it no more; for the path seemed to grow narrower and narrower; the flames from the two pits already almost touched; and I could not endure to see, as I feared I should, the little one, whom I had watched, become the prey of their devouring fierceness. So, with a bitter groan for Irrgeist, I turned me back to the road to see how it fared with Furchtsam and Gehulfè.
They had fallen far behind the others from the first. Poor little Furchtsam had a trembling tottering gait; and as he walked, he looked on this side and on that, as if every step was dangerous. This led him often to look off his book of light, and then it would shut up its leaves, and then his little lamp grew dimmer and dimmer, and his feet stumbled, and he trembled so, that he almost dropped his staff out of his hands. Yet still he kept the right path, only he got along it very slowly and with pain.
Whether it was that Gehulfè was too
tender spirited to leave him, or why else, I know not, but he kept close by the little trembler, and seemed ever waiting to help him. Many a time did he catch him by the hand when he was ready to fall, and speak to him a word of comfort, when without it he would have sunk down through fear. So they got on together, and now they came to the part of the pathway which the evil enchantress haunted. She used all her skill upon them, and brought up before their eyes all the visions she could raise; sunshine, and singing-birds, and waving boughs, and green grass, and sparkling water, they all passed before their eyes,—but they heeded them not: once, indeed, poor Furchtsam for a moment looked with a longing eye at the painted sunshine, as if its warm light would have driven off some of his fears; but it was but for a moment. And as for Gehulfè, whether it was that he was reading his book of light too closely, or trimming
too carefully his lamp, or helping too constantly his trembling friend, for some cause or other he scarcely seemed to see the visions which the sorceress had spread around him. So when she had tried all her skill for a season, and found it in vain, she vanished altogether from them, and they saw her no more. But their dangers were not over yet. When Gottlieb passed along this road, he had gone on so boldly, that I had not noticed how fearful it was in parts to any giddy head or fainting heart. But now I saw well how it terrified Furchtsam. For here it seemed to rise straight up to a dangerous height, and to become so narrow at the same time, and to be so bare of any side-wall or parapet, that it was indeed a giddy thing to pass along it. Yet when one walked over it, as Gottlieb did, leaning on his staff of Church-truth, reading diligently in his book, and trimming ever and anon his lamp, such a light fell upon
the narrow path, and the darkness so veiled the precipice, that the pilgrim did not know that there was any thing to fear. But not so when you stopped to look—then it became terrible indeed; you soon lost all sight of the path before you; for the brightest lamp only lighted the road just by your feet, and that seemed rising almost to an edge, whilst the flash of distant lights here and there shewed that a fearful precipice was on each side.
Furchtsam trembled exceedingly when he looked at it; and even Gehulfè, when, instead of marching on, he stopped to talk about it, began to be troubled with fears. Now, as they looked here and there, Furchtsam saw an easy safe-looking path, which promised to lead them in the same direction, but along the bottom of the cliffs. Right glad was he to see it; and so taking the lead for once, he let fall his staff, that by catching hold of the bushes on the bank, he might drop down
more easily upon the lower path; and there he got with very little trouble.
It was all done in a moment; and when he was out of the path, Gehulfè turned round and saw where he was gone. Then he tried to follow after him; but he could not draw his staff with him through the gap, or climb down the bank without letting it go. And, happily for him, he held it so firmly, that after one or two trials he stopped. Then, indeed, was he glad, as soon as he had time to think; and he held his good stick firmer in his hand than ever, for now he saw plainly that Furchtsam was quite out of the road, and that he had himself well-nigh followed him. So leaning over the side, he began to call to his poor timid companion, and encourage him to mount up again, by the bank which he had slipped down, and venture along the right way with him. At first Furchtsam shook his head mournfully, and would not hear of it. But when
Gehulfè reminded him that they had a true promise from the King, that nothing should harm them whilst they kept to the high way of holiness, and that the way upon which he had now entered was full of pitfalls, and wild beasts, and every sort of danger, and that in it he must be alone,—then his reason began to come back to him, and Furchtsam saw into what an evil state he had brought himself; and with all his heart he wished himself back again by the side of Gehulfè. But it was no such easy matter to get back. His lamp was so bruised and shaken as he slid down, that it threw scarcely any light at all; while it had never seemed, he thought, so dark as it did now: he could not see the bushes to which he had clung just before, or the half path which had brought him down. Gehulfè’s voice from above was some guide to him, and shewed him in which direction to turn; but when he tried to