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Rh idolatry. The early Christians coming into contact with these conceptions, at first found an insurmountable difficulty in spreading their beliefs among the rural inhabitants of the Roman empire. Polytheism was dominant while their monotheism was as yet a persecuted belief. The road of least resistance was compromise, and so this vast system of polytheism was perverted, while seemingly accepted into their beliefs, by making these "angels," "demons," as we now understand the word. Since the early Christians were dominated by a belief in constant Satanic presence, these demons were said to be the "Hosts of Satan." It was firmly believed that the arch-fiend (Satan) was forever hovering about the Christians, but it was also believed that the sign of the cross, or a few drops of holy water, or the name of Mary, could put him to an immediate and ignominious flight.

"In the twelfth century, however, the subject passed into an entirely new phase. The conception of a witch, as we now conceive it, that is to say of a woman who had entered into a deliberate compact with Satan, who was endowed with the power of working miracles whenever she pleased, and who was continually transported through the air to the Sabbath, where she paid her homage to the Evil One first appeared. The panic created by the belief at first advanced slowly, but after a time with a fearfully accelerated rapidity. Thousands of victims were sometimes burnt alive in a few years. Every country in Europe was stricken with the wildest fever. Hundreds of the ablest judges were selected for the extirpation of this crime. A vast literature was created on the subject, and it was not until a considerable portion of the eighteenth century had passed away that the executions finally ceased. The vast majority of those accused of witchcraft were women, and again the Bible furnished the authority for the belief that women were


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168 inherently wicked. That the Fathers of the Church believed this is exemplified by the statement of Chrysostom in which he said that women were a 'necessary evil, a natural temptation, a desirable calamity, a domestic peril, a deadly fascination, and a painted ill.'" (Lecky.)

At this period the conception of a witch is radically different from that which was prevalent in the era prior to this one. The popular belief of the witchcraft ages, a belief sanctioned by most of the learned men of the time, was that the earth swarmed with millions upon millions of demons. They multiplied by reproduction in the usual way, by the accession of the souls of wicked men, of women dying in childbirth, of children stillborn, of men killed in- duels. The air was filled with them, and one was always in danger of inspiring them with the air, of swallowing them in food and drink. Most Christian writers and legendists said that there were so many of them they could not be counted, but Wierus took a census of them and reported that there were only 7,505,926 divided into seventy-two companies, each commanded by a captain or prince. They could make themselves hideous, or beautiful, as suited their purposes, and assume any shape. While capable of appearing at any time, they preferred the night between Friday and Saturday. Any human being who gave up to them his immortal soul could command their services for a certain time. Occasionally general conferences took place, at the pleasure of Satan, which were attended by all the demons and all the witches.

"These 'sabbaths' were held on the Brocken or other high mountain. Upon the spot where they met, nothing would ever grow afterwards, as their hot feet burnt all the fecundity out of the soil. In France, England, and the American Colonies, it was supposed that witches made their trips on broomsticks; in Spain and Italy it


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RELIGION AND WITCHCRAFT was believed that they twirled on the back of the Devil himself, who, for the occasion, transformed himself into male goat. On no account would a witch, when starting for a sabbath, go out through the open door or window; she would pass through the keyhole or up the chimney. While they were gone", inferior demons assumed their shape, and lay in their beds, feigning illness. Assembled on the Brocken, the Devil, as a double-headed goat, took his seat on the throne. His subjects paid their respects to him, kissing his posterior face. With a master of ceremonies appointed for the occasion, he made a personal examination of all the wizards and witches, to see if they had the secret mark about them by which they were stamped as the Devil's own. This mark was always insensible to pain, and it was the sure proof of witchery when found by the inquisitor. Any witches found by the Devil not so marked received the mark from him then and there, also a nickname. Then they all sang and danced furiously. If a stranger came to be admitted, silence reigned while he denied his salvation, spat upon the Bible, kissed the Devil, and swore absolute obedience to him. Singing and dancing was resumed, a mythical formula being used in the singing. When tired, they sat down and told of their evil deeds; those who had not been bad enough were scourged by Satan himself with thorns and scorpions until they could neither sit nor stand. Then came a dance by thousands of toads who were conjured out of the ground and standing on their hind legs kept time to the music Satan evoked from bagpipes or a trumpet. They could all talk, and asked the witches to give them the flesh of unbaptized babes for food. The witches promised to do so. The Devil told them to remember and keep their word and then stamped his foot, and the frogs disappeared instantly into the earth. Next came a most disgusting banquet, except for


text: Author:Henry Stone

title: Author:Henry Stone


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17O a few of the most wicked witches, to whom were given rich viands on golden plates and expensive wines in crystal goblets. Then came more dancing; those who did not care for that amused themselves by mocking the sacrament of baptism. For this purpose the toads were again called up and sprinkled with filthy water, the Devil making the sign of the cross, while the witches repeated a formula as absurd as that used in ordinary baptisms. Sometimes the Devil made the witches take off their clothes and dance before him, each with a cat tied around her neck, and another dangling behind as a tail. Sometimes, again, there were lascivious orgies. At cockcrow, all disappeared; the sabbath was over." ("The Story of the Inquisition" Freethought Press Association.)

This conception of a witch continued from the twelfth century to the time witch-burning ceased. With this idea of a witch being constantly instilled into the minds of their listeners, the clergy set loose fervidly religious mobs to scourge the countries of innocent women. With the entire world divided into the "Hosts of Heaven" and the "Hosts of Satan," with witches abounding in the air, in the water, and in the food, and with their immortal souls at stake, the frenzied population found evidences of withcraft in all manner of happenings.

"Pope after pope set the seal of his infallibility upon the bloody persecutions. At length came Innocent VIII who, on the 7th of December, 1484, sent forth his bull Summis Desiderantis. Of all documents ever issued from Rome, imperial and papal, this, doubtless, first and last, caused the greatest shedding of innocent blood. Yet no document was ever more clearly dictated by conscience. Inspired by the scriptural command, 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,’ Pope Innocent exhorted the clergy of Germany to leave no means untried to detect


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.

1. a man meditate on the syllable Om, called the udgîtha; for the udgîtha (a portion of the Sâma-veda) is sung, beginning with Om.

The full account, however, of Om is this:—

2. The essence of all beings is the earth, the essence of the earth is water, the essence of water


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Rh, and especially, those who by evil practice destroy vineyards, gardens, meadows, and growing crops. These precepts were based upon various texts of scripture, especially upon the famous statement in the Book of Job; and to carry them out, witch-finding inquisitors were authorized by the Pope to scour Europe, especially Germany, and a manual was prepared for their use, the Witch-Hammer, Malleus Maleficarum." (White: "Warfare of Science.")

Another important and much discussed department was the connection between evil spirits and animals. That the Devil could assume the form of any animal he pleased, seems to have been generally admitted, and it presented no difficulty to those who remembered that the first appearance of that personage on earth was as a serpent, and that on one occasion a legion of devils had entered into a herd of swine. Saint Jerome also assures us that in the desert St. Anthony had met a centaur and a faun, a little man with horns growing from his forehead, who were possibly devils, and at all events, at a later period, the "Lives of the Saints" represent evil spirits in the form of animals as not infrequent. Lycanthropy, however, or the transformation of witches into wolves, presented more difficulty. The history of Nebuchadnezzar and the conversion of Lot's wife were, it is true, eagerly alleged in support of its possibility; but it was impossible to forget that St. Augustine appeared to regard lycanthropy as a fable, and a canon of the Council of Ancyra had emphatically condemned the belief. On the other hand, that belief has been very widely diffused among the ancients. It had been accepted by many of the greatest and most orthodox theologians, by the inquisitors who were commissioned by the popes, and by the law courts of most countries. The evidence on which it rested was very curious and definite. If the


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172 witch was wounded in the form of an animal, she retained that wound in her human form, and hundreds of such cases were alleged before tribunals. Sometimes the hunter, having severed the paw of his assailant, retained it as a trophy; but, when he opened his bag, he discovered in it only a bleeding hand, which he recognized as the hand of his wife.

A French judge named Boguet, at the end of the sixteenth century, devoted himself especially to the subject and burnt multitudes of lycanthropes. He wrote a book about them and drew up a code in which he permitted ordinary witches to be strangled before they were burnt, but excepted lycanthropes who were to be burnt alive.

Now let us examine on what authority the popes and afterwards the reformers so rigorously persecuted the "witches." Both the Old and the New Testaments are riddled with references to witches, wizards, and devils. For example, this passage from Exodus XXII 18, "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live."

From Matthew VIII 28-32, "There met him two possessed with devils coming out of the tombs, exceeding fierce, so that no man might pass by that way. And, behold, they cried out, saying, 'What have we to do with thee, Jesus, Son of God? Art thou come hither to torment us before the time?' And there was a good way off from them a herd of many swine feeding. So the devils besought him, saying, 'If thou cast us out, suffer us to go away into the herd of swine. And he said unto them, 'Go!' And when they were come out, they went into the herd of swine. And behold, the whole herd of swine ran violently down a steep place into the sea and perished in the waters."

The Old Testament, therefore, definitely commands its adherents to kill, and the New Testament gives a brilliant example of its chief magician, Jesus, exorcising


text: Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Winsor, Justin


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2 the plants, the essence of plants man, the essence of man speech, the essence of speech the Rig-veda, the essence of the Rig-veda the Sâma-veda, the essence of the Sâma-veda the udgîtha (which is Om).

