"He dies the death who injures the hound. Stand forward for a false traitor, Conrade of Montserrat. I impeach thee of treason!"

When King Richard returned to his tent some hours later, he commanded the Nubian to be brought before him, and his keen glance surveyed him for some time in silence.

"Thou art about to return to the camp of the Soldan, bearing a letter requiring of his country to appoint neutral ground for the deed of chivalry, and should it consort with his pleasure to concur with us in witnessing it. Now, we think thou might'st find in that camp some cavalier, who, for the love of truth, will do battle with this same traitor of Montserrat?"

The Nubian turned his eyes to the king with eager ardour, then to heaven with solemn grat.i.tude, then bent his head as affirming what Richard desired.

"It is well," said the king; "I see thy desire to oblige me in this matter; with thee to hear is to obey."

The two heroic monarchs embraced as brothers and equals, the pomp and display on both sides attracted no further notice. No one saw aught but Richard and Saladin. The looks with which Richard surveyed Saladin were more curious than those which the Soldan fastened on him, and when later Saladin exchanged his turban for a Tartar cap Richard gazed with astonishment and exclaimed:

"A miracle--a miracle! That I should lose my learned Hakim and find him again in my royal brother? It was by thy artifice the Knight of the Leopard visited my camp in disguise? He will do battle on the morrow?"

"He is full of preparation and high in hope," said Saladin. "I have furnished him with weapons and horse, thinking n.o.bly of him from what I have seen under various disguises."

Drum, clarion, trumpet and cymbal rung forth at once in honour of England's champion!

"Brave Knight of the Leopard," said Coeur de Lion, "thou hast shown the Ethiopian may change his skin, and the leopard his spots. I have more to say to you when I have conducted you to the presence of the ladies. And thou, princely Saladin, will also attend them."

Saladin bent his head gracefully, but declined.

"I must attend the wounded man," said he, "and further, Royal Richard, he saith the sage who hath forfeited a treasure doth not wisely to turn back to gaze on it."

"Come," said Richard, "we will to the pavilion, and lead our conqueror thither in triumph."

The victor entered and knelt gracefully down before the queen, though more than half the homage was silently rendered to Edith.

"Unarm him, my mistresses," said the king. "Let Beauty honour Chivalry.

Undo his spurs, Berengaria. Unlace his helmet, Edith--by this hand, thou shalt. Here terminate his various disguises. The adventurous Knight Kenneth, arises David, Earl of Huntington, Prince Royal of Scotland."

The next day saw Richard return to his own camp, and in a short s.p.a.ce afterwards the young Earl of Huntington was espoused by Edith Plantagenet.

The Soldan sent, as a nuptial present on this occasion, the celebrated talisman; but, though many cures were wrought with it in Europe, none equalled in success and celebrity those which the Soldan achieved.

MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT Sh.e.l.lEY

Frankenstein

Mary Wollstonecraft Sh.e.l.ley, the daughter of William G.o.dwin (see Vol. IV) and Mary Wollstonecraft, was born in London, August 30, 1797, and married to the poet Sh.e.l.ley in 1816, on the death of his first wife Harriet. Two years previous to this she had eloped with Sh.e.l.ley (see Vol. XVIII) to Switzerland, and they lived together in Italy till his death in 1823, when Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley returned to England, and continued her literary work. "Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus,"

the first of Mary Sh.e.l.ley's books, was published in 1818, and owed its origin to the summer spent by the Sh.e.l.leys on the sh.o.r.es of Geneva when Byron was their neighbour. It was "a wet, ungenial summer," according to the account Mary Sh.e.l.ley has left. "Some volumes of ghost stories, translated from the German into French, fell into our hands." Then one evening Byron said, "we will each write a ghost story," and the proposition was agreed to, and Mary Sh.e.l.ley's contribution was developed till at length "Frankenstein" was written. The story is at once a remarkable and impressive performance. The influence of Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley's father is apparent throughout, but probably the auth.o.r.ess was most influenced by the old German tales of the supernatural. The theme of a mortal creating, by the aid of natural science, a being in the shape of man, was at the time a bold and daring innovation in English literature. Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley died February 21, 1851.

