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John Philip Sousa - "The Fifth String"

Grace Isabel Colbron and Augusta Groner - "The Case of the Golden Bullet"

Christoph Martin Wieland - "Oberon"

Alexander Hamilton, John Jay, and James Madison - "Project Gutenberg surfs with a modem donated by Supra."

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The Talisman

S >> Sir Walter Scott >> The Talisman




"Hamako," said the Saracen, without any appearance of resenting
the violent language and yet more violent assault to which he had
been subjected, "I pray thee, good Hamako, to beware how thou
dost again urge thy privilege over far; for though, as a good
Moslem, I respect those whom Heaven hath deprived of ordinary
reason, in order to endow them with the spirit of prophecy, yet I
like not other men's hands on the bridle of my horse, neither
upon my own person. Speak, therefore, what thou wilt, secure of
any resentment from me; but gather so much sense as to apprehend
that if thou shalt again proffer me any violence, I will strike
thy shagged head from thy meagre shoulders.--and to thee, friend
Kenneth," he added, as he remounted his steed, "I must needs say,
that in a companion through the desert, I love friendly deeds
better than fair words. Of the last thou hast given me enough;
but it had been better to have aided me more speedily in my
struggle with this Hamako, who had well-nigh taken my life in his
frenzy,"

"By my faith," said the Knight, "I did somewhat fail--was
somewhat tardy in rendering thee instant help; but the
strangeness of the assailant, the suddenness of the scene--it was
as if thy wild and wicked lay had raised the devil among us--and
such was my confusion, that two or three minutes elapsed ere I
could take to my weapon."

"Thou art but a cold and considerate friend," said the Saracen;
"and, had the Hamako been one grain more frantic, thy companion
had been slain by thy side, to thy eternal dishonour, without thy
stirring a finger in his aid, although thou satest by, mounted,
and in arms."

"By my word, Saracen," said the Christian, "if thou wilt have it
in plain terms, I thought that strange figure was the devil; and
being of thy lineage, I knew not what family secret you might be
communicating to each other, as you lay lovingly rolling together
on the sand."

"Thy gibe is no answer, brother Kenneth," said the Saracen; "for
know, that had my assailant been in very deed the Prince of
Darkness, thou wert bound not the less to enter into combat with
him in thy comrade's behalf. Know, also, that whatever there may
be of foul or of fiendish about the Hamako belongs more to your
lineage than to mine--this Hamako being, in truth, the anchorite
whom thou art come hither to visit."

"This!" said Sir Kenneth, looking at the athletic yet wasted
figure before him--"this! Thou mockest, Saracen--this cannot be
the venerable Theodorick!"

"Ask himself, if thou wilt not believe me," answered Sheerkohf;
and ere the words had left his mouth, the hermit gave evidence in
his own behalf.

"I am Theodorick of Engaddi," he said--"I am the walker of the
desert--I am friend of the Cross, and flail of all infidels,
heretics, and devil-worshippers. Avoid ye, avoid ye! Down with
Mahound, Termagaunt, and all their adherents!"--So saying, he
pulled from under his shaggy garment a sort of flail or jointed
club, bound with iron, which he brandished round his head with
singular dexterity,

"Thou seest thy saint," said the Saracen, laughing, for the first
time, at the unmitigated astonishment with which Sir Kenneth
looked on the wild gestures and heard the wayward muttering of
Theodorick, who, after swinging his flail in every direction,
apparently quite reckless whether it encountered the head of
either of his companions, finally showed his own strength, and
the soundness of the weapon, by striking into fragments a large
stone which lay near him.

"This is a madman," said Sir Kenneth.

"Not the worse saint," returned the Moslem, speaking according to
the well-known Eastern belief, that madmen are under the
influence of immediate inspiration. "Know, Christian, that when
one eye is extinguished, the other becomes more keen; when one
hand is cut off, the other becomes more powerful; so, when our
reason in human things is disturbed or destroyed, our view
heavenward becomes more acute and perfect."

Here the voice of the Saracen was drowned in that of the hermit,
who began to hollo aloud in a wild, chanting tone, "I am
Theodorick of Engaddi--I am the torch-brand of the desert--I am
the flail of the infidels! The lion and the leopard shall be my
comrades, and draw nigh to my cell for shelter; neither shall the
goat be afraid of their fangs. I am the torch and the lantern
--Kyrie Eleison!"

