Ch. V]

THE STRANGER'S TALE

205

manners were so pleasant that all were charmed with her noble disposition and varied accomplishments. As she was very clever at needlework, my mother asked her to depict the scene of the accident in that way. She soon began it, and when finished you could almost fancy that the figures which she had worked in with her needle were real and moving. In the foreground was the youth lying, deadly pale, and with drooping head, which the maiden was holding in her tender and skilful hands. Close by was his horse, still struggling on the ground, and vigorously kicking out those limbs that had so recently failed him. At some little distance the rest of the party, with the hounds, were following the stag, engrossed with their sport. All who saw it said it was a splendid work of art. I carefully preserved it, more to remind me of my love than of my escape.

"All things passed like a happy dream till my parents began to urge forward the expected wedding, and to constantly speak of it as a second betrothal and the reunion of themselves in their children, to praise it as the best possible family bond of unity, the remover of all jealousies, a partnership which happily brought together and indeed doubled the family possessions, and to declare that further delay was positively wrong. Least of all did they think of consulting me in the matter, so unsuspicious were they and so jubilant. For before I saw Crescentia I paid my stepsister the ordinary attentions of a lover, and afterwards, when my feelings changed, I concealed my true love as well as I could, and invented from time to time plausible reasons for delaying the marriage. But there are hardly any secrets which do not somehow leak out in time, and so it came to pass that my parents were told the real truth, but by whom I never heard. My father began now to play his reticence against mine, and, without saying a word to me, he ordered the steward to take Crescentia into his household again, and to keep her as a prisoner there, and meanwhile had a report spread that she had gone back to her own country As soon as she was gone, my father urged my marriage

by all possible means, first by kind advice, by pleadings, and blandishments, and then, failing these, by threats and execrations; and when he found all in vain, and my stepmother urging him against me as well, he could hardly contain himself at the unexpected overthrowal of all his hopes and plans.

"Meanwhile, Crescentia escaped by night from her keeper, and when this became public, the tale was invented that she had been kept there on a charge of sorcery and poisoning, and that she had used her arts to obtain my love by philtres and incantations. But in truth she

was the most chaste and bashful of girls, and seemed, as I thought then, to act as if her inferior position precluded our mutual love.

"When she had gone, as I could neither comply with my father's wish nor endure my stepmother's fury, I followed in her track, and by enquiries found she had gone to her own home, and that her family was a distinguished one. My first hope, on leaving my country in pursuit of her, was that if we met abroad, where I should have come down nearer to her position in life, the bar of unequal rank would no longer separate us; but finding out how good her position was, I began to feel that the tables were indeed turned, and that my inferiority now was the obstacle that forbade me to tell my love. So I assumed a disguise, that I might begin to make those first signs, which never escape the notice of those skilled in love's art, and that if love was not returned, I might be free to leave without being put to shame. But fortune was against me in every guise, so I am now trying for a quiet resting-place here; and if you," he said, looking towards Joseph-" if you think me worthy of your friendly offices, it will help to lessen somewhat my grief for the lost Crescentia. You will find me not unskilled in the matter of accomplishments, and if I come behind in any gift, I will make up for it by real gratitude."

All this was said with sweet expression and a most charming voice; in fact, the tale was so clearly and sympathetically told that it drew the attention and com

Ch. V]

LODGES WITH ANTONIA

207

passion of all who heard it. Joseph, in reply, said that he too was not yet independent of paternal authority, and was simply a member of the family council, but that he would introduce him to a countrywoman of his who let good lodgings near their own house and easy of access, and if at any time he required help, he willingly promised his aid. Philander thanked him with a most courteous bow, and with an equally polite reply.

Joseph then took him without delay to the landlady, who was a widow, by name Antonia, born at Rome, and who gained her living by receiving Italians as paying guests. Her husband had made a large fortune in the same way, and had died scarcely a month before, leaving all his wealth to his wife, who afterwards continued the business with equal care after his death.