3. That udgîtha (Om) is the best of all essences, the highest, deserving the highest place, the eighth.

4. What then is the Rik? What is the Sâman? What is the udgîtha? This is the question.

5. The Rik indeed is speech, Sâman is breath, the udgîtha is the syllable Om. Now speech and breath, or Rik and Sâman, form one couple.

6. And that couple is joined together in the syllable Om. When two people come together, they fulfil each other's desire.

7. Thus he who knowing this, meditates on the syllable (Om), the udgîtha, becomes indeed a fulfiller of desires.

8. That syllable is a syllable of permission, for whenever we permit anything, we say Om, yes. Now permission is gratification. He who knowing this meditates on the syllable (Om), the udgîtha, becomes indeed a gratifier of desires.

9. By that syllable does the threefold knowledge (the sacrifice, more particularly the Soma-sacrifice, as founded on the three Vedas) proceed. When the Adhvaryu priest gives an order, he says Om. When the Hotri priest recites, he says Om. When the Udgâtri priest sings, he says Om,


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Rh devils from men and driving them into swine. There are numerous passages of the Bible which speak of the Devil, the Devil and his angels, spirit of an unclean devil, dumb spirit, foul spirit, unclean spirit, evil spirit, witch, witchcraft, wizards, necromancers, satan, the tempter, prince of the power of the air, prince of devils, etc.

These passages in the Bible were at once the chief source and sanction of the terrible atrocities which extended over several centuries and have come to be known, taken collectively, as the "Witchcraft Persecutions." The Devil, with his subordinate demons and the human beings who sold their souls to him, were supposed to be both capable and guilty of blighting the crops; causing the lightning; bringing destructive storms; withholding the rain; drying up cows; killing domestic and wild beasts; afflicting the nations with pestilence, famine, and war; causing all manner of diseases; betwitching men, women, and children; planting doubts in the mind and weeds in the fields; and in brief, doing about everything that was disagreeable to man in general, or that offended the priests as a caste.

Thus buttressed by the Bible, and with the nearly entire current of Church literature setting in the same direction, it is no wonder that the witchcraft delusion became one of the most appalling, if not the most appalling, fact in the development of the Christian religion.

There is extant no other record of destruction and cruel slaughter growing out of such beliefs in supernatural persons and powers that can ever begin to tell such a story of degradation and mercilessness as the record made by the Christian Church. Theologians laid stress especially upon the famous utterances of the Psalmist that "All the gods of the Heathens are devils," and St. Paul, "The things which the Gentiles sacrifice, they sacrifice to the devils."


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174 Those suspected of heresy and witchcraft must confess; they were to be tortured, until they did confess. This made suspicion equivalent to confession and conviction. In the witch "trial" the victim must not only incriminate herself but her accomplices, or all whom she "knew" to be in partnership with the Devil. She was bound to be tortured until she had given the names or described the persons, of those she had seen at the "witches' sabbath." Then they would be put to the torture and the process repeated. It was not in human nature long to bear the awful pain; soon the leading questions of the inquisitors would be answered as they wanted them answered. It would be incredible were it not attested by such a multitude of witnesses, that men could honestly believe that testimony so extorted had the slightest, value. But it is indisputable that hundreds of thousands of human beings were sent to a cruel death on this utterly worthless "evidence."

As few people realize the degree in which these superstitions were encouraged by the Church that claims infallibility, I may mention that the reality of this particular crime was implied and its perpetrators anathematized by the provincial councils or synods of Troyes, Lyons, Milan, Tours, Bourges, Narbonne, Ferrar, Saint Malo, Mont Corsin, Orleans, and Grenoble; by the Rituals of Autun, Chartres, Perigueux, Evreux, Paris, Chalons, Bologna, Troyes, Beauvais, Meaux, Rheims, etc., and by the decrees of a long series of bishops.

The infection was everywhere Germany, Spain, Portugal, France, Italy, England, Scotland, and even America was scourged. It has been estimated that one hundred thousand perished in Germany from the middle of the fifteenth century to the middle of the sixteenth century.

Pope Gregory IX wrote a great mass of nonsense to the bishop and other chiefs urging stringent methods


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464

great, round banquet hall flared brightly with ruddy torchlight when Clark Stannard and his four companions entered it after Dral. Now the tables that ran around the room were laden heavily with cooked meats and fruits and big glass flagons of black and yellow wines. At them sat more than a hundred men and women, the nobles and artistocratsaristocrats [sic] of feudal, medieval K'Lamm.

The men wore the red metal-mesh tunics and their swords, even at table. The women wore chitons of red stuffs much like the garments of the women they had seen in the city, but richer, embroidered with gold and jewels. Their upper breasts and arms were bare as in the old Cretan costume. They drank and laughed with the male feasters. But they and all in the hall fell silent, staring in eager curiosity at these five swaggering strangers who first in all the history of this land had entered from outside the deadly mountains.

"Welcome to our feast, strangers," Thargo greeted in his powerful voice. "Here are seats for you, and here are wine and meats and women, for we count you as ourselves who are, we hope, to be our allies in the great quest we soon shall make."

The Red king's face was frank and open, the sincerity of his greeting warming. But, Clark wondered, was there not a suppressed gleam in his black eyes, a quirk of secret amusement?

Clark took the backless metal chair held out for him, beside Thargo himself. His four followers were distributed further along the table. On the other side of Clark sat a languorous beauty introduced to him as Yala, the sister of Thargo. Despite his inward alertness, Clark could not but be moved to admiration by the coal-black hair, smooth ivory skin and audaciously revealed rounded figure of this princess of K'Lamm. Her velvety black eyes met his curiously.

But he turned toward Thargo. He felt that the time had come to learn what he could of the mysteries surrounding him:

"You still wish us, then, to become your allies in an attempt to reach the Lake of Life?" he asked bluntly.

"Very much I wish it," Thargo avowed frankly. "You carry weapons of a power unknown here, and they will make certain our victory; though I am sure that even without them, we still could crush Dordona."

"Where is the lake?" Clark demanded directly.

"It lies beneath us," Thargo answered.

"Beneath us?"

"Aye," the Red king nodded. "Deep beneath this prisoned land, under leagues of solid rock, exists a great cavern, and in that cavern lies the shining Lake of Life."

"Then how in the world can you hope to reach it?" exploded Clark, stiffening.

"There is only one way down to that cavern of the lake," Thargo told him. "It is a pit, or shaft, whose mouth is in the city of our enemies, Dordona, near the eastern edge of this land. The river that flows through the mountains runs across this whole land, and drops into that pit.

"Long ago," Thargo continued, "our ancestors came into this land from the outside world. They climbed over the mountains, for at that time, so legend says, it was not death to tread the mountains, as it is now. They explored the land, and found the pit into which the river falls, and went down that pit into the cavern where lies the Lake of Life. And they learned that if they drank those waters they would become immortal, but they were forbidden to drink of them.

"They were forbidden, they said, by W.T.-5


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Rh strange, unhuman beings who dwelled down in the cavern of the lake and guarded its waters of immortality. These beings, the Guardians, bade those exploring humans to return to the surface, and never again come down to drink of the waters, since that was an unholy thing. So the men returned in fear to the surface, obeying the command. And legend says that the Guardians then cast a deadly force on the mountains around this land, which still invests them, so that no more men might enter this land in future.

"The people who were already within this land founded a city around the mouth of that shaft to the underworld. They called the city Dordona and over the mouth of the pit they built a temple. They considered it blasphemy for any to think of descending the pit to the Lake of Immortality and, in their superstition, they slew any who dared to try it. For they were in great fear of the Guardians they believed dwelling below, though none but the first explorers had ever seen those beings.

"But as generations passed, age after age, rebellion grew up in the city Dordona. Many of its people said, 'Why should we die when beneath our feet lie the waters of immortality? Who are the Guardians, to forbid us the lake? Let us not allow them to monopolize the waters of immortality longer; let us go down and drink of them whether they permit it or not, so that we may become undying.

Thargo's fist clenched, his eyes glittered, as he continued, "Thus spake the rebellious ones in Dordona! They sought by force to enter the pit and descend to the lake. But most of the Dordonans were still swayed by superstitious fears of the mysterious Guardians. They put down the rebels by force, prevented them from entering the pit. After that, the rebels deserted Dordona and came here to the western edge of this land and founded a new city, this city of K'Lamm.

"And ever since then, we of K'Lamm have desired to go back and conquer the Dordonans and go down the pit to the Lake of Life. We had not the strength, at first. But during past generations, more and more people have deserted from Dordona to our city, coming to believe as we do that it is folly to grow old and die when immortality is in our grasp. So that now, stranger, we of K'Lamm are powerful enough at last to attack Dordona, crush the superstitious Blacks, force our way down to the shining lake, and drink its waters and achieve immortality!"

"You actually believe, then," Clark Stannard said incredulously, "that the waters of the lake would confer immortality?"

"I am sure of it!" Thargo said, his eyes flashing. "If we drink of them we shall never die, for they contain the pure essence of life itself. That fact, our exploring ancestors were sure about."

"Yet you're not afraid of meeting the legended Guardians, if you penetrate to the lake?" Clark asked curiously.

Thargo laughed contemptuously. "The Guardians do not frighten us, for we do not think they still watch down there by the lake. No man has seen them for ages, and even the few who saw them ages ago were not slain by them. I think that even if the Guardians still exist down there, they will not be able to stop us."

