The King, who sat on his throne clad in a great scarlet robe and wearing his crown, listened to Alois with a smile when he began, but with a frown as the tale drew to an ending.
“Youth,” said the King sternly, “I have heard enough; this folly must end, and at once. Are you so far forgetful of your great inheritance that you must take a weaver’s lass to be your bride? Go to your tower, and see that you ride not beyond the castle wall until I speak the word!”
“But, sir, am I not in this my own master?” cried Alois, unafraid.
“You are my ward,” replied the King, with cold authority, “and I have other purposes for you. Sir Alois, go!”
“Do what you will,” replied the youth; “I shall have Fidella, and no other.” And holding his head high, the youth Alois quitted the audience hall, and mounted to his room.
Now when he had gone, the King, who had sat silent a moment, chin in hand, suddenly threw off his crimson robe, called for his coach, and rode through the wood to a giant tower on the brink of a wild ravine. A powerful enchanter dwelt there, whose magic aid and guileful counsel were ever at the service of the King.
And now the enchanter sat in a huge golden chair hearkening to the King. He was very old, this enchanter, and attired in a full black mantle, spangled with silver stars and golden crescent-moons; and, as he sat in his golden chair, he leaned forward and rested his two hands on a stout black cane. The high round chamber was full of a cobwebby gloom, and on shelves in the arched windows stood crystal flasks of a thousand twisted shapes and colors: deep ocean-blues, fiery scarlets, smoky purples, clear topaz yellows, and bright snake-like greens. And there was a huge black lizard with greeny-scarlet eyes, that made scaly noises as it ran about on the flagstones of the floor.
When he had heard the King’s story of Alois and Fidella, the enchanter smote the floor with his black cane, rose to his feet, saying never a word, and took from a niche in the wall a jar of blackest marble, strangely veined with gold.
“You have done well to come to me,” said the enchanter to the King, “for the youth is proud-spirited and will resist you to the end. ’Twere wisest to bend him to your will by magic guile. Within this phial dwells the water of forgetfulness; a goblin brought it me from the depths of the underworld. To-night you must pour it forth into a golden goblet, and that goblet you must stand by the youth’s place at the dinner of the court. As soon as he drinks of it, he will forget the weaver’s maid forever.”
And now it was evening, and the King and his guests were at dinner in the castle banquet-hall. There were candles everywhere, white tables and golden plates, and much coming and going of servants clad in green. From the royal table, raised above the others, the King watched Alois through the meal. Suddenly he smiled a grim smile; the youth had drunk the cup.