As soon as Antonia saw the youth brought to her by Joseph, she exclaimed: "Unless I knew for certain that my son was dead and buried, I should say I saw him now"; and she burst into tears. She had really lost a much-beloved son only just before her husband's death, and there was a likeness, though slight, to Philander; the good looks, too, of the new-comer were not likely to check her amiable feelings, so he was received and treated as kindly as if he were a relation. The widow called him by the endearing title of "Son," and loved him because he called back to mind her dead son, or rather because he was his living image.

Philander did not repel these attentions, for he had the hope that this mutual good feeling would be useful to him, and perhaps eventually pave the way to his reaching the one great object of his journey. He therefore behaved so dutifully to her that he quite took the place of her lost son. He used to visit Joseph daily, who was not displeased at such constant signs of gratitude. He was also a good musician, and sang most pleasantly; his manners were so taking, and his devotion to Joseph so marked, that gradually he gained his true esteem, and was liked by all who knew him everywhere, but especially was he welcomed by Joseph's household.

CHAPTER VI

THE REMARKABLE CASE OF THEOPHRASTUS

a

T that very time there happened to be an Italian lodging with Antonia, a professor of occult science and alchemy, who had been attacked by a strange malady. It did not seem to strike any particular part of his body, but his whole frame showed signs of some wasting disease. The expression of his countenance was one of settled sorrow, his eyes glared in a horribly uncanny manner, and he avoided all society. Every one noticed his deep groans, his frequent suppressed sighs, his sudden tremor, his uncouth gestures, all betokening clearly some sad derangement of mind. He grew worse day by day, but he was always trying to conceal the fact, and to put enquirers off by evasive answers, till at length he got so weak and so full of pain that it could be hidden no longer. He was obliged to take to his bed, and against his will a doctor was summoned, named Lucas, a citizen of Solyma well known to Theophrastus (for that was the patient's name) and one who had learnt from him many wonderful secrets and experiments.

Lucas carefully studied the case and the symptoms, but could pronounce no certain diagnosis, except that the state of the pulse betokened a feverish tendency. He prescribed the usual remedies, but the patient would not take them, declaring with the saddest of smiles that they could effect no relief in his case. Lucas, catching at his meaning, said to him:

"I thought perhaps these common remedies might have some good effect in calming the violence of your attacks;

Bk. II, Ch. VI] LUCAS THE PHYSICIAN

209

but your complaint is really a mental one, and can be best conquered by hearkening to good advice. Wherefore tell me, I beg you, the whole of your trouble without any reservation, for I am convinced that a little good reasoning, taken in a prayerful spirit, is all that is required for your complete cure."

As the patient preserved an obstinate silence, Lucas addressed him again. "Oh! my friend, what is amiss? What is this melancholy that so grievously torments you? Do not you see that you are unequal to the strain, and yet you will not accept help?

My only object secret to me or

is your well-being; tell therefore your to any one else you prefer, for God bids us take counsel with our friends, but the devil would shut us up to our own broodings. If you unload your mind and tell it privately now, you will not be so likely to make it public to all when delirious."

The patient, whose eyes looked sadly wild, at length spoke. "O Lucas, there is no one I would trust in preference to you, and often I have wished to tell you; but how could I offend your ears with such incredible vileness? I shall be gone ere long," he cried " I shall be gone, and my memory will be cursed"; and he turned his face to the wall.

But Lucas, seeing that he did not absolutely refuse to confess, pressed him again. "No confession, however terrible, will offend me; indeed, He who shall judge the world righteously declares that it is pleasing to Him. not therefore break your good intention to me, but tell out your grief, for revealing is the first step to healing.1 Suffering human nature is relieved by tears and sighs, but the mind is most eased by a recital of its troubles."

With a fierce, wild look in his eyes, Theophrastus raised himself up in his bed, and in an excited voice said: "Hear then, if you so wish it, a crime neither usual nor frequent, that will indeed astound you. I have devoted my soul to the devil, and my own lips have ratified the horrid decd.' When he had said this, and while the 1 Proditio est prima medicatio.

VOL. I.

14