Here was a frank, unfearing skeptic, Clark thought. It was odd that while Thargo was so skeptical of the dreaded Guardians, he still believed in the impossible virtues of the shining lake.

"Why," Clark asked bluntly, "do you want our help, if you have enough forces to overwhelm Dordona, as you say?"

"We want it," Thargo said frankly,


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466 "not because we need your help—easily can we overcome Dordona—but because we do not want you against us, strangers, with your strange, powerful weapons. And for reward for joining us," the Red king added, "you shall drink the waters of the Lake of Life with us. You will become immortal, strangers, as we will."

black eyes Bashed with strange light, his fist clenched tight, his voice pregnant with emotion.

"To be immortal—think what that will mean! To stride the world undying, generation after generation, feared and worshipped by the races that continue to die! By the sun, once I have drunk those waters of undying life, I will go forth from this prisoned land, will rule——"

He stopped abruptly, glancing at Clark with narrowed eyes. Then he continued in a smooth, lower tone.

"But what is your answer, stranger, now that you know the situation? Do you join forces with us to attack Dordona?"

Clark hesitated. A strong instinct told him not to commit himself.

"I think we will join you," he said slowly, "but before I give my word on it, I must speak with my followers. If we do join you, our reward is to be as much of the shining waters as we wish to take."

"Has that Dordonan wench Lurain tried to turn you against me?" Thargo asked suspiciously. "Has she endeavored to make you an ally of her doomed people?"

"She tried to kill me, but an hour ago," Clark said tartly. "There's no danger of my becoming her ally."

Yet it seemed to him that smoldering suspicion persisted in Thargo's eyes. Then the Red king laughed and exclaimed:

"But we will talk further of this in the morning. We neglect the feast."

He raised his big hand in a signal. From an alcove suddenly thrummed music, weird harmonies of plucked strings. It throbbed louder, wilder, and a score of supple girls in shimmering veils rushed lightly to the center of the torchlit hall.

They began to dance in the space between the tables, swaying, whirling and undulating to the barbaric rush of the music, their white limbs gleaming through the gossamer of the swirling veils.

"Whoopee!" shouted Mike Shinn happily over the wild music, from down the table. "This is better than a night-club."

"Don't bother me, Mike," drawled Link Wilson, his tanned reckless face bending toward a laughing girl beside him. "I'm doin' right fine in sign-language with this muchacha."

"I'll say this beats that damned jungle, anyway," Clark heard Blacky Cain saying with a rasping chuckle.

But Lieutenant Morrow sat drinking and staring moodily, with bitter eyes, at the whirling, weaving girls.

"You do not drink, lord from outside?" a soft voice reproached Clark. It was Yala, the sister of Thargo, bending toward him, her slender white fingers extending a goblet of the black, thick wine. "Is our wine then so poor beside that of the outside world?"

Clark took the goblet, tasted the liquor. It was heady stuff, potent, strangely scented. Yala's languorous eyes approved as he drained the cup. An alert servant refilled it from a flagon.

"Aye, drink all!" boomed Thargo's powerful voice over the music. "Drink to the day that is almost here, the day when we of K'Lamm win at last to the shining waters that will make us all undying."

"To the day!" shouted the excited, half-intoxicated feasters, draining the


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Rh goblets and setting them down with a crash.

Clark Stannard felt sudden heady exaltation as he set down the goblet for the second time. The wine sang in his veins and suddenly life seemed wild, sweet, thrilling. It was good to have done with the old and outworn things of the world he had known, to sit here with this company in feast.

They were a good crowd, he thought warmly, as he drained the goblet again. They were making his men welcome, for now Mike Shinn was standing up and bellowing an Irish song, and they were laughing and applauding. Morrow was drinking heavily, silently, and the lank Texan had his arm around the girl next to him, and only Blacky Cain's dark, predatory face still remained watchful as the gangster sat there. What the deuce was Blacky so watchful about?—everyone here was their friend.

Thargo's powerful face had a smile of complete friendliness on it. Damned good scout, Thargo—by heaven, he and his men would help Thargo conquer those superstitious Dordonans! And the girl Yala swaying languorously closer to him, perfumed white shoulders and breasts rising out of her red chiton like a great lily, brooding sweetness of her black eyes making Clark's swimming senses reel!

"Are many men of the outer world as hard and handsome of face as you, lord from outside?" she whispered.

"That may be," Clark laughed, "but of this I'm sure—no women of that outer world are as beautiful as you, princess."

Her eyes were melting as she swayed closer, and slender satin fingers touched and twined about his in electrical contact.

Then as he bent unsteadily toward Yala, Clark just glimpsed an upward, meaning flash of her dark eyes, directed at Thargo. It chilled instantly through the winy haze around Clark's brain.

Danger here! shouted an alarmed voice inside him. He realized suddenly how near he was to intoxication. That wine—he'd already tossed off three or four goblets of it. And Yala was proffering him another beaker of the black stuff, with a soft smile.

"Wine brings gracious compliments from you, lord from outside. I would hear more—so drink."

Clark took the goblet. But now his half-hazy brain raced. Yala was trying to get him drunk, that was certain, and from the glance he had intercepted, he knew it was at Thargo's orders.

Nevertheless he took the goblet. But as he raised it, Clark feigned a far greater dazedness than he felt, letting his gaze wander dully, making his tongue thick when he spoke.

"Shouldn't drink any more," he muttered thickly to the leaning princess. "Doesn't take much—to knock me out."

"But you do not wish, surely, to deprive me of further compliments?" Yala's red, ripe mouth pouted bewitchingly.

Clark laughed unsteadily, though inwardly he was cold and alert. "Never—never say no to a lady. Here's to your eyes!"

He drained the goblet. The heady wine made his half-numbed senses spin, but he resolutely kept his head. Yet he feigned now a complete intoxication, hurled the glass away with a drunken laugh.

"Yala, I could give you compliments all night," he said maudlinly. "You're most—most beautiful woman—ever lived."

As his eyelids pretended to droop, Clark caught again that significant glance from the girl to her brother. Then she was leaning, her warm breath whispering in his ears.

"Would you rather tell me those


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Carlile, James (d.1691)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Carlile, James (1784-1854)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Carlile, Richard


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Carlini, Agostino


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Carlisle, Anthony


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Carlisle, Nicholas


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Rh —all for the glory of that syllable. The threefold knowledge (the sacrifice) proceeds by the greatness of that syllable (the vital breaths), and by its essence (the oblations).

10. Now therefore it would seem to follow, that both he who knows this (the true meaning of the syllable Om), and he who does not, perform the same sacrifice. But this is not so, for knowledge and ignorance are different. The sacrifice which a man performs with knowledge, faith, and the Upanishad is more powerful. This is the full account of the syllable Om.


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Carlos, Edward John


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Carlos, William


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Carlse, James


text: Sacred Books of the East/Volume 1/Khândogya-upanishad


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Carlyle, Alexander


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Carlyle, John Aitken


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Carlyle, Joseph Dacre


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Carlyle, Thomas (1803-1855)


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4

.

1. Whent heWhen the [sic] Devas and Asuras struggled together, both of the race of Pragâpati, the Devas took the udgîtha (Om), thinking they would vanquish the Asuras with it.

2. They meditated on the udgîtha (Om) as the breath (scent) in the nose, but the Asuras pierced it (the breath) with evil. Therefore we smell by the breath in the nose both what is good-smelling and what is bad-smelling. For the breath was pierced by evil.

3. Then they meditated on the udgîtha (Om) as speech, but the Asuras pierced it with evil. Therefore we speak both truth and falsehood. For speech is pierced by evil.

4. Then they meditated on the udgîtha (Om) as the eye, but the Asuras pierced it with evil.


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Rh we see both what is sightly and unsightly. For the eye is pierced by evil.

5. Then they meditated on the udgîtha (Om) as the ear, but the Asuras pierced it with evil. Therefore we hear both what should be heard and what should not be heard. For the ear is pierced by evil.

6. Then they meditated on the udgîtha (Om) as the mind, but the Asuras pierced it with evil. Therefore we conceive both what should be conceived and what should not be conceived. For the mind is pierced by evil.

7. Then comes this breath (of life) in the mouth. They meditated on the udgîtha (Om) as that breath. When the Asuras came to it, they were scattered, as (a ball of earth) would be scattered when hitting a solid stone.

8. Thus, as a ball of earth is scattered when hitting on a solid stone, will he be scattered who wishes evil to one who knows this, or who persecutes him; for he is a solid stone.

9. By it (the breath in the mouth) he distinguishes neither what is good nor what is bad-smelling, for that breath is free from evil. What we eat and drink with it supports the other vital breaths (i. e. the senses, such as smell, &c.) When at the time of death he does not find that breath (in the


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6 mouth, through which he eats and drinks and lives), then he departs. He opens the mouth at the time of death (as if wishing to eat).

10. Angiras meditated on the udgîtha (Om) as that breath, and people hold it to be Angiras, i. e. the essence of the members (angânâm rasah);

11. Therefore Brihaspati meditated on udgîtha (Om) as that breath, and people hold it to be Brihaspati, for speech is brihatî, and he (that breath) is the lord (pati) of speech;

12. Therefore Ayâsya meditated on the udgîtha (Om) as that breath, and people hold it to be Ayâsya, because it comes (ayati) from the mouth (âsya);

13. Therefore Vaka Dâlbhya knew it. He was the Udgâtri (singer) of the Naimishîya-sacrificers, and by singing he obtained for them their wishes.

