholy hooting. Mitaine pushed the door—it resisted; she smote it with the pommel of her sword—a hollow sound was the only answer; for ten minutes she struggled in vain to force an entrance, then, losing patience, she gave it a vigorous kick with her foot. The woodwork gave way, the lock came off, the hinges parted, and the barrier fell inwards. Immediately she heard a loud noise, and felt several severe blows. The stonework of the arch had given way, and fallen in upon her. Fortunately she was not alarmed; had she shrunk back, she must have been buried in the ruins. A formidable heap of rubbish blocked the entrance. Where Time busies himself in the work of destruction, and Accident assists him to build a barricade, they both do their work so well, that those most experienced in such constructions must bow admiringly to their superior skill.

“Ho! Ho! What do they take me for here?” said Mitaine to herself, not without anger. “Do they fancy by any chance that I want to run away? This is a most needless precaution.”

Mitaine was at the foot of a narrow spiral staircase, which led to the top of the castle. The walls, covered with thick moss, distilled an offensive moisture, which, falling on the stairs, encouraged the growth of forests of ferns, lichens, and toadstools, the pleasant homes of hundreds of wood-lice, and other creeping things. On the first step was seated a toad; a pale lambent flame played around it, the only light to be met with in this dismal spot. The toad rose on its hind legs like a kangaroo, and began to climb the staircase, leaving behind it on each step a slimy track, which spread out exhaling a noisome odour. Mitaine followed this phosphorescent guide. Hearing a hollow sound accompanying each step, she turned and saw the stairs crumble away one after another as she ascended.

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“They are evidently bent on keeping me here, and I confess I shall have some difficulty in tearing myself away.”

The toad continued to lead the way. At the sixtieth stair it paused before a door, which opened, although there was nobody to be seen: the toad again moved on, and Mitaine continued to follow it. She found herself in a vast gallery lighted only by the moon. Refreshed by the cool air which blew on her face, and by the glimpse of the open country which she caught through a window, she felt as if she had just emerged from the tomb. On her left hand was a blank wall; before her opened, one after another, a series of huge folding doors; on her right was a large array of columns and arches that flung their gloomy shadows on the floor and side of the chamber. Before her was the toad going on without stopping; gleaming with phosphorescent light, and leaving behind it, as if crawled along, a slimy and shining track. As Mitaine passed by the first column, it crumbled in pieces, and she beheld, standing upright on the pedestal, a corpse wrapped in its winding-sheet, and holding in its hand a lighted torch. It stepped down from its place, and, waiting until she passed, took up its position on her left. The second column sank in its turn, a second corpse descended and placed itself on her right hand, also bearing a torch. The same thing took place throughout the whole length of the gallery; but the attention of our young page was distracted by the spectacle she beheld on passing the first door. She saw an immense hole, the mere sight of which made her giddy; at one moment excessively bright, at the next equally gloomy, it seemed as if lighted by some gigantic forge, whose flame alternately blazed up and died at every successive blast of the bellows. This intermittent glare was insupportable, and for some minutes Mitaine was almost blinded. She heard groans, and, at length, contrived to distinguish thousands of unhappy wretches with their hands tied behind their backs, and their limbs fractured, suspended by their wrists from the roof. Her heart full of pity and rage, she was about to rush to their aid, when she perceived that the hall was without a floor; a gulf, at the bottom of which a torrent was roaring, yawned beneath the feet of the victims. She turned aside her head, wiped away a tear, and hastened onwards. Every door before which she passed afforded her a view of new tortures, and her impotence to relieve these agonies so infuriated her, that, not knowing how to vent her rage, she rushed, sword in hand, upon the melancholy procession that surrounded her; but she encountered nothing but empty air. The corpses, taking no heed, pursued their way without hurrying, without delaying. Then the anger of Mitaine knew no bounds. She rushed on recklessly in search of an enemy. The toad took to flight; the dead, observing their distance, seemed to glide, not walk over the floor. At the end of the gallery a door opened, on grating hinges, and closed again as soon as Mitaine had crossed the threshold. The darkness was impenetrable. She was compelled to halt. The dull flame of the torches flickered up and faded in the gloom without giving out any light. The corpses ranged themselves in an immense circle round the toad; the toad gave a bound at least ten feet high, and Mitaine observed that it increased in size.

As it swelled out, the hall became filled with light. Then the beast began to assume airs and graces, to attitudinise, and to ogle; and lastly, to finish these vagaries, it set about its toilet, and commenced scratching itself, emitting, at every touch of its foot, showers of venom and sparks.