He closed his song by a short race, and ended that again by three
forward bounds, which would have done him great credit in a
gymnastic academy, but became his character of hermit so
indifferently that the Scottish Knight was altogether confounded
and bewildered.

The Saracen seemed to understand him better. "You see," he said,
"that he expects us to follow him to his cell, which, indeed, is
our only place of refuge for the night. You are the leopard,
from the portrait on your shield; I am the lion, as my name
imports; and by the goat, alluding to his garb of goat-skins, he
means himself. We must keep him in sight, however, for he is as
fleet as a dromedary."

In fact, the task was a difficult one, for though the reverend
guide stopped from time to time, and waved his hand, as if to
encourage them to come on, yet, well acquainted with all the
winding dells and passes of the desert, and gifted with uncommon
activity, which, perhaps, an unsettled state of mind kept in
constant exercise, he led the knights through chasms and along
footpaths where even the light-armed Saracen, with his well-trained barb, was in considerable risk, and
where the iron-sheathed European and his over-burdened steed found themselves in
such imminent peril as the rider would gladly have exchanged for
the dangers of a general action. Glad he was when, at length,
after this wild race, he beheld the holy man who had led it
standing in front of a cavern, with a large torch in his hand,
composed of a piece of wood dipped in bitumen, which cast a broad
and flickering light, and emitted a strong sulphureous smell.

Undeterred by the stifling vapour, the knight threw himself from
his horse and entered the cavern, which afforded small appearance
of accommodation. The cell was divided into two parts, in the
outward of which were an altar of stone and a crucifix made of
reeds: this served the anchorite for his chapel. On one side of
this outward cave the Christian knight, though not without
scruple, arising from religious reverence to the objects around,
fastened up his horse, and arranged him for the night, in
imitation of the Saracen, who gave him to understand that such
was the custom of the place. The hermit, meanwhile, was busied
putting his inner apartment in order to receive his guests, and
there they soon joined him. At the bottom of the outer cave, a
small aperture, closed with a door of rough plank, led into the
sleeping apartment of the hermit, which was more commodious. The
floor had been brought to a rough level by the labour of the
inhabitant, and then strewed with white sand, which he daily
sprinkled with water from a small fountain which bubbled out of
the rock in one corner, affording in that stifling climate,
refreshment alike to the ear and the taste. Mattresses, wrought
of twisted flags, lay by the side of the cell; the sides, like
the floor, had been roughly brought to shape, and several herbs
and flowers were hung around them. Two waxen torches, which the
hermit lighted, gave a cheerful air to the place, which was
rendered agreeable by its fragrance and coolness.

There were implements of labour in one corner of the apartment,
in another was a niche for a rude statue of the Virgin. A table
and two chairs showed that they must be the handiwork of the
anchorite, being different in their form from Oriental
accommodations. The former was covered, not only with reeds and
pulse, but also with dried flesh, which Theodorick assiduously
placed in such arrangement as should invite the appetite of his
guests. This appearance of courtesy, though mute, and expressed
by gestures only, seemed to Sir Kenneth something entirely
irreconcilable with his former wild and violent demeanour. The
movements of the hermit were now become composed, and apparently
it was only a sense of religious humiliation which prevented his
features, emaciated as they were by his austere mode of life,
from being majestic and noble. He trod his cell as one who
seemed born to rule over men, but who had abdicated his empire to
become the servant of Heaven. Still, it must be allowed that his
gigantic size, the length of his unshaven locks and beard, and
the fire of a deep-set and wild eye were rather attributes of a
soldier than of a recluse.

Even the Saracen seemed to regard the anchorite with some
veneration, while he was thus employed, and he whispered in a low
tone to Sir Kenneth, "The Hamako is now in his better mind, but
he will not speak until we have eaten--such is his vow."

It was in silence, accordingly, that Theodorick motioned to the
Scot to take his place on one of the low chairs, while Sheerkohf
placed himself, after the custom of his nation, upon a cushion of
mats. The hermit then held up both hands, as if blessing the
refreshment which he had placed before his guests, and they
proceeded to eat in silence as profound as his own. To the
Saracen this gravity was natural; and the Christian imitated his
taciturnity, while he employed his thoughts on the singularity of
his own situation, and the contrast betwixt the wild, furious
gesticulations, loud cries, and fierce actions of Theodorick,
when they first met him, and the demure, solemn, decorous
assiduity with which he now performed the duties of hospitality.