14. He who knows this, and meditates on the syllable Om (the imperishable udgîtha) as the breath of life in the mouth, he obtains all wishes by singing. So much for the udgîtha (Om) as meditated on with reference to the body.


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 he should weigh his coming from Portugal, which had been for a hundred reals, more or less, of allowances, which your Highness had not granted him, so as not to break your ordinance, and that two regulations had arrived contrary to his, and that which he had contracted with the King Don Carlos, and he would see whether that neglect weighed more, for him to go and do what he ought to do, or come here for that which he had come for.

He wondered much at my knowing so much, and here he told me the truth, and that the courier had left: all which I knew. And he told me that certainly there would be no reason for his throwing over the undertaking, unless they deprived him of anything which had been assigned him by the contract. But first he had to see what your Highness would do. I said to him, what more did he want to see than the instructions, and Ruy Faleiro, who said openly that he was not going to follow his lantern, and that he would navigate to the south, or would not go in the fleet? also, that he thought he was going as captain-major, whilst I knew that others were sent in opposition, whom he would not know of except at a time when he could not remedy his honour; and that he should not pay attention to the honey, which the Bishop of Burgos put to his lips, and that now was the fit time for him to see whether he would do it, and that he should give me a letter for your Highness, and that I from affection for him would go to your Highness to act on his behalf, because I had no message from your Highness to occupy myself with the like, but that I only spoke what I thought as at other times I had done. He said to me that he would not say anything to me until he saw the


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Rh

1. Now follows the meditation on the udgîtha with reference to the gods. Let a man meditate on the udgîtha (Om) as he who sends warmth (the sun in the sky). When the sun rises it sings as Udgâtri for the sake of all creatures. When it rises it destroys the fear of darkness. He who knows this, is able to destroy the fear of darkness (ignorance).

2. This (the breath in the mouth) and that (the sun) are the same. This is hot and that is hot. This they call svara (sound), and that they call pratyâsvara (reflected sound). Therefore let a man meditate on the udgîtha (Om) as this and that (as breath and as sun).

3. Then let a man meditate on the udgîtha (Om) as vyâna indeed. If we breathe up, that is prâna, the up-breathing. If we breathe down, that is apâna, the down-breathing. The combination of prâna and apâna is vyâna, back-breathing or holding in of the breath. This vyâna is speech. Therefore when we utter speech, we neither breathe up nor down.

4. Speech is Rik, and therefore when a man utters a Rik verse he neither breathes up nor down.


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8 Rik is Sâman, and therefore when a man utters a Sâman verse he neither breathes up nor down.

Sâman is udgîtha, and therefore when a man sings (the udgîtha, Om) he neither breathes up nor down.

5. And other works also which require strength, such as the production of fire by rubbing, running a race, stringing a strong bow, are performed without breathing up or down. Therefore let a man meditate on the udgîtha (Om) as vyâna.

6. Let a man meditate on the syllables of the udgîtha, i. e. of the word udgîtha. is breath (prâna), for by means of breath a man rises (uttishthati). is speech, for speeches are called girah. a is food, for by means of food all subsists (sthita).

7.  is heaven,   the sky,  a the earth. is the sun,  the air,  a the fire. is the Sâma-veda,  the Yagur-veda,  a the Rig-veda.


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Rh and cantalena is the same thing as lenis cantus, i. e. a soft, sweet chant to God, and to the Virgin Mary, and to all the Saints. And the reason why the word puincc (puncta) is so called is because the points (or musical notes) ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la, hurt the devil and puncture him. And it is thus that these points are to be understood: viz. When Moses the son of Amram with his people in their Exodus was crossing the Red Sea, and Pharaoh and his host were following him, this was the chant which Moses had to protect him from Pharaoh and his host—these six points in praise of the Lord:—

' "The first point of these, i.e. ut: and ut in the Greek is the same as liberat in the Latin; and that is the same as saer in the Gaelic; i.e. O God, said Moses, deliver us from the harm of the devil.

' "The second point of them, i.e. re; and re is the same as saer; i.e. O God, deliver us from everything, hurtful and malignant.

' "The third point, i. e. mi: and mi in the Greek is the same as militum in the Latin; and that is the same as ridere (a knight) in the Gaelic; i. e. O God, said Moses, deliver us from those knights who are pursuing us.

' "The fourth point, i.e. fa: and fa in the Greek is the same as famulus in the Latin; and that is the same as mug (slave) in the Gaelic; i. e. O God, said Moses, deliver us from those slaves who are pursuing us.

' "The fifth point, i.e. sol: and sol is the same as grian (sun); and that is the same as righteousness ; because righteousness and Christ are not different ; i.e. O Christ, said Moses, deliver us.

' "The sixth point, i.e. la, is the same as lav; and that is the same as indail (wash); i.e. O God, said Moses, wash away our sins from us.

' "And on the singing of that laud Pharaoh and his host were drowned.

' "Understand, O man, that in whatever place this laud, i.e. this chant, is sung, the devil is bound by it, and his power is extirpated thence, and the power of God is called in."

' "We have been taught that the names of the first six notes Speech yields the milk, which is the milk of speech itself, to him who thus knowing meditates on those


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User talk:68.36.199.99

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User:Rahul Ramamoorthy

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1534.] The mere enactment of a statute, whatever penalties were attached to the violation of it, was still, however, an insufficient safeguard. The recent investigation had revealed a spirit of disloyalty, where such a spirit had not been expected. The deeper the inquiry had penetrated, the more clearly appeared tokens, if not of conspiracy, yet of excitement, of doubt, of agitation, of alienated feeling, if not of alienated act. All the symptoms were abroad which provide disaffection with its opportunity; and in the natural confusion which attended the revolt from the Papacy, the obligations of duty, both political and religious, had become indefinite and contradictory, pointing in all directions, like the magnetic needle in a thunderstorm.

It was thought well, therefore, to vest a power in the Crown, of trying the tempers of suspected persons, and examining them upon oath, as to their willingness to maintain the decision of Parliament. This measure was a natural corollary of the statute, and depended for its justification on the extent of the danger to which the State was exposed. If a difference of opinion on the legitimacy of the King's children, or of the Pope's power in England, was not dangerous, it was unjust to interfere with the natural liberty of speech or thought. If it was dangerous, and if the State had cause for supposing that opinions of the kind might spread in secret so long as no opportunity was offered for detecting their progress, to require the oath was a measure of reasonable self-defence, not permissible only, but in a high degree necessary and right.


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102 Under the impression, then, that the circumstances of the country demanded extraordinary precautions, a commission was appointed, consisting of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Lord Chancellor, the Duke of Norfolk, and the Duke of Suffolk; and these four, or any three of them, were empowered to administer, at the pleasure of the King, 'to all and singular liege subjects of the realm,' the following oath:—

'Ye shall swear to bear your faith, truth, and obedience only to the King's Majesty, and to the heirs of his body, according to the limitation and rehearsal within the Statute of Succession; and not to any other within this realm, or foreign authority, prince, or potentate: and in case any oath be made or hath been made by you to any other person or persons, that then you do repute the same as vain and annihilate: and that to your cunning, wit, and utmost of your power, without guile, fraud, or other undue means, ye shall observe, keep, maintain, and defend this Act above specified, and all the whole contents and effects thereof; and all other Acts and statutes made since the beginning of this present Parliament, in confirmation or due execution of the same, or of anything therein contained. And thus ye shall do against all manner of persons, of what estate, dignity, degree, or condition soever they be; and in no wise do or attempt, or to your power suffer to be done or attempted, directly or indirectly, any thing or things, privily or apertly, to the let, hindrance, damage, or derogation thereof, by any manner


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1534.] of means, or for any pretence or cause, so help you God and all saints.'

With this last resolution the House rose, having sat seventy-five days, and despatched their business swiftly. A week later, the news arrived from Rome that there too all was at length over; that the cause was decided, and decided against the King. The history of the closing catastrophe is as obscure as it is strange, and the account of the manner in which it was brought about is unfortunately incomplete in many important particulars. The outline only can be apprehended, and that very imperfectly.

On the receipt in Paris of the letter in which Henry threatened to organize a Protestant confederacy, Du Bellay, in genuine anxiety for the welfare of Christendom, had volunteered his services for a final effort. Not a moment was to be lost, for the courts at Rome were already busy with the great cause; but the King's evident reluctance to break with the Catholic powers,


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104 gave room for hope that something might still be done; and going in person to England, the Bishop had induced Henry, at the last extremity, either to entrust him with representative powers, or else to allow him after all to make some kind of concession. I am unable to learn the extent to which Henry yielded, but that an offer was made of some kind is evident from the form of the story. The winter was very cold, but the Bishop made his way to Rome with the haste of good will, and arrived in time to stay judgment, which was on the point of being pronounced. It seemed, for the moment, as if he would succeed. He was permitted to make engagements on the part of Henry; and that time might be allowed for communication with England, the Pope agreed to delay sentence till the 23rd of March. The Bishop's terms were approved by the King, and a courier was sent off with letters of confirmation; Sir Edward Karne and Dr Eevett following leisurely, with a more ample commission. The stone which had been laboriously rolled to the summit of the hill was trembling on the brink, and in a moment might rebound into the plain.

