“Nay, nay, Reginald, no more of witches now,” rejoined Lathom; “the subject deserves far more time, attention, and illustration than we can now afford it, and must be adjourned for the present. Let me conclude this evening with the tale of
“THE EMPEROR CONRAD AND THE COUNT’S SON.”
During the reign of the Emperor Conrad, there lived a certain count of the name of Leopold, who had risen to high commands by his bravery and his knowledge. Every one regarded the count with favor, and loved him for his kindness to suitors, and his prowess against the enemies of the emperor. Conrad alone looked on his servant with an evil eye; for he envied his reputation, and would have taken to himself the glories he had acquired, and ascribed to himself those victories which Leopold had won.
The count, unable to endure the evil looks and hard words of the emperor, and fearful that in time his present anger would be turned into bitter hatred, suddenly left the court of Rome, and fled with his wife into the forest of the Apennines. There he toiled all day, and labored diligently to support himself and his spouse. There he knew not what the fear of impending evil was; he had no one to envy him, no one to covet his position or his property.
It was a bright sunny day, and the meridian sun glared with unwonted fierceness, even through the thick trees of the forest, and rendered the air close and heavy from lack of a breeze to move even the highest leaves of the loftiest pines. The emperor pursued the chase with ardor; urged on by the exhilarating cry of the hounds, he thought not of the denseness of the forest, or the tangled nature of its winding ways, until at last, tired and thirsty, he checked his horse in a dark, close glade, and looked around for some hut where he might obtain rest and refreshment.
Many were the paths which the emperor and his attendants followed before they reached the cottage where Leopold lived in solitude; the count recognized the sovereign, but Conrad knew not his old servant, nor was he recognized by any of the hunting train; refreshments, such as the homely store could furnish, were soon placed before the emperor. It was now nigh to evening; already the glades of the forest were growing dark, and the devious paths more and more difficult to track out, even to the experienced eye of a woodman. It was useless to attempt to escape from the forest before the next morning. The attendants soon formed for themselves sylvan beds on the soft grass, and beneath the broad-spreading trees, their cloaks for coverlids, and the green mossy grass for their beds. The emperor fared better. One low tressel bed Leopold had in the lower room of his hut; this he resigned to the emperor.
Fatigued with his hard day’s riding, Conrad soon fell asleep; how long he slept he knew not; but when all was dark and still, both within and without the hut, a voice broke upon his ear.
“Take—take—take,” said the voice.
Conrad rose and listened. “What,” said he to himself, as he thought on the words, “what am I to take? Take—take—take: what can the voice mean?”
As he reflected on the singularity of the words, the emperor again fell asleep; again a voice awoke him from his slumbers.