When their meal was ended, the hermit, who had not himself eaten
a morsel, removed the fragments from the table, and placing
before the Saracen a pitcher of sherbet, assigned to the Scot a
flask of wine.

"Drink," he said, "my children"--they were the first words he had
spoken--"the gifts of God are to be enjoyed, when the Giver is
remembered."

Having said this, he retired to the outward cell, probably for
performance of his devotions, and left his guests together in the
inner apartment; when Sir Kenneth endeavoured, by various
questions, to draw from Sheerkohf what that Emir knew concerning
his host. He was interested by more than mere curiosity in these
inquiries. Difficult as it was to reconcile the outrageous
demeanour of the recluse at his first appearance with his present
humble and placid behaviour, it seemed yet more impossible to
think it consistent with the high consideration in which,
according to what Sir Kenneth had learned, this hermit was held
by the most enlightened divines of the Christian world.
Theodorick, the hermit of Engaddi, had, in that character, been
the correspondent of popes and councils; to whom his letters,
full of eloquent fervour, had described the miseries imposed by
the unbelievers upon the Latin Christians in the Holy Land, in
colours scarce inferior to those employed at the Council of
Clermont by the Hermit Peter, when he preached the first Crusade.
To find, in a person so reverend and so much revered, the frantic
gestures of a mad fakir, induced the Christian knight to pause
ere he could resolve to communicate to him certain important
matters, which he had in charge from some of the leaders of the
Crusade.

It had been a main object of Sir Kenneth's pilgrimage, attempted
by a route so unusual, to make such communications; but what he
had that night seen induced him to pause and reflect ere he
proceeded to the execution of his commission. From the Emir he
could not extract much information, but the general tenor was as
follows:--That, as he had heard, the hermit had been once a brave
and valiant soldier, wise in council and fortunate in battle,
which last he could easily believe from the great strength and
agility which he had often seen him display; that he had appeared
at Jerusalem in the character not of a pilgrim, but in that of
one who had devoted himself to dwell for the remainder of his
life in the Holy Land. Shortly afterwards, he fixed his
residence amid the scenes of desolation where they now found him,
respected by the Latins for his austere devotion, and by the
Turks and Arabs on account of the symptoms of insanity which he
displayed, and which they ascribed to inspiration. It was from
them he had the name of Hamako, which expresses such a character
in the Turkish language. Sheerkohf himself seemed at a loss how
to rank their host. He had been, he said, a wise man, and could
often for many hours together speak lessons of virtue or wisdom,
without the slightest appearance of inaccuracy. At other times
he was wild and violent, but never before had he seen him so
mischievously disposed as he had that day appeared to be. His
rage was chiefly provoked by any affront to his religion; and
there was a story of some wandering Arabs, who had insulted his
worship and defaced his altar, and whom he had on that account
attacked and slain with the short flail which he carried with him
in lieu of all other weapons. This incident had made a great
noise, and it was as much the fear of the hermit's iron flail as
regard for his character as a Hamako which caused the roving
tribes to respect his dwelling and his chapel. His fame had
spread so far that Saladin had issued particular orders that he
should be spared and protected. He himself, and other Moslem
lords of rank, had visited the cell more than once, partly from
curiosity, partly that they expected from a man so learned as the
Christian Hamako some insight into the secrets of futurity. "He
had," continued the Saracen, "a rashid, or observatory, of great
height, contrived to view the heavenly bodies, and particularly
the planetary system--by whose movements and influences, as both
Christian and Moslem believed, the course of human events was
regulated, and might be predicted."

This was the substance of the Emir Sheerkohf's information, and
it left Sir Kenneth in doubt whether the character of insanity
arose from the occasional excessive fervour of the hermit's zeal,
or whether it was not altogether fictitious, and assumed for the
sake of the immunities which it afforded. Yet it seemed that the
infidels had carried their complaisance towards him to an
uncommon length, considering the fanaticism of the followers of
Mohammed, in the midst of whom he was living, though the
professed enemy of their faith. He thought also there was more
intimacy of acquaintance betwixt the hermit and the Saracen than
the words of the latter had induced him to anticipate; and it had
not escaped him that the former had called the latter by a name
different from that which he himself had assumed. All these
considerations authorized caution, if not suspicion. He
determined to observe his host closely, and not to be over-hasty
in communicating with him on the important charge entrusted to
him.

"Beware, Saracen," he said; "methinks our host's imagination
wanders as well on the subject of names as upon other matters.
Thy name is Sheerkohf, and he called thee but now by another."