But this was not to be the end. Some accidental cause delayed the courier; the 23rd of March came, and he had not arrived. Du Bellay implored a further


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1534.] The King of England, he said, had waited six years; it was not a great thing for the Papal council to wait six days. The cardinals were divided; but the Spanish party were the strongest, and when the votes were taken carried the day. The die was cast, and the Pope, in spite of himself, his promises, and his conscience, drove at length upon the rocks to which he had been so long drifting. In deference to the opinion of the majority of the cardinals, he pronounced the original marriage to have been valid, the dispensation by which it was permitted to have been legal; and, as a natural consequence, Henry, King of England, should he fail in obedience to this judgment, was declared to be excommunicate from the fellowship of the Church, and to have forfeited the allegiance of his subjects.

Lest the censures should be discredited by a blank discharge, engagements were entered into, that within four months of the promulgation of the sentence, the Emperor would invade England, and Henry should be deposed. The Imperialists illuminated Rome; cannon were fired; bonfires blazed; and great bodies of men paraded the streets with shouts of 'the Empire and Spain.' Already, in their eager expectation, England was a second Netherlands, a captured province under the regency of Catherine or Mary.


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106 Two days later, the courier arrived. The Pope, at the entreaties of the Bishop of Paris, re-assembled the consistory, to consider whether the steps which had been taken should be undone. They sat debating all night, and the result was nothing. No dependence could be placed on the cardinals, Du Bellay said, for they spoke one way, and voted another.

Thus all was over. In a scene of general helplessness the long drama closed, and, what we call accident, for want of some better word, cut the knot at last over which human incapacity had so vainly laboured. The Bishop of Paris retired from Rome in despair. On his way back, he met the English commissioners at Bologna, and told them that their errand was hopeless, and that they need not proceed. 'When we asked him,' wrote Sir Edward Karne to the King, 'the cause of such hasty process, he made answer that the Imperialists at Rome had strengthened themselves in such a manner, that they coacted the said Bishop of Rome to give sentence contrary to his own mind, and the expectation of himself and of the French King. He showed us also that the Lady Princess Dowager sent lately, in the month of March past, letters to the Bishop of Rome, and also to her proctors, whereby the Bishop of Rome was much moved for her part. The Imperials, before the sentence was given, promised, in the Emperor's behalf, that he would be the executor of the sentence.'


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1534.] This is all which we are able to say of the immediate catastrophe which decided the fate of England, and through England, of the world. The deep impenetrable falsehood of the Roman ecclesiastics prevents us from discovering with what intentions the game of the last few weeks or months had been played; it is sufficient for Englishmen to remember that, whatever may have been the explanation of his conduct, the Pope, in the concluding passage of his connection with this country, furnished the most signal justification which was ever given for the revolt from an abused authority. The supreme judge in Christendom had for six years trifled with the obligations of his office, out of fear of an earthly prince; he concluded these years with uniting the extreme of folly with the extreme of improbity, and pronounced a sentence, willingly or unwillingly, which he had acknowledged to be unjust.

Charity may possibly acquit Clement of conscious duplicity. He was one of those men who waited upon fortune, and waited always without success; who gave his word as the interest of the moment suggested, trusting that it might be convenient to observe it; and who was too long accustomed to break his promises to look with any particular alarm on that contingency. It is possible, also,—for of this Clement was capable—that he knew from the beginning the conclusion to which he would at last be driven; that he had engaged himself with Charles to decide in Catherine's favour as distinctly as he had engaged himself with Francis to decide against her; and that all his tortuous scheming was intended


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108 either to weary out the patience of the King of England, or to entangle him in acknowledgments from which he would not be able to extricate himself.

He was mistaken, certainly, in the temper of the English nation; he believed what the friars told him; and trusting to the promises of disaffection, insurrection, invasion—those ignes fatui which for sixty years floated so delusively before the Italian imagination, he conceived, perhaps, that he might trifle with Henry with impunity. This only is impossible, that, if he had seriously intended to fulfil the promises which he had made to the French King, the accidental delay of a courier could have made so large a difference in his determination. It is not possible that, if he had assured himself, as he pretended, that justice was on the side against which he had declared, he would not have availed himself of any pretext to retreat from a position which ought to have been intolerable to him.

The question, however, had ended, 'as all things in this world do have their end.' The news of the sentence arrived in England at the beginning of April, with an intimation of the engagements which had been entered upon by the Imperial ambassador for an invasion. Du Bellay returned to Paris at the same time, to report the failure of his undertaking; and Francis, disappointed, angry, and alarmed, sent the Duke of Guise to London with promises of support if an attempt to invade was really made, and with a warning at the same time to Henry to prepare for danger. Troops were gathering in Flanders; detachments were on their way out of


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1534.] Italy, Germany, and Bohemia, to be followed by three thousand Spaniards, and perhaps many more; and the object avowed for these preparations was wholly incommensurate with their magnitude. For his own sake Francis could not permit a successful invasion of England, unless, indeed, he himself was to take part in it; and therefore, with entire sincerity, he offered his services. The cordial understanding for which Henry had hoped was at an end; but the political confederacy remained, which the interests of the two countries combined for the present to preserve unbroken.

Guise proposed another interview at Calais between the sovereigns. The King for the moment was afraid to leave England, lest the opportunity should be made use of for an insurrection; but prudence taught him, though disappointed in Francis, to make the best of a connection too convenient to be sacrificed. The German league was left in abeyance till the immediate danger was passed, and till the effect of the shock in England itself had been first experienced. He gladly accepted, in lieu of it, an offer that the French fleet should guard the Channel through the summer; and meanwhile, he


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110 collected himself resolutely, to abide the issue, whatever the issue was to be.

The Tudor spirit was at length awake in the English sovereign. He had exhausted the resources of patience; he had stooped even to indignity to avoid the conclusion which had come at last. There was nothing left but to meet defiance by defiance, and accept the position to which the Pope had driven him. In quiet times occasionally wayward and capricious, Henry, like Elizabeth after him, reserved his noblest nature for the moments of danger, and was ever greatest when peril was most immediate. Woe to those who crossed him now, for the time was grown stern, and to trifle further was to be lost. The suspended Act of Parliament was made law on the day (it would seem) of the arrival of the sentence. Convocation, which was still sitting, hurried through a declaration that the Pope had no more power in England than any other Bishop. Five years before, if a heretic had ventured so desperate an opinion, the clergy would have shut their ears and run upon him: now they only contended with each other in precipitate obsequiousness. The houses of the Observants at Canterbury and Greenwich, which had been implicated with the Nun of Kent, were suppressed, and the brethren were scattered among monasteries where they could be under surveillance. The Nun and her friends were sent to execution. The


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1534.] ordnance stores were examined, the repairs of the navy were hastened, and the garrisons were strengthened along the coast. Everywhere the realm armed itself for the struggle, looking well to the joints of its harness and to the temper of its weapons.

The commission appointed under the Statute of Succession opened its sittings to receive the oaths of allegiance. Now, more than ever, was it necessary to try men's dispositions, when the Pope had challenged their obedience. In words all went well: the peers swore; bishops, abbots, priors, heads of colleges, swore with scarcely an exception, the nation seemed to unite in an unanimous declaration of freedom. In one quarter only, and that a very painful one, was there refusal. It was found solely among the persons who had been implicated in the late conspiracy. Neither Sir Thomas More nor the Bishop of Rochester could expect that their recent conduct would exempt them from an obligation which the people generally accepted with good will. They had connected themselves, perhaps unintentionally, with a body of confessed traitors. An opportunity was oifered them of giving evidence of their loyalty, and escaping from the shadow of distrust. More had been treated leniently; Fisher had been treated far more than leniently. It was both fair and natural that they should be called upon to give proof that their lesson had not been learnt in vain; and, in


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went up to Victoria. He was in no hurry to get down to Wimbledon. London was warm and exhausted after the hot day, but this peculiar luke-warmness was not unpleasant to him. He chose to walk from Victoria to Waterloo.

The streets were like polished gun-metal glistened over with gold. The taxi-cabs, the wild cats of the town, swept over the gleaming floor swiftly, soon lessening in the distance, as if scornful of the other clumsy-footed traffic. He heard the merry click-clock of the swinging hansoms, then the excited whirring of the motor-buses as they charged full-tilt heavily down the road, their hearts, as it seemed, beating with trepidation; they drew up with a sigh of relief by the kerb, and stood there panting—great, nervous, clumsy things. Siegmund was always amused by the headlong, floundering career of the buses. He was pleased with this scampering of the traffic; anything for distraction. He was glad Helena was not with him, for the streets would have irritated her with their coarse noise. She would stand for a long time to watch the rabbits pop and hobble along on the common at night; but the tearing along of the taxis and the charge of a great motor-bus was painful to her. “Discords,” she said, “after the trees and sea.” She liked the glistening of the streets;


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Rh it seemed a fine alloy of gold laid down for pavement, such pavement as drew near to the pure gold streets of Heaven; but this noise could not be endured near any wonderland.

Siegmund did not mind it; it drummed out his own thoughts. He watched the gleaming magic of the road, raced over with shadows, project itself far before him into the night. He watched the people. Soldiers, belted with scarlet, went jauntily on in front. There was a peculiar charm in their movement. There was a soft vividness of life in their carriage; it reminded Siegmund of the soft swaying and lapping of a poised candle-flame. The women went blithely alongside. Occasionally, in passing, one glanced at him; then, in spite of himself, he smiled; he knew not why. The women glanced at him with approval, for he was ruddy; besides, he had that carelessness and abstraction of despair. The eyes of the women said: “You are comely, you are lovable,” and Siegmund smiled.

When the street opened, at Westminster, he noticed the city sky, a lovely deep purple, and the lamps in the Square steaming out a vapour of grey-gold light.