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The hall which Mitaine had just entered was the largest in the world. It seemed like some enormous square, in which met a number of wide roads, whose starting-points were lost in obscurity. The ceiling, which was low, was supported on huge granite cubes, whose sides were adorned with bas reliefs, representing the most varied scenes in the dance of death. The toad took its seat on an overturned column, at the foot of one of the pillars, shining like some baleful meteor. In front of it, beneath a daÏs of black serge, embroidered with silver, sat the Lord of the Fortress and his family, while in all the galleries legions of ghosts waited, motionless, the orders of their master.

The throne was of aspen wood; it was no easy task to reach it. Oubliettes, traps, and snares defended the approach. The Lord of Fear was standing up. On either side of him were seated the noble dame Cowardice of St. Panic, and her daughters, Consternation, Fright, Terror, Alarm, Dismay, Apprehension, Trepidation, Timidity, Pusillanimity.

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Poltroonry, and Dastardy. All were misshapen, and so accustomed to try to look on every side of them at once, for fear of being taken by surprise, that they squinted frightfully. They were all absolutely hideous to behold.

The Lord of Fear was tall, but he stooped and kept his head sunk between his shoulders. His bristling locks were prematurely white; his hollow eye did not remain still for an instant, but wandered restlessly to every corner; his sunken countenance, pale and colourless as wax, was disfigured by green streaks; his purple lips, continually quivering with nervous excitement, endeavoured in vain to assume an air of bravery; his fidgety fingers wandered to his cuirass, his sword, his dagger, as if to assure themselves that they would not be wanting if needed.

The family of Fear, perspiration bathed his face, in spite of the fever that consumed him. His teeth chattered, and every moment a fit of shivering set all his defensive armour rattling under his dingy cloak; and every time that she heard this sound of steel, Dame Coward gave a terrible jump, and gazed round her upon all sides for the cause of her alarm. She was seated on the very edge of her throne, with her two hands resting on the elbows, so that she might at once jump up and run away. Like her daughters, she was dressed in a material the colour of which was constantly changing. A hare reposed on her knees.

“This little page would be nice to eat,” whispered Trepidation to her father; “don’t be too severe upon him.”

“There you are again with your absurdities! you have no force of character,” interposed Alarm. “If one ever listened to you, Heaven knows what would become of us.”

“We must, at any price,” said Dastardy, “get rid of this young vixen, and I feel sure that by attacking her in the rear——”

“I am afraid our last hour is come,” said Apprehension, bursting into tears.

“You are always the same,” said Alarm. “You would never tire of throwing the handle after the hatchet.”

“Why don’t you speak, sister?” said Dastardy to Timidity, who was hiding herself. “Let us hear your opinion.”

“I—but—I don’t know,” stammered Timidity.

“You never know anything,” answered Dastardy, giving her sister a pinch that nearly brought the blood, and then running away.

Poor Timidity gave a shriek that made all the family jump again. The Lord of Fear sprang back ten paces, and drew his dagger. Dame Coward jumped up and let fall her hare, which immediately hid itself under her petticoat.

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“Be silent, idiots, and come round me again; that foolish Timidity has given me a fright. The first who speaks shall be put in the dark cupboard.” After this awful threat came the silence of death.

“Well, and what would you do here, little one?” said the Lord of Fear, in the interval between two shivering fits.

“By the Shrine of St. Landri,” said Mitaine, clapping her hands on her hips, “it must be admitted you have a strange way of receiving your guests. I have shrunk from nothing in order that I might see you, and my perseverance deserves a better return.”

“You do not answer my question. Why do you come here?”

“To drive you away.”

On hearing these words the Lord of Fear shrank into himself until you would have thought that half of him had disappeared, and Dame Coward sank back into her chair, behind which her daughters concealed themselves.

“Imprudent wretch!” stuttered Fear, shaking until he nearly fell. “How dare you defy me thus?”

“To judge from your appearance,” said Mitaine, smiling, “there’s no great merit in that.”

“You dare to doubt my courage? You deserve to suffer the terrors of my vengeance.” It was not without some difficulty that Fear uttered these words, for his tongue was almost paralysed.

“You have no influence over me; and all the absurd scarecrows you have called up to terrify me are only fit to be laughed at!”

“My name is the terror of the universe.”

“You libel the universe by saying so. Because a few weak minds allow you to rule them, you consider yourself master of the world. Come out of your den into the light of day, and see how you will be received!”

“The women are on my side!”

