9. CHAPTER IX.
The eye of the venerable accuser, regarded the face of the
speaker with a sad and touching solemnity; but at this moment,
the little girl who had before accompanied him, was conducted
into the foreground by the archbishop. She bore in her hand a
sarbacane — seemingly of brass, long and narrow like a wand, and
crowned, at the extremity, by a small globe or bulb of the same
material. The length of this instrument was fully six feet or
more. The old man took it into his hands, and having unscrewed
a part of the bulb — which seemed a mere sheathing of brass, he
discovered beneath it another globe, similar, in shape and size,
to that which had been removed; but the inner bulb was manufactured
of glass, of a whiteness equally crystalline and beautiful.
He then took from beneath his robes a little box of ebony,
which he unlocked, and from which he produced a headpiece,
the face of which, instead of being hard steel or iron, was of glass
also, very thin, and quite transparent, through which every
muscle and motion of the features might be seen with the greatest
distinctness. To the thoughtless vulgar, such a shield
seemed only a mockery of that more solid furniture of metal,
which, in those days, thoroughly encased the warrior for battle.
The inference, accordingly, was very general, that if by any
possibility, the accuser succeeded in the combat, he would be indebted
solely to supernatural agency for his good fortune. His
wand of brass, with its crystal bulb — his glassy vizor and helmet
— were only regarded as designed to divert the scrutiny
from the more secret agency which he employed.
“I am ready,” said the accuser.
“Hast thou prayed?” demanded his enemy, in a mocking
fashion. “If thou hast not, get thee to thy knees quickly, and
renounce the devil whom thou servest. Verily, but little time
is left thee.”
“I have prayed, and confessed to the Holy Father. Do
thou likewise, and make thyself humble and contrite. Repent
thee — for, of a truth, my lord, if the king forbid not this combat,
thou art doomed this day to go to judgment.”
The heart of the accused was hardened within him. He replied
with a hiss of defiance and contempt to this last appeal;
at the same moment he declared himself in readiness also. They
were then withdrawn from the presence for a brief space, and
were severally approached by their friends and attendants. The
archbishop, and the king's favorite went aside with the accuser,
and when the latter returned to the arena, in order to the combat,
the archbishop led away with him the little girl, upon whom, at
parting, the old man bestowed many caresses, accompanied by many
tears. The spectators were all very much moved by this tenderness,
and now began to regard him as one set apart for sacrifice
— doomed to be separated for ever, and by a violent death,
from the object of his affections. And when the opponents
stood, at length, confronting each other — with none to go between
— awaiting only the word for the combat à l'outrance; —
when they regarded the strong soldier-like frame, and the warlike
bearing of the accused — beheld the ease with which he
strode the lists, and displayed his weapon; — and contrasted this
image of dire necessity and war, with the feeble, though erect
form of his venerable accuser, — habited in vestments like a
priest or woman — with the simple unmeaning wand within his
grasp, and the frail mask of brittle crystal upon his face — a
loud murmur of regret and commiseration prevailed among the
multitude. But this murmur was soon quieted by the cry of the
master of the tournay —
“Laissez aller!”
Then followed a painful silence.
“Now, sorcerer,” cried the knight, raising his glittering sword,
and advancing deliberately and with the confident manner of
the executioner. The aged accuser simply presented the bulbous
extremity of his wand, and before the accused could smite,
the frail glass was shivered against the bars of his enemy's
mouth-piece. At this moment the knight was seen slightly to
recoil; but it was for a moment only, in the next instant he darted
forward, and with a fierce cry, seemed about to strike. The
old man, in the meantime, had suffered his wand to fall upon the
ground. He made no further effort — offered no show of fear
or flight, but with arms folded, seemed in resignation to await the
death-stroke of his enemy. But while the weapon of the man
of war was in air, and seemingly about to descend, he was seen
to pause, while his form suddenly became rigid. A quick and
awful shudder seemed to pass through his whole frame. Thus,
for a second, he stood paralyzed, and then a thin, mist-like vapor,
which might be called smoke, was seen to creep out from various
parts of his frame, followed by a thin but oily liquor, that now
appeared oozing through all the crevices of his armor. His arm
dropped nervelessly by his side; the sword fell from the incapable
grasp of his gauntleted hands, and in an inconceivable
fraction of time, he himself, with all his bulk, sunk down upon
the earth — falling, not at length, prostrate, either backward or
forward, but in a heap, even upon the spot which he had occupied
when standing; and as if every bone had suddenly been
withdrawn which had sustained them, the several parts of his
armor became detached, and rolled away — his helmet, his gorget,
his cuiras, his greaves, his gauntlets — disclosing beneath a dark,
discolored mass — a mere jellied substance, in which bones and
muscles were already decomposed and resolved into something
less than flesh. Above this heap might be seen a still bright
and shining eye, which, for a single second, seemed to retain
consciousness and life, as if the soul of the immortal being had
lingered in this beautiful and perfect orb, reluctant to depart.
But in a moment it, too, had disappeared — all the brightness
swallowed up and stifled in the little cloud of vapor which now
trembled, heaving up from the mass which but a moment before
had been a breathing, a burning, an exulting spirit. A cold
horror overspread the field, followed by a husky and convulsive
cry, as from a drowning multitude. The people gazed upon each
other, and upon the awful, heap in unspeakable terror. It was
annihilation which had taken place before them. Dead was the
silence that prevailed for several minutes; a vacant consternation
freezing up the very souls of the spectators. But the reaction
was tremendous.
“Seize upon the sorcerer! Tear him in pieces!” was the cry
from a thousand voices. This was followed by a wild rush, like
that of an incoming sea struggling to overwhelm the headlands.
The barriers were broken down, the cries swelled into a very
tempest, and the mammoth multitude rolled onward, with souls
on fire, eyes glaring with tiger fury, and hands outstretched,
clutching spasmodically at their victim. Their course had but
one centre, where the old man calmly stood. There he kept
his immovable station, calm, firm, subdued, but stately. How
will he avert his fate — how stay this ocean of souls, resolute to
overwhelm him? I trembled — I gasped with doubt and apprehension.
But I was spared the further contemplation of horrors
which I could no longer bear to witness, by the very intensity
of the interest which my imagination had conceived in the subject.
There is a point beyond which the mortal nature can not
endure. I had reached that point, and was relieved. I awakened,
and started into living consciousness, my face covered with
clammy dews, my hair upright and wet, my whole frame agitated
with the terrors which were due wholly to the imagination.
It would be easy, perhaps, to account for such a dream, assuming,
as we did at the outset, that the mental faculties never
know abeyance — that the thought never sleeps. Any speculation,
in regard to the transition periods in English history, would
give the requisite material. From a survey of the powers of
physical manhood to those rival and superior powers which follow
from the birth of art and science, the step is natural enough;
and the imagination might well delight itself by putting them in
contrast and opposition. But we have no space left for further
discussion.