“It is a wonderful night,” he said to himself. “There are not two such in a year.”

He went forward to the Embankment, with a feeling of elation in his heart. This purple and gold-grey world, with the fluttering flame-warmth of soldiers and the quick brightness of women, like lights that clip sharply in a draught, was a revelation to him.

As he leaned upon the Embankment parapet the wonder did not fade, but rather increased. The trams,


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196 one after another, floated loftily over the bridge. They went like great burning bees in an endless file into a hive, past those which were drifting dreamily out, while below, on the black, distorted water, golden serpents flashed and twisted to and fro.

“Ah!” said Siegmund to himself; “it is far too wonderful for me. Here, as well as by the sea, the night is gorgeous and uncouth. Whatever happens, the world is wonderful.”

So he went on amid all the vast miracle of movement in the city night, the swirling of water to the sea, the gradual sweep of the stars, the floating of many lofty, luminous cars through the bridged darkness, like an army of angels filing past on one of God’s campaigns, the purring haste of the taxis, the slightly dancing shadows of people. Siegmund went on slowly, like a slow bullet winging into the heart of life. He did not lose this sense of wonder, not in the train, nor as he walked home in the moonless dark.

When he closed the door behind him and hung up his hat he frowned. He did not think definitely of anything, but his frown meant to him: “Now for the beginning of Hell!”

He went towards the dining-room, where the light was, and the uneasy murmur. The clock, with its deprecating, suave chime, was striking ten. Siegmund opened the door of the room. Beatrice was sewing, and did not raise her head. Frank, a tall, thin lad of eighteen, was bent over a book. He did not look up. Vera had her fingers thrust in among her hair, and continued to read the magazine that lay on the table before her. Siegmund looked at them all. They gave no sign to show they were aware of his entry; there


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Rh was only that unnatural tenseness of people who cover their agitation. He glanced round to see where he should go. His wicker armchair remained empty by the fireplace; his slippers were standing under the sideboard, as he had left them. Siegmund sat down in the creaking chair; he began to feel sick and tired.

“I suppose the children are in bed,” he said.

His wife sewed on as if she had not heard him; his daughter noisily turned over a leaf and continued to read, as if she were pleasantly interested and had known no interruption. Siegmund waited, with his slipper dangling from his hand, looking from one to another.

“They’ve been gone two hours,” said Frank at last, still without raising his eyes from his book. His tone was contemptuous, his voice was jarring, not yet having developed a man’s fulness.

Siegmund put on his slipper, and began to unlace the other boot. The slurring of the lace through the holes and the snacking of the tag seemed unnecessarily loud. It annoyed his wife. She took a breath to speak, then refrained, feeling suddenly her daughter’s scornful restraint upon her. Siegmund rested his arms upon his knees, and sat leaning forward, looking into the barren fireplace, which was littered with paper, and orange-peel, and a banana-skin.

“Do you want any supper?” asked Beatrice, and the sudden harshness of her voice startled him into looking at her.

She had her face averted, refusing to see him. Siegmund’s heart went down with weariness and despair at the sight of her.


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198 “Aren’t you having any?” he asked.

The table was not laid. Beatrice’s work-basket, a little wicker fruit-skep, overflowed scissors, and pins, and scraps of holland, and reels of cotton on the green serge cloth. Vera leaned both her elbows on the table.

Instead of replying to him, Beatrice went to the sideboard. She took out a tablecloth, pushed her sewing litter aside, and spread the cloth over one end of the table. Vera gave her magazine a little knock with her hand.

“Have you read this tale of a French convent school in here, mother?” she asked.

“In where?” said Beatrice.

“In this month’s Nash’s.”

“No,” replied Beatrice. “What time have I for reading, much less for anything else?”

“You should think more of yourself, and a little less of other people, then,” said Vera, with a sneer at the “other people.” She rose. “Let me do this. You sit down; you are tired, mother,” she said.

Her mother, without replying, went out to the kitchen. Vera followed her. Frank, left alone with his father, moved uneasily, and bent his thin shoulders lower over his book. Siegmund remained with his arms on his knees, looking into the grate. From the kitchen came the chinking of crockery, and soon the smell of coffee. All the time Vera was heard chatting with affected brightness to her mother, addressing her in fond tones, using all her wits to recall bright little incidents to retail to her. Beatrice answered rarely, and then with utmost brevity.

Presently Vera came in with the tray. She put


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Rh down a cup of coffee, a plate with boiled ham, pink and thin, such as is bought from a grocer, and some bread-and-butter. Then she sat down, noisily turning over the leaves of her magazine. Frank glanced at the table; it was laid solely for his father. He looked at the bread and the meat, but restrained himself, and went on reading, or pretended to do so. Beatrice came in with the small cruet; it was conspicuously bright.

Everything was correct: knife and fork, spoon, cruet, all perfectly clean, the crockery fine, the bread and butter thin—in fact, it was just as it would have been for a perfect stranger. This scrupulous neatness, in a household so slovenly and easygoing, where it was an established tradition that something should be forgotten or wrong, impressed Siegmund. Beatrice put the serving knife and fork by the little dish of ham, saw that all was proper, then went and sat down. Her face showed no emotion; it was calm and proud. She began to sew.

“What do you say, mother?” said Vera, as if resuming a conversation. “Shall it be Hampton Court or Richmond on Sunday?”

“I say, as I said before,” replied Beatrice: “I cannot afford to go out.”

“But you must begin, my dear, and Sunday shall see the beginning. Dîtes donc!”

“There are other things to think of,” said Beatrice.

“Now, maman, nous avons changé tout cela! We are going out—a jolly little razzle!” Vera, who was rather handsome, lifted up her face and smiled at her mother gaily.

“I am afraid there will be no razzle”—Beatrice


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200 accented the word, smiling slightly—“for me. You are slangy, Vera.”

“Un doux argot, ma mère. You look tired.”

Beatrice glanced at the clock.

“I will go to bed when I have cleared the table,” she said.

Siegmund winced. He was still sitting with his head bent down, looking in the grate. Vera went on to say something more. Presently Frank looked up at the table, and remarked in his grating voice:

“There’s your supper, father.”

The women stopped and looked round at this. Siegmund bent his head lower. Vera resumed her talk. It died out, and there was silence.

Siegmund was hungry.

“Oh, good Lord, good Lord! bread of humiliation to-night!” he said to himself before he could muster courage to rise and go to the table. He seemed to be shrinking inwards. The women glanced swiftly at him and away from him as his chair creaked and he got up. Frank was watching from under his eye-brows.

Siegmund went through the ordeal of eating and drinking in presence of his family. If he had not been hungry, he could not have done it, despite the fact that he was content to receive humiliation this night. He swallowed the coffee with effort. When he had finished he sat irresolute for some time; then he arose and went to the door.

“Good-night!” he said.

Nobody made any reply. Frank merely stirred in his chair. Siegmund shut the door and went.

There was absolute silence in the room till they


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Rh heard him turn on the tap in the bathroom; then Beatrice began to breathe spasmodically, catching her breath as if she would sob. But she restrained herself. The faces of the two children set hard with hate.

“He is not worth the flicking of your little finger, mother,” said Vera.

Beatrice moved about with pitiful, groping hands, collecting her sewing and her cottons.

“At any rate, he’s come back red enough,” said Frank, in his grating tone of contempt. “He’s like boiled salmon.”

Beatrice did not answer anything. Frank rose, and stood with his back to the grate, in his father’s characteristic attitude.

“I would come slinking back in a funk!” he said, with a young man’s sneer.

Stretching forward, he put a piece of ham between two pieces of bread, and began to eat the sandwich in large bites. Vera came to the table at this, and began to make herself a more dainty sandwich. Frank watched her with jealous eye.

“There is a little more ham, if you’d like it,” said Beatrice to him. “I kept you some.”

“All right, ma,” he replied. “Fetch it in.”

Beatrice went out to the kitchen.

“And bring the bread-and-butter, too, will you?” called Vera after her.

“The damned coward! Ain’t he a rotten funker?” said Frank, sotto voce, while his mother was out of the room.

Vera did not reply, but she seemed tacitly to agree.

They petted their mother, while she waited on them. At length Frank yawned. He fidgeted a moment or


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202 two, then he went over to his mother, and, putting his hand on her arm—the feel of his mother’s round arm under the black silk sleeve made his tears rise—he said, more gratingly than ever:

“Ne’er mind, ma; we’ll be all right to you.” Then he bent and kissed her. “Good-night, mother,” he said awkwardly, and he went out of the room.