“They are not! When they catch a glimpse of you they cannot in truth repress an exclamation of natural disgust. An insect, a shadow, an unusual noise can make them tremble; but when a serious danger presents itself, when a great sentiment animates them, they will, as Christians, die the death of martyrs; as wives, follow their husbands into battle, like the Gallic women; and, as mothers, struggle with lions for the safety of their children. They will, in short, achieve immortality, like Judith, like Lucretia, like St. Genevieve.”

“Well, at any rate, I have the children. The little people are my subjects.”

“And you dare to tell this to me? Why, you actually elevate impudence almost to the position of courage. The children would obey you least of any of us if wicked teachers and foolish parents did not place them in your power. They threaten them with the dark room, and they take care to lock you up there with them. They call the wolf to eat them. Did Romulus and Remus quake at the approach of their wild nurse? I am but a child, but I know how much you are worth, and, by St. Landri’s Shrine! I defy you utterly.”

Mitaine became aware of a low sound, and noticed a stir among the corpses. At the end of one of the numberless passages that opened into the hall where this happened there appeared some pale rays of light which seemed to come nearer. As their light grew more distinct that of the toad began to die out, and the creature itself commenced shifting uneasily on its seat. The Lord of Fear seemed more alarmed than ever. His teeth chattered like castanets—he had to make three attempts before he could speak.

“You do ill to deny my power; all these who surround me have acknowledged it!”

“They are ashamed of it now,” cried Mitaine; and then turning to them, she shouted, “Can you submit to such a lord? You have only to make one step towards him, and you will drive him and his wretched race from the face of the earth. Your hands are not dead, they are but benumbed for a while. Make one more effort. Fling yourselves on the tyrant. I will show you the way!”

At these words the dead let fall their winding-sheets, and discovered to view a legion of knights in rusty armour with their swords drawn. Alarm gave a shriek, which was answered by screams from Fear himself, from Dame Coward, from Consternation, Fright, Terror, Dismay, Apprehension, Trepidation, Timidity, Pusillanimity, Poltroonery, and Dastardy.

Then was seen a strange sight. The bas-reliefs began to start into life, and continued their wild dance along the pillars, to the accompaniment of alarming shrieks. The thunder rolled, and yawning fissures opened in the walls and ceiling. The earth gaped amid deafening clamours, and Mitaine found herself in the dark. She did not remain long thus, for the galleries sank by degrees, and day came on apace. Its first rays glittered on her arms; the cheery voice of Chanticleer resounded, and, as if it had but waited the signal, the Fortress of Fear vanished into air!

Mitaine was mute with astonishment. How fair appeared the country to her! how beautiful the sun! and how softly did the breeze of morning woo her cheek! She fell on her knees, and uttered a heartfelt prayer.

The fields were variegated with a thousand colours, as though they contained specimens of every kind of flower that blows. The birds joined in—never had they chanted a more joyous welcome to dawn. There was nothing left of the castle but the recollection, and that was already growing indistinct.

When Mitaine had finished her orisons and rose to her feet, she beheld an old man and a young woman gazing at her with an affectionate expression. They were but a few steps from her, yet she could scarcely see them, for they were enveloped in a faint mist.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Your grateful friends. You have delivered us from Fear, who used to hold us captive. For a long time we have ceased to breathe, but, thanks to you, we are about to see once more those from whom we were so hastily snatched away. To-day is the Feast of the Dead, and heaven allows us to pass the day on earth. All those whom you have delivered are going to escort you to Charlemagne’s camp to testify to your great courage and noble bearing.”

Then Mitaine saw gathered around her from all quarters a number of knights clad in armour that was eaten up with rust. They were of all ages and of all countries, the greater part being mounted. A few women and children followed the procession. The footfalls were unheard, and left no mark behind them. The figures were transparent, bathed in a strange mist, to which the sun gave an opalescent gleam.

Having ranged themselves in column, they began to march onward, and Mitaine retraversed the places which had seemed to her so terrific on the preceding night: the stone bridge across the torrent, the wall covered with creepers, and almost hidden by acacia boughs, the forest of naked stems—everything, in short, appeared full of gaiety now that the sun was shining.

She called to her the old man who had lately addressed her, and bade him tell her what were the tortures, the sight of which had so roused her.

“Those,” said the dead man, “were the halls of nightmare, my child. The Lord of Fear gives his victims no rest. He and Sleep, who delivers them into his hand, understand each other. Incubi, demons, vampires, and ghoules form his terrible executioners, and preside over the punishments. You have seen them at their task, I need not attempt to describe them!”

“What can defend us against them?”

“A clear conscience and a good digestion.”

In a quarter of an hour Mitaine perceived the hut at which she had stopped on the night before. The peasant was seated on the ground among his little ones.

