CHARLEMAGNE, on one occasion, committed an act of imprudence; he promised Mitaine that when she performed any remarkable feat of valour, she should be attached to Roland’s staff as a squire. From that moment she never rested; ambition constantly haunted her, and, without letting any one know her plans, she was always looking out for some opportunity of distinguishing herself. The Fortress of Fear seemed an object worthy of her labour, and the unfortunate issue of the expedition of the four knights induced her to undertake the adventure. “If my friend Croquemitaine lives in the castle, I will find him, and prove I am not afraid of him.”

She set forth early one morning, accompanied by a young page of her acquaintance named Ortez; and when she found herself at what she believed a sufficient distance from the camp to render pursuit impossible, she told her companion to return to the Emperor, and inform him that she had resolved to find the Fortress of Fear.

“Tell him not to be alarmed for me; he shall have no reason to blush for his godchild. I hope before long to remind him of his promise to make me a squire.”

The page endeavoured in vain to dissuade her from her plan; in vain he threatened her with the anger of Charlemagne. “When I return,” said she, “he will gladly embrace me.”

The more he described to her the magnitude of the dangers she would encounter, the more determined she was to face them.

“Well, then, I shall follow you,” said Ortez, resolutely.

“If you do anything of the sort I warn you that we shall quarrel.”

“Do you think I am wanting in courage?”

“No! I know you are brave; only I do not desire to lessen the merit of the deed I am resolved to accomplish by sharing its dangers with you.”

“But it would be dishonourable in me to allow to go alone into danger one whom it is my duty to defend,” said the lad, planting his little fists on his hips.

“By the Shrine of St. Landri! you are too importunate, Ortez. Girls like me have beak and talons like fully-fledged falcons. Return, then, to the camp to inform Charlemagne, and if in three days I do not come back, you will pray for a gallant girl who died in the quest of adventure.”

The page was obliged to give way; he returned alone along the road which he had just traversed in company with Mitaine, and I will not swear that he had not tears in his eyes.

As soon as she was alone, Mitaine assured herself that her sword was firmly buckled on at her side—that her dagger quitted its sheath easily; then she bent her steps towards a ruined hut which stood in the midst of a vast field of maize. Before long she reached it, and saw a peasant seated on the ground playing with his children. She was struck by his air of profound melancholy, and shocked at the wretched appearance of the little ones that were rolling’ about in the dust.

Original Size -- Medium-Size

“Can you tell me the way to the Fortress of Fear?”

On hearing this question the peasant rose hurriedly, and stared at Mitaine with frightened eyes. The youngsters took refuge between his legs as if they expected some calamity.

“Do you know what you are asking?” said the terrified man. “It is doubtless a jest, or a bit of show-off inexcusable in a child of your age.”

“You do not answer seriously a serious question. Not being a native of the country, I may not express myself properly; I believe, however, I spoke sufficiently plainly to be understood. Once more I ask you the way to the Fortress of Fear.”

“It is the way to certain death.”

“What does that matter?—it is the way I intend to take. I feel certain that they belie the lord of the castle, and wish to put his hospitality to the test.”

“Here is a madman!” said the peasant to himself, sending the children into the hut; “nevertheless, I must not let him go without having told him the danger to which he exposes himself. For sixty years, my young traveller, I have inhabited this cottage. Not one of those who have put to me the question that you have just asked me has ever returned. At first, the people who travelled along this road came singly; careless, gay, foolish as you, they passed singing before my door: the same evening they were the captives of Fear. When it was found that there was danger in the voyage, there was quite a different sort of procession. Man spends his life in neglecting Heaven and courting death. When Death scowls at him, he believes it is smiling. The procession never returned. Gallant warriors came, and said to me, ‘Prepare a breakfast for us to-morrow, good man; on our return we will make great cheer, and tell you our adventures, and laugh over them.’ And the feast was wasted for want of guests; and so, later, when reason increased in my brain, as my beard grew on my chin, I made people pay in advance, but I made no preparations for their return. Then came troops of warriors fully armed, amid the flourish of trumpets, and with banners floating on the wind. They pillaged my house, and their horses wasted my crops. Fear made them captives like the others, and from that time I have lived alone in my ruined habitation, which no one dares to approach. I lost my father through his rashness, my wife through her curiosity; she left me these children. One of them wandered away one day when I was in the fields; what happened to him I have never known; he came back to me an idiot. I have never quitted this spot, though it is more like a burial-place than a birth-place. I am a solitary dweller on the frontiers of Death, an advanced outpost, crying to all such foolish people as you to turn back.”

“I thank you,” answered Mitaine; “but if you had known me, you would have taken care not to tell me this history, for it only redoubles my desire to meet this dreadful tyrant.”

The peasant raised his arms to Heaven, as if to call it to witness the efforts he had made; then he again sat down before his ruined cabin.

“You must be poor,” said Mitaine, feeling in her purse. “Take this; you will be my heir if I die, which does not appear to me quite so certain. In any case, the money is yours. Pass the night in prayers for my success, and in the meantime point out to me the road that I must follow.”

The peasant rose, took Mitaine by the hand, and climbed with her a naked height which overlooked the country.

Original Size -- Medium-Size

“You see that footpath which borders the forest? That you must follow. Whither it leads no one knows. Heaven be with you! Farewell!”

“Let me embrace you,” said Mitaine, holding out her arms to the peasant, who sank on his knees, as if in the presence of the dead. She flung her arms round his neck, and kissed him; the old man wept; one of his tears fell on Mitaine’s hand, she signed herself with it as if it had been holy water;—then she departed. The peasant remained on his knees praying until sunset; after that he sought his miserable home, put his children to bed, lit a taper, and again betook himself to prayer until morning.

Original Size -- Medium-Size

Original Size -- Medium-Size