Beatrice was crying.


text: The Trespasser/Chapter 22

title: The Trespasser/Chapter 22


text: Author:Stanislaus O'Brien

title: Author:Stanislaus O'Brien


text: Author:Charles Stanton Devas

title: Author:Charles Stanton Devas


text:
Page:Bright's Anglo-Saxon Reader.djvu/248

162

flēotendra ferðno þǣr fela bringeð cūðra cwidegiedda;cearo bið genīwad þām þe sęndan scealswīþe geneahhe ofer waþema gebindwērigne sefan. For þon ic geþęncan ne mæggeond þās woruld for hwan mōdsefamin ne gesweorce, þonne ic eorla līfeal geondþęnce, hū hī fǣrlīceflęt ofgēafon, mōdge maguþegnas.Swā þēs middangeard ealra dōgra gehwāmdrēoseð and fealleþ; for þon ne mæg weorþan wīswer, ǣr hā āge wintra dǣl in woruldrīce.Wita sceal geþyldig, nē sceal nō tō hātheortnē tō hrædwyrde, nē tō wāc wiganē tō wanhȳdig, nē tō forht nē tō fægennē tō feohgīfre, nē nǣfre gielpes tō georn,ǣr hē geare cunne. Beorn sceal gebīdan,þonne hē bēot spriceð, oþ þæt collenferðcunne gearwe hwider hreþra gehygdhweorfan wille. Ongietan sceal glēaw hælehū gæstlīc bið, þonne eall þisse worulde welawēste stǫndeð, swā nū missenlīcegeond þisne middangeard winde biwāuneweallas stǫndaþ, hrīme bihrorene,hryðge þā ederas. Wōriað þā wīnsalo,waldend licgað drēame bidrorene;duguð eal gecrǫng wlǫnc bī wealle:sume wīg fornōm, fęrede in forðwege;sumne fugel oþbær ofer hēanne holm;sumne sē hāra wulf dēaðe gedǣlde;sumne drēorighlēor in eorðscræfeeorl gehȳdde:


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Rh 146, 12. — feld dennode etc., ‘the field became slippery with the blood of warriors.’ This interpretation of dennode is merely conjectural. Holthausen suggests dunnade, became darkened (stained).’

147, 1. — Myrce. The Mercians belonged to the forces of Æthelstan.

148, 31. — on Dinges męre has not been satisfactorily explained. Dinges, as a proper name, is very doubtful; the variant readings are dynges, dyniges, dinnes. See Glossary.

148, 4 f. — Lēton him behindan etc. In a conventional figure of the poets the raven, eagle and wolf are attendants of the battle-field; cf. 152, 23–24.

The supremacy of the West-Saxon kings was broken in the disastrous reign of Æthelred. The Northmen invaded England anew, and ultimately placed a Danish king upon the English throne. The invaders met the bravest resistance at the Battle of Maldon. In 991 they attacked the eastern coasts of England “seemingly with the intention of making a settlement. This seems to have been a Norwegian expedition; the leaders were Justin and Guthmund, sons of Steitan, and there seems every reason to believe that Olaf Tryggvesson hirnself was present also” (Freeman). They first plundered Ipswich, and then proceeded into Essex; the East-Saxon ealdorman Brihtnoth promptly collected his forces, and gave the invaders battle on the banks of the Blackwater (then called Panta) near Maldon. “The town lies on a hill; immediately at its base flows one branch of the river, while another, still crossed by a mediæval bridge, flows at a little distance to the north. The Danish ships seem to have lain in the branch nearest to the town, and their crews must have occupied the space between the two streams, while Brihtnoth came to the rescue from the north. He seems to have halted on the spot now occupied by the church of Heybridge, having both streams between him and the town” (Freeman).

The poet has described this battle with the fidelity of an eye-witness. From the minuteness of details it is to be inferred that the poem was composed soon after the event; these details relate exclusively to the English side, even the names of those in command of the enemy


text:
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the terror of tempest. The rags of the sail Are flickering in ribbons within the fierce gale: From the stark night of vapours the dim rain is driven, And when lightning is loosed, like a deluge from heaven, She sees the black trunks of the water-spouts spin, And bend, as if heaven was raining in, Which they seem’d to sustain with their terrible mass As if ocean had sank from beneath them: they pass To their graves in the deep with an earthquake of sound, And the waves and the thunders made silent around Leave the wind to its echo. The vessel, now toss’d Through the low-trailing rack of the tempest, is lost


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Rh In the skirts of the thunder-cloud: now down the sweep Of the wind-cloven wave to the chasm of the deep It sinks, and the walls of the watery vale Whose depths of dread calm are unmoved by the gale, Dim mirrors of ruin hang gleaming about; While the surf, like a chaos of stars, like a rout Of death-flames, like whirlpools of fire-flowing iron With splendour and terror the black ship environ, Or like sulphur-flakes hurl'd from a mine of pale fire In fountains spout o'er it. In many a spire The pyramid-billows with white points of brine In the cope of the lightning inconstantly shine, As piercing the sky from the floor of the sea. The great ship seems splitting! it cracks as a tree, While an earthquake is splintering its root, ere the blast Of the whirlwind that stripped it of branches has past. The intense thunder-balls which are raining from heaven Have shatter'd its mast, and it stands black and riven. The chinks suck destruction. The heavy dead hulk On the living sea rolls an inanimate bulk, Like a corpse on the clay which is hung'ring to fold Its corruption around it. Meanwhile, from the hold, One deck is burst up from the waters below, And it splits like the ice when the thaw-breezes blow


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176 O'er the lakes of the desart! Who sit on the other? Is that all the crew that lie burying each other, Like the dead in a breach, round the foremast? Are those Twin tygers, who burst, when the waters arose, In the agony of terror, their chains in the hold; (What now makes them tame, is what then made them bold;) Who crouch, side by side, and have driven, like a crank, The deep grip of their claws through the vibrating plank. Are these all? Nine weeks the tall vessel had lain On the windless expanse of the watery plain, Where the death-darting sun cast no shadow at noon, And there seem'd to be fire in the beams of the moon, Till a lead-colour'd fog gather'd up from the deep Whose breath was quick pestilence; then, the cold sleep Crept, like blight through the ears of a thick field of corn, O'er the populous vessel. And even and morn, With their hammocks for coffins the seamen aghast Like dead men the dead limbs of their comrades cast Down the deep, which closed on them above and around, And the sharks and the dog-fish their grave-clothes unbound,


text:
An Ode, written October, 1819, before the Spaniards had recovered their Liberty

 * "An Ode, written October, 1819, before the Spaniards had recovered their Liberty", in Prometheus Unbound; a lyrical drama in four acts with other poems (1820), by Percy Bysshe Shelley
 * "An Ode, written October, 1819, before the Spaniards had recovered their Liberty", in The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley (1914)


text: Page:The complete poetical works of Percy Bysshe Shelley, including materials never before printed in any edition of the poems.djvu/945


text:
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 1139, although the text which we possess appears to date from 1147. This famous work, which the author has the audacity to place on the same level with the histories of William of Malmesbury and Henry of Huntingdon, professes to be a translation from a Celtic source; “a very old book in the British tongue” which Walter, archdeacon of Oxford, had brought from Brittany. Walter the archdeacon is a historical personage; whether his book has any real existence may be fairly questioned. There is nothing in the matter or the style of the Historia to preclude us from supposing that Geoffrey drew partly upon confused traditions, partly on his own powers of invention, and to a very slight degree upon the accepted authorities for early British history. His chronology is fantastic and incredible; William of Newburgh justly remarks that, if we accepted the events which Geoffrey relates, we should have to suppose that they had happened in another world. William of Newburgh wrote, however, in the reign of Richard I. when the reputation of Geoffrey’s work was too well established to be shaken by such criticisms. The fearless romancer had achieved an immediate success. He was patronized by Robert, earl of Gloucester, and by two bishops of Lincoln; he obtained, about 1140, the archdeaconry of Llandaff “on account of his learning”; and in 1151 was promoted to the see of St Asaph.

Before his death the Historia Britonum had already become a model and a quarry for poets and chroniclers. The list of imitators begins with Geoffrey Gaimar, the author of the Estorie des Engles (c. 1147), and Wace, whose Roman de Brut (1155) is partly a translation and partly a free paraphrase of the Historia. In the next century the influence of Geoffrey is unmistakably attested by the Brut of Layamon, and the rhyming English chronicle of Robert of Gloucester. Among later historians who were deceived by the Historia Britonum it is only needful to mention Higdon, Hardyng, Fabyan (1512), Holinshed (1580) and John Milton. Still greater was the influence of Geoffrey upon those writers who, like Warner in Albion’s England (1586), and Drayton in Polyolbion (1613), deliberately made their accounts of English history as poetical as possible. The stories which Geoffrey preserved or invented were not infrequently a source of inspiration to literary artists. The earliest English tragedy, Gorboduc (1565), the Mirror for Magistrates (1587), and Shakespeare’s Lear, are instances in point. It was, however, the Arthurian legend which of all his fabrications attained the greatest vogue. In the work of expanding and elaborating this theme the successors of Geoffrey went as far beyond him as he had gone beyond Nennius; but he retains the credit due to the founder of a great school. Marie de France, who wrote at the court of Henry II., and Chrétien de Troyes, her French contemporary, were the earliest of the avowed romancers to take up the theme. The succeeding age saw the Arthurian story popularized, through translations of the French romances, as far afield as Germany and Scandinavia. It produced in England the Roman du Saint Graal and the Roman de Merlin, both from the pen of Robert de Borron; the Roman de Lancelot; the Roman de Tristan, which is attributed to a fictitious Lucas de Gast. In the reign of Edward IV. Sir Thomas Malory paraphrased and arranged the best episodes of these romances in English prose. His Morte d’Arthur, printed by Caxton in 1485, epitomizes the rich mythology which Geoffrey’s work had first called into life, and gave the Arthurian story a lasting place in the English imagination. The influence of the Historia Britonum may be illustrated in another way, by enumerating the more familiar of the legends to which it first gave popularity. Of the twelve books into which it is divided only three (Bks. IX., X., XI.) are concerned with Arthur. Earlier in the work, however, we have the adventures of Brutus; of his follower Corineus, the vanquisher of the Cornish giant Goemagol (Gogmagog); of Locrinus and his daughter Sabre (immortalized in Milton’s Comus); of Bladud the builder of Bath; of Lear and his daughters; of the three pairs of brothers, Ferrex and Porrex, Brennius and Belinus, Elidure and Peridure. The story of Vortigern and Rowena takes its final form in the Historia Britonum; and Merlin makes his first appearance in the prelude to the Arthur legend. Besides the Historia Britonum Geoffrey is also credited with a Life of Merlin composed in Latin verse. The authorship of this work has, however, been disputed, on the ground that the style is distinctly superior to that of the Historia. A minor composition, the Prophecies of Merlin, was written before 1136, and afterwards incorporated with the Historia, of which it forms the seventh book.