"My name, when in the tent of my father," replied the Kurdman,
"was Ilderim, and by this I am still distinguished by many. In
the field, and to soldiers, I am known as the Lion of the
Mountain, being the name my good sword hath won for me. But
hush, the Hamako comes--it is to warn us to rest. I know his
custom; none must watch him at his vigils."

The anchorite accordingly entered, and folding his arms on his
bosom as he stood before them, said with a solemn voice, "Blessed
be His name, who hath appointed the quiet night to follow the
busy day, and the calm sleep to refresh the wearied limbs and to
compose the troubled spirit!"

Both warriors replied "Amen!" and, arising from the table,
prepared to betake themselves to the couches, which their host
indicated by waving his hand, as, making a reverence to each, he
again withdrew from the apartment.

The Knight of the Leopard then disarmed himself of his heavy
panoply, his Saracen companion kindly assisting him to undo his
buckler and clasps, until he remained in the close dress of
chamois leather, which knights and men-at-arms used to wear under
their harness. The Saracen, if he had admired the strength of
his adversary when sheathed in steel, was now no less struck with
the accuracy of proportion displayed in his nervous and well-compacted figure. The knight, on the other
hand, as, in exchange
of courtesy, he assisted the Saracen to disrobe himself of his
upper garments, that he might sleep with more convenience, was,
on his side, at a loss to conceive how such slender proportions
and slimness of figure could be reconciled with the vigour he had
displayed in personal contest.

Each warrior prayed ere he addressed himself to his place of
rest. The Moslem turned towards his KEBLAH, the point to which
the prayer of each follower of the Prophet was to be addressed,
and murmured his heathen orisons; while the Christian,
withdrawing from the contamination of the infidel's
neighbourhood, placed his huge cross-handled sword upright, and
kneeling before it as the sign of salvation, told his rosary with
a devotion which was enhanced by the recollection of the scenes
through which he had passed, and the dangers from which he had
been rescued, in the course of the day. Both warriors, worn by
toil and travel, were soon fast asleep, each on his separate
pallet.



CHAPTER IV.

Kenneth the Scot was uncertain how long his senses had been lost
in profound repose, when he was roused to recollection by a sense
of oppression on his chest, which at first suggested a flirting
dream of struggling with a powerful opponent, and at length
recalled him fully to his senses. He was about to demand who was
there, when, opening his eyes, he beheld the figure of the
anchorite, wild and savage-looking as we have described him,
standing by his bedside, and pressing his right hand upon his
breast, while he held a small silver lamp in the other.

"Be silent," said the hermit, as the prostrate knight looked up
in surprise; "I have that to say to you which yonder infidel must
not hear."

These words he spoke in the French language, and not in the
lingua franca, or compound of Eastern and European dialects,
which had hitherto been used amongst them.

"Arise," he continued, "put on thy mantle; speak not, but tread
lightly, and follow me."

Sir Kenneth arose, and took his sword.

"It needs not," answered the anchorite, in a whisper; "we are
going where spiritual arms avail much, and fleshly weapons are
but as the reed and the decayed gourd."

The knight deposited his sword by the bedside as before, and,
armed only with his dagger, from which in this perilous country
he never parted, prepared to attend his mysterious host.

The hermit then moved slowly forwards, and was followed by the
knight, still under some uncertainty whether the dark form which
glided on before to show him the path was not, in fact, the
creation of a disturbed dream. They passed, like shadows, into
the outer apartment, without disturbing the paynim Emir, who lay
still buried in repose. Before the cross and altar, in the
outward room, a lamp was still burning, a missal was displayed,
and on the floor lay a discipline, or penitential scourge of
small cord and wire, the lashes of which were recently stained
with blood--a token, no doubt, of the severe penance of the
recluse. Here Theodorick kneeled down, and pointed to the knight
to take his place beside him upon the sharp flints, which seemed
placed for the purpose of rendering the posture of reverential
devotion as uneasy as possible. He read many prayers of the
Catholic Church, and chanted, in a low but earnest voice, three
of the penitential psalms. These last he intermixed with sighs,
and tears, and convulsive throbs, which bore witness how deeply
he felt the divine poetry which he recited. The Scottish knight
assisted with profound sincerity at these acts of devotion, his
opinion of his host beginning, in the meantime, to be so much
changed, that he doubted whether, from the severity of his
penance and the ardour of his prayers, he ought not to regard him
as a saint; and when they arose from the ground, he stood with
reverence before him, as a pupil before an honoured master. The
hermit was, on his side, silent and abstracted for the space of a
few minutes.