_I.--Robert Walton's Letter_

August 5, 17--

My Dear Sister.--This letter will reach England by a merchantman now on its homeward voyage from Archangel; more fortunate than I, who may not see my native land, perhaps for many years. We have already reached a very high lat.i.tude, and it is the height of summer; but last Monday, July 31, we were nearly surrounded by ice which closed in the ship on all sides. Our situation was somewhat dangerous, especially as we were compa.s.sed round by a very thick fog. About two o'clock the mist cleared away, and we beheld in every direction, vast and irregular plains of ice. A strange sight suddenly attracted our attention. We perceived a low carriage, fixed on a sledge and drawn by dogs, pa.s.s on towards the North: a being which had the shape of a man, but apparently of gigantic stature, sat in the sledge and guided the dogs. We watched the rapid progress of the traveller until he was lost among the distant inequalities of the ice. Before night the ice broke and freed our ship.

In the morning, as soon as it was light, I went upon deck, and found all the sailors apparently talking to some one in the sea, it was, in fact, a sledge, like that we had seen before, which had drifted towards us in the night, on a large fragment of ice. Only one dog remained alive, but there was a human being whom the sailors were persuading to enter the vessel.

On perceiving me, the stranger addressed me in English. "Before I come on board your vessel," said he, "will you have the kindness to inform me whither you are bound?"

I replied that we were on a voyage of discovery towards the northern pole.

Upon hearing this he consented to come on board. His limbs were nearly frozen, and his body dreadfully emaciated. I never saw a man in so wretched a condition, and I often feel that his sufferings had deprived him of understanding.

Once the lieutenant asked why he had come so far upon the ice in so strange a vehicle. He replied, "To seek one who fled from me." "And did the man whom you pursued travel in the same fashion?"

"Yes."

"Then I fancy we have seen him; for the day before we picked you up, we saw some dogs drawing a sledge, with a man in it, across the ice."

From this time a new spirit of life animated the decaying frame of the stranger. He manifested the greatest eagerness to be upon deck, to watch for the sledge which had before appeared.

August 17, 17--

Yesterday the stranger said to me, "You may easily perceive, Capt.

Walton, that I have suffered great and unparallelled misfortunes. My fate is nearly fulfilled. I wait but for one event, and then I shall repose in peace. Listen to my history, and you will perceive how irrevocably my destiny is determined."

_II.--Frankenstein's Story_

I am by birth a Genevese; and my family is one of the most distinguished of that republic. My father has filled several public situations with honour and reputation. He pa.s.sed his younger days perpetually occupied by the affairs of his country, and it was not until the decline of life that he became a husband and the father of a family.

When I was about five years old, my mother, whose benevolent disposition often made her enter the cottages of the poor, brought to our house a child fairer than pictured cherub, an orphan whom she found in a peasant's hut; the infant daughter of a n.o.bleman who had died fighting for Italy. Thus Elizabeth became the inmate of my parents' house. Every one loved her, and I looked upon Elizabeth as mine, to protect, love, and cherish. We called each other familiarly by the name cousin, and were brought up together. No human being could have pa.s.sed a happier childhood than myself.

When I had attained the age of seventeen, my parents resolved that I should become a student at the University of Ingolstadt; I had hitherto attended the schools, of Geneva.

Before the day of my departure arrived, the first misfortune of my life occurred--an omen of my future misery. My mother attended Elizabeth in an attack of scarlet fever. Elizabeth was saved, but my mother sickened and died. On her deathbed she joined the hands of Elizabeth and myself:--"My children," she said, "my firmest hopes of future happiness were placed on the prospect of your union. This expectation will now be the consolation of your father."

The day of my departure for Ingolstadt, deferred for some weeks by my mother's death, at length arrived. I reached the town after a long and fatiguing journey, delivered my letters of introduction, and paid a visit to some of the princ.i.p.al professors.

M. Krempe, professor of Natural Philosophy, was an uncouth man. He asked me several questions concerning my progress in different branches of science, and informed me I must begin my studies entirely anew.

M. Waldman was very unlike his colleague. His voice was the sweetest I had ever heard. Partly from curiosity, and partly from idleness, I entered his lecture room, and his panegyric upon modern chemistry I shall never forget:--"The ancient teachers of this science," said he, "promised impossibilities, and performed nothing. The modern masters promise very little, and have, indeed, performed miracles. They have discovered how the blood circulates, and the nature of the air we breathe. They have acquired new and almost unlimited powers; they can command the thunders of the heaven, mimic the earthquake, and even mock the invisible world with its own shadows."