 GEOFFREY OF PARIS (d. c. 1320), French chronicler, was probably the author of the Chronique métrique de Philippe le Bel, or Chronique rimée de Geoffroi de Paris. This work, which deals with the history of France from 1300 to 1316, contains 7918 verses, and is valuable as that of a writer who had a personal knowledge of many of the events which he relates. Various short historical poems have also been attributed to Geoffrey, but there is no certain information about either his life or his writings.

 GEOFFREY THE BAKER (d. c. 1360), English chronicler, is also called Walter of Swinbroke, and was probably a secular clerk at Swinbrook in Oxfordshire. He wrote a ''Chronicon Angliae temporibus Edwardi II. et Edwardi III.'', which deals with the history of England from 1303 to 1356. From the beginning until about 1324 this work is based upon Adam Murimuth’s Continuatio chronicarum, but after this date it is valuable and interesting, containing information not found elsewhere, and closing with a good account of the battle of Poitiers. The author obtained his knowledge about the last days of Edward II. from William Bisschop, a companion of the king’s murderers, Thomas Gurney and John Maltravers. Geoffrey also wrote a Chroniculum from the creation of the world until 1336, the value of which is very slight. His writings have been edited with notes by Sir E. M. Thompson as the Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke (Oxford, 1889). Some doubt exists concerning Geoffrey’s share in the compilation of the Vita et mors Edwardi II., usually attributed to Sir Thomas de la More, or Moor, and printed by Camden in his Anglica scripta. It has been maintained by Camden and others that More wrote an account of Edward’s reign in French, and that this was translated into Latin by Geoffrey and used by him in compiling his Chronicon. Recent scholarship, however, asserts that More was no writer, and that the Vita et mors is an extract from Geoffrey’s Chronicon, and was attributed to More, who was the author’s patron. In the main this conclusion substantiates the verdict of Stubbs, who has published the Vita et mors in his Chronicles of the reigns of Edward I. and Edward II. (London, 1883). The manuscripts of Geoffrey’s works are in the Bodleian library at Oxford.

 GEOFFRIN, MARIE THÉRÈSE RODET (1699–1777), a Frenchwoman who played an interesting part in French literary and artistic life, was born in Paris in 1699. She married, on the 19th of July 1713, Pierre François Geoffrin, a rich manufacturer and lieutenant-colonel of the National Guard, who died in 1750. It was not till Mme Geoffrin was nearly fifty years of age that we begin to hear of her as a power in Parisian society. She had learned much from Mme de Tencin, and about 1748 began to gather round her a literary and artistic circle. She had every week two dinners, on Monday for artists, and on Wednesday for her friends the Encyclopaedists and other men of letters. She received many foreigners of distinction, Hume and Horace Walpole among others. Walpole spent much time in her society before he was finally attached to Mme du Deffand, and speaks of her in his letters as a model of common sense. She was indeed somewhat of a small tyrant in her circle. She had adopted the pose of an old woman earlier than necessary, and her coquetry, if

title: Page:EB1911 - Volume 11.djvu/637


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Geoffrey the Baker


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Geoffrey of Paris


text:
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468 things where there are not so many to listen, lord from outside?" she murmured.

"Sure, that's what we need—a little more quiet," Clark said sleepily. "My head, too—feels funny——"

"Come with me," she whispered softly. "I will take you where it is quiet—and where you can tell me all those things."

Her soft hand under his elbow impelled him to his feet. Clark swayed unsteadily, blinking owlishly over the torchlit hall and the noisy, riotous feasters. His dulled gaze was really keenly alert. He perceived that Shinn and Link Wilson were at the height of merriment with their Red neighbors, and that Morrow was still drinking heavily. But Blacky Cain was still alert, could be depended on to watch the others.

of the feasters, in the din of laughter, clinking goblets and shouting voices, noticed as Clark Stannard stumbled out of the hall with Yala half supporting him. Yet Clark glimpsed Thargo looking keenly after them.

He stumbled with the princess of K'Lamm down shadowy stone halls, and finally into a great chamber which breathed of femininity. Silken hangings of yellow were on the walls, in the soft light of low-burning torches. Across the room was a low, soft silken couch, and above it a great window looked across the starlit roofs of K'Lamm.

Yala spoke a few soft words, and the two submissive-looking girls who had hurried forward, hastily withdrew. The Red princess led Clark to the couch, and as he sat down unsteadily, looking heavily about, she poured more of the black wine from a flagon in the room.

She drank also, her dark eyes looking over the rim of the glass with an expression that, despite himself, stirred his blood. Then she held the glass to his lips, her fingertips caressing his cheek.

"Drink with me to our—friendship," she murmured.

Clark drank. His brain seemed to float inside his skull as the additional alcohol leaped into his blood, but every fiber in him was taut and alert. He blinked at Yala as though she was hard for him to see. She came temptingly closer to him.

"Does the wine make me look—more beautiful?" she asked provocatively. Her arms went softly around his neck.

"Don't need wine for that," muttered Clark. He set his lips against her half-opened ones, his hands tightening on her bare, perfumed shoulders.

He knew the kiss was as feigned on her part as on his own. But for all that, it was none the less wildly thrilling. Then as she drew back a little from his embrace, eyes searching his dazed-looking face, Yala asked him seductively:

"Lord, tell me—am I more beautiful than the Dordonan girl you took captive—Lurain?"

"Much—much more beautiful," stammered Clark, his eyelids drooping, "She's just—little wildcat."

"Has Lurain asked you and your men to help Dordona in the coming war?" Yala asked him swiftly. "Has she made any offers to get you to ally yourselves with Dordona?"

Now, Clark knew suddenly, he had discovered the reason for this subtle temptation by Yala. Thargo was suspicious! Suspicious that Clark might have agreed with the Dordonan girl to aid her people, that he might be intending to betray K'Lamm! Thargo had had this girl, one capable of tempting an angel, get him intoxicated to question him.

"Lurain has not asked me to help Dordona," Clark said thickly, his eyes closing, his body swaying sleepily against Yala. "I—wouldn't listen to her if she


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Rh did. The Dordonans she led tried to kill me and my men. We're—going to help Thargo conquer their city."

He heard the hiss of Yala's indrawn breath. Then she murmured softly, "You are tired, lord from outside. You must rest."

He let himself fall like a log onto the soft couch as she lowered him. Then he heard Yala stand up quickly. She bent over him as he lay with eyes closed, her breath warm on his face. He breathed in long snores, pretending heavy, drunken sleep.

Satisfied, Yala went to the door of the chamber and uttered a low call. Almost at once, Clark heard the tramp of heavier feet entering the chamber, two pairs of them. The first voice that spoke was Thargo's. He guessed the Red king had been waiting outside.

"You heard?" Yala was saying swiftly. "He is safely on our side—he will have nothing to do with Dordona."

"Yes, I heard," Thargo said. "I was suspicious because he would not give up the Dordonan princess to us. But no doubt he is keeping the girl for himself, simply because she is pretty."

"That half-boy fighting cat!" said Yala scornfully. "What would any man want with her?"

The voice of Thargo's companion interrupted. It was an age-cracked, ominous voice Clark guessed to be that of the withered old counsellor he had seen with Thargo when he had first met the Red king.

"Better to slay all these strangers tonight, by surprize, and make sure," he warned. "We of K'Lamm have more than enough force to conquer Dordona and win to the lake. We do not need the strangers' help."

"No, we will not slay them, Shama—not yet," Thargo said authoritatively. "Their weapons are powerful, from what Dral says. They might kill many of us before we slew them all, and that would be bad for the minds of our people at this time when we are on the very verge of our long-planned attack on Dordona. Besides, why not make use of these strangers to make our conquest even easier?

"This is what we shall do," he continued in a hard, rapid voice. "Four days from now, as we have planned, we ride to attack Dordona, and the strangers go with us. In the attack on the Black city, we will put them in the forefront. As soon as we have won Dordona and our way down to the Lake of Life lies clear and open, then we shall turn suddenly on the strangers and kill them all."

all Clark Stannard could do to keep his body from stiffening betrayingly as he lay in pretended drunken sleep, listening to those calmly treacherous words. Blind fury burned in him as he heard Thargo's callous plan to make use of him, then dispose of him. Yet he managed to preserve his appearance of intoxicated stupor. His muscles tensed as he heard Thargo's strong step come over to the couch, and he knew that the Red king was looking down at him.

"This drunken fool!" said Thargo contemptuously. "If he is a sample of the men of the outside world, they will not be hard for us to rule, once we have drunk of the lake and are immortal."

"Be not so sure," warned the old counsellor, Shama. "This man and his comrades have courage and cunning, or they could not have penetrated the death mountains no men ever came through before."

"He was not cunning enough," Thargo said scornfully, "to prevent a woman's eyes from making a sot of him. You did