[CHAPTER XIII]
LEGENDS OF ANTWERP
I
Antigon; or, The Giant of Antwerp
IT was a fine night in the year 54 B.C., the sky clear, the air calm, when a boat—a sort of raft of basket work covered with ox hides—was slowly following the ebb of the Scheldt. A voice was heard from the boat, a woman’s voice, soft and gentle.
“Yes, Atuix, for thee have I passed the threshold of my father’s dwelling. I have quitted the deep forests of Gaul, my native country; for thee have I left all, because of my love for thee, Atuix, and thy beautiful harp which sleeps silently by thy side.”
Another voice was heard: “Oh, Frega, since the day that thine eyes looked into mine, my harp has forgotten its sounds and my soul no longer knows any of the songs whispered by Ogmius, whom I worshiped in the forests—the god of the bards, he who is always surrounded by men bound by their ears to chains of gold and amber which issue from his mouth.”
The boat continued to descend with the tide. Suddenly the waves were troubled and foaming as if some water monster was rising to their surface. A breathing, a stifled murmuring, was heard, like unto the autumn wind rushing through the branches of an old, decayed forest; the bubbling of the waters came nearer, and the breathing grew stronger. Then by the pale rays of the moon’s light, rising above the silvery clouds, Atuix and Frega beheld with terror, approaching them and swelling the waves in his rapid course, a colossal Giant.
The waters of the river reached up to his broad chest, and formed around him a white and sparkling belt of foam. From his formidable face flowed a thick beard, and his head was covered with hair like that of a horse, rough and black. He looked like those isolated peaks which are sometimes seen on the borders of the ocean, with their frowning crests from which the long, trailing grass hangs dripping in the waves. The boat suddenly stopped, and cracked under the hand of the giant. A terrible roaring burst from his hollow chest, and these words were uttered in a voice of thunder:—
“Ah! ah! my passengers of the night!—you think that the eyes of Antigon are closed to allow you to pass in the dark! Where are my three oxen to satisfy my hunger this evening?”
Frega clung trembling to Atuix who silently drew forth his long blade.