“Thank heaven!” said she. “Poor old man, your feeble sight will not, doubtless, allow you to distinguish your son as yet. But you, his wife, you can no doubt perceive him.”

“We have never ceased to see him since we parted,” said she. “There is neither limit nor let to the vision of the dead.”

The peasant turned his head, saw the procession approaching, recognised Mitaine, and, with a shout of surprise, at once ran to meet her.

Ere he had reached half-way, his glance fell on his father and his wife, and, overcome with joy, he sank on his knees, stretching out his arms towards them. He would fain have spoken, but could find no language to express in fitting terms the joy he experienced. He scarce dared to move, lest he should put to flight the beloved group he saw before him. When he had ascertained that he was not suffering from an illusion, tears filled his eyes, and, clasping his hands, he fell on his face, saying, “Kind Heaven, I am indeed grateful for this!”

I will not attempt to describe to you the joy of these three, whom death had, for a while, no power to separate. The mother covered her babes with kisses. The peasant, now as aged as his father had been, could not tear himself from his arms. Their white beards mingled at each embrace. The first outburst of joy over, they all three turned to Mitaine, and kissed her hands.

“Who could have forewarned you of all this happiness, my son?” said the father.

“Do you not know, then? My child, who, some years ago lost his reason, has become the cleverest of the family since daybreak this morning. Henceforth there are no saints in the calendar I shall revere as I do you!” said he to Mitaine, who had no small difficulty in freeing herself from the demonstrations of gratitude of which she was the object. She called for the horse which she had left with her host of the previous night, and rode away at full gallop, followed by her fantastic escort.

In about six hours she saw the camp of Charlemagne. The sentinels on outpost duty, seeing a cloud of dust in the distance coming along towards them with such speed, fell back and gave the alarm.

“What is it?” said the Emperor. “Who are these that thus fall into our hands? Go, Miton; mount your horse, take an escort, and inspect these new comers.”

In a moment the whole camp was alive. Every one put on his corslet, laced his helm, seized his lance, and sprang to saddle. Miton chose thirty mounted knights and led them out.

“By my faith!” said he, “these be strange folks. To judge from their size they ought not to be far off, and yet I can hardly make them out. Can you see them better, Red John?” he asked one of his men.

“Not I! My wonder is as great as yours. But is not that a page in the imperial livery who is riding at their head?”

“By my life, it is Mitaine!” And Miton spurred forward at such speed that in three minutes he was in his daughter’s arms. The ghostly squadron halted, and the thirty knights halted likewise, striving to pacify their startled horses, which were snuffing the air, snorting with dilated nostrils, pawing the ground, and neighing as if ready to die of terror.

“Who are these whom you are leading?”

“Those whom I have liberated.”

“Liberated! How?”

“I will tell you all in the Emperor’s presence. The sun is low already, and we have no time to spare.”

Miton and his thirty knights, and Mitaine with her strange followers, rode towards the camp. Charlemagne, surrounded by his peers, came out to meet them.

“By St. James! these people look as if they didn’t belong to this world. And if I am not stupidly mistaken, it is my godchild who commands them.”

Mitaine dismounted, and approached her royal godsire, who asked her, “Well, little one, what is this strange array? Do you know that I have a mind to punish you, and yet I haven’t the heart to scold you, I am so rejoiced to see you again, and so anxious to learn who these are that accompany you.”

“My prisoners, sire!” And the spectres lowered their lances to show their submission to her.

“But whence come they? Have you been to seek them in another world?”

“By my faith, sire, I could almost believe I passed last night there;” and she related her adventures briefly to Charlemagne in the presence of his peers and knights.

“Come, let me embrace you, my darling. So it appears I have promised you something. What is it?”

“You promised me, sire, to ask Roland to take me into his service as a squire.”

“It is Roland whom I reward by giving him such a treasure. What say you, nephew mine?”

The only answer Roland gave was to clasp Mitaine in his arms. The little heroine, ruddy with joy, turned to her escort to thank them. They had disappeared! On seeing this, Charlemagne sank 011 his knees; his example was followed by all the rest, and Turpin recited the prayers for the dead.

Thus ended the adventure undertaken by Mitaine.

I wish I could tell you, my friends, that the Fortress of Fear was destroyed for good and all. I am compelled, as a veracious chronicler, to confess that it was rebuilt the same evening.

You will some day or other, my young friends, most assuredly fall in with the Lord of Fear. Call to mind Mitaine whenever you do meet him, and remember that the monster can boast no weapons save those you surrender to him—no power save that which you give him—no courage save that which you lose.

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END OF THE THIRD BOOK