"Look into yonder recess, my son," he said, pointing to the
farther corner of the cell; "there thou wilt find a veil--bring
it hither."

The knight obeyed, and in a small aperture cut out of the wall,
and secured with a door of wicker, he found the veil inquired
for. When he brought it to the light, he discovered that it was
torn, and soiled in some places with some dark substance. The
anchorite looked at it with a deep but smothered emotion, and ere
he could speak to the Scottish knight, was compelled to vent his
feelings in a convulsive groan.

"Thou art now about to look upon the richest treasure that the
earth possesses," he at length said; "woe is me, that my eyes are
unworthy to be lifted towards it! Alas! I am but the vile and
despised sign, which points out to the wearied traveller a
harbour of rest and security, but must itself remain for ever
without doors. In vain have I fled to the very depths of the
rocks, and the very bosom of the thirsty desert. Mine enemy hath
found me--even he whom I have denied has pursued me to my
fortresses."

He paused again for a moment, and turning to the Scottish knight,
said, in a firmer tone of voice, "You bring me a greeting from
Richard of England?"

"I come from the Council of Christian Princes," said the knight;
"but the King of England being indisposed, I am not honoured with
his Majesty's commands."

"Your token?" demanded the recluse.

Sir Kenneth hesitated. Former suspicions, and the marks of
insanity which the hermit had formerly exhibited, rushed suddenly
on his thoughts; but how suspect a man whose manners were so
saintly? "My password," he said at length, "is this--Kings
begged of a beggar."

"It is right," said the hermit, while he paused. "I know you
well; but the sentinel upon his post--and mine is an important
one--challenges friend as well as foe,"

He then moved forward with the lamp, leading the way into the
room which they had left. The Saracen lay on his couch, still
fast asleep. The hermit paused by his side, and looked down on
him.

"He sleeps," he said, "in darkness, and must not be awakened."

The attitude of the Emir did indeed convey the idea of profound
repose. One arm, flung across his body, as he lay with his face
half turned to the wall, concealed, with its loose and long
sleeve, the greater part of his face; but the high forehead was
yet visible. Its nerves, which during his waking hours were so
uncommonly active, were now motionless, as if the face had been
composed of dark marble, and his long silken eyelashes closed
over his piercing and hawklike eyes. The open and relaxed hand,
and the deep, regular, and soft breathing, all gave tokens of the
most profound repose. The slumberer formed a singular group
along with the tall forms of the hermit in his shaggy dress of
goat-skins, bearing the lamp, and the knight in his close
leathern coat--the former with an austere expression of ascetic
gloom, the latter with anxious curiosity deeply impressed on his
manly features.

"He sleeps soundly," said the hermit, in the same low tone as
before; and repeating the words, though he had changed the
meaning from that which is literal to a metaphorical sense--"he
sleeps in darkness, but there shall be for him a dayspring.--O
Ilderim, thy waking thoughts are yet as vain and wild as those
which are wheeling their giddy dance through thy sleeping brain;
but the trumpet shall be heard, and the dream shall be
dissolved."

So saying, and making the knight a sign to follow him, the hermit
went towards the altar, and passing behind it, pressed a spring,
which, opening without noise, showed a small iron door wrought in
the side of the cavern, so as to be almost imperceptible, unless
upon the most severe scrutiny. The hermit, ere he ventured fully
to open the door, dropped some oil on the hinges, which the lamp
supplied. A small staircase, hewn in the rock, was discovered,
when the iron door was at length completely opened.

"Take the veil which I hold," said the hermit, in a melancholy
tone, "and blind mine eyes; For I may not look on the treasure
which thou art presently to behold, without sin and presumption."

Without reply, the knight hastily muffled the recluse's head in
the veil, and the latter began to ascend the staircase as one too
much accustomed to the way to require the use of light, while at
the same time he held the lamp to the Scot, who followed him for
many steps up the narrow ascent. At length they rested in a
small vault of irregular form, in one nook of which the staircase
terminated, while in another corner a corresponding stair was
seen to continue the ascent. In a third angle was a Gothic door,
very rudely ornamented with the usual attributes of clustered
columns and carving, and defended by a wicket, strongly guarded
with iron, and studded with large nails. To this last point the
hermit directed his steps, which seemed to falter as he
approached it.

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