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who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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beautiful

How many times the word 'beautiful' appears in the text?

who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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How many times the word 'whose' appears in the text?

who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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friend

How many times the word 'friend' appears in the text?

who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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fatalistic

How many times the word 'fatalistic' appears in the text?

who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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trusted

How many times the word 'trusted' appears in the text?

who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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accomplished

How many times the word 'accomplished' appears in the text?

who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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oiled

How many times the word 'oiled' appears in the text?

who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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murmur

How many times the word 'murmur' appears in the text?

who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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else

How many times the word 'else' appears in the text?

who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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philosophers

How many times the word 'philosophers' appears in the text?

who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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music

How many times the word 'music' appears in the text?

who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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frogman

How many times the word 'frogman' appears in the text?

who had been freed from her enchantment in so startling a manner. For a time no sound was heard beyond the low murmur of delight that came from the amazed group, but presently the growl of the big Lavender Bear grew louder and he said in a tone of triumph: "He never makes a mistake!" [Illustration] Ozma of Oz [Illustration] CHAPTER 25 "It's funny," said Toto, standing before his friend the Lion and wagging his tail, "but I've found my growl at last! I am positive, now, that it was the cruel magician who stole it." "Let's hear your growl," requested the Lion. "Gr-r-r-r-r-r!" said Toto. "That is fine," declared the big beast. "It isn't as loud or as deep as the growl of the big Lavender Bear, but it is a very respectable growl for a small dog. Where did you find it, Toto?" "I was smelling in the corner, yonder," said Toto, "when suddenly a mouse ran out--and I growled!" The others were all busy congratulating Ozma, who was very happy at being released from the confinement of the golden peach-pit, where the magician had placed her with the notion that she never could be found or liberated. "And only to think," cried Dorothy, "that Button-Bright has been carrying you in his pocket all this time, and we never knew it!" "The little Pink Bear told you," said the Bear King, "but you wouldn't believe him." "Never mind, my dears," said Ozma graciously; "all is well that ends well, and you couldn't be expected to know I was inside the peach-pit. Indeed, I feared I would remain a captive much longer than I did, for Ugu is a bold and clever magician and he had hidden me very securely." "You were in a fine peach," said Button-Bright; "the best I ever ate." "The magician was foolish to make the peach so tempting," remarked the Wizard; "but Ozma would lend beauty to any transformation." "How did you manage to conquer Ugu the Shoemaker?" inquired the girl Ruler of Oz. Dorothy started to tell the story and Trot helped her, and Button-Bright wanted to relate it in his own way, and the Wizard tried to make it clear to Ozma, and Betsy had to remind them of important things they left out, and all together there was such a chatter that it was a wonder that Ozma understood any of it. But she listened patiently, with a smile on her lovely face at their eagerness, and presently had gleaned all the details of their adventures. Ozma thanked the Frogman very earnestly for his assistance and she advised Cayke the Cookie Cook to dry her weeping eyes, for she promised to take her to the Emerald City and see that her cherished dishpan was restored to her. Then the beautiful Ruler took a chain of emeralds from around her own neck and placed it around the neck of the little Pink Bear. "Your wise answers to the questions of my friends," said she, "helped them to rescue me. Therefore I am deeply grateful to you and to your noble King." The bead eyes of the little Pink Bear stared unresponsive to this praise until the Big Lavender Bear turned the crank in its side, when it said in its squeaky voice: "I thank Your Majesty." "For my part," returned the Bear King, "I realize that you were well worth saving, Miss Ozma, and so I am much pleased that we could be of service to you. By means of my Magic Wand I have been creating exact images of your Emerald City and your Royal Palace, and I must confess that they are more attractive than any places I have ever seen--not excepting Bear Center." "I would like to entertain you in my palace," returned Ozma, sweetly, "and you are welcome to return with me and to make me a long visit, if your bear subjects can spare you from your own kingdom." "As for that," answered the King, "my kingdom causes me little worry, and I often find it somewhat tame and uninteresting. Therefore I am in no hurry to return to it and will be glad to accept your kind invitation. Corporal Waddle may be trusted to care for my bears in my absence." "And you'll bring the little Pink Bear?" asked Dorothy eagerly. "Of course, my dear; I would not willingly part with him." They remained in the wicker castle for three days, carefully packing all the magical things that had been stolen by Ugu and also taking whatever in the way of magic the shoemaker had inherited from his ancestors. "For," said Ozma, "I have forbidden any of my subjects except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz to practice magical arts, because they cannot be trusted to do good and not harm. Therefore Ugu must never again be permitted to work magic of any sort." "Well," remarked Dorothy cheerfully, "a dove can't do much in the way of magic, anyhow, and I'm going to keep Ugu in the form of a dove until he reforms and becomes a good and honest shoemaker." When everything was packed and loaded on the backs of the animals, they set out for the river, taking a more direct route than that by which Cayke and the Frogman had come. In this way they avoided the Cities of Thi and Herku and Bear Center and after a pleasant journey reached the Winkie River and found a jolly ferryman who had a fine big boat and was willing to carry the entire party by water to a place quite near to the Emerald City. The river had many windings and many branches, and the journey did not end in a day, but finally the boat floated into a pretty lake which was but a short distance from Ozma's home. Here the jolly ferryman was rewarded for his labors and then the entire party set out in a grand procession to march to the Emerald City. News that the Royal Ozma had been found spread quickly throughout the neighborhood and both sides of the road soon became lined with loyal subjects of the beautiful and beloved Ruler. Therefore Ozma's ears heard little but cheers and her eyes beheld little else than waving handkerchiefs and banners during all the triumphal march from the lake to the city's gates. And there she met a still greater concourse, for all the inhabitants of the Emerald City turned out to welcome her return and several bands played gay music and all the houses were decorated with flags and bunting and never before were the people so joyous and happy as at this moment when they welcomed home their girl Ruler. For she had been lost and was now found again, and surely that was cause for rejoicing. Glinda was at the royal palace to meet the returning party and the good Sorceress was indeed glad to have her Great Book of Records returned to her, as well as all the precious collection of magic instruments and elixirs and chemicals that had been stolen from her castle. Cap'n Bill and the Wizard at once hung the Magic Picture upon the wall of Ozma's boudoir and the Wizard was so light-hearted that he did several tricks with the tools in his black bag to amuse his companions and prove that once again he was a powerful wizard. [Illustration] For a whole week there was feasting and merriment and all sorts of joyous festivities at the palace, in honor of Ozma's safe return. The Lavender Bear and the little Pink Bear received much attention and were honored by all, much to the Bear King's satisfaction. The Frogman speedily became a favorite at the Emerald City and the Shaggy Man and Tik-Tok and Jack Pumpkinhead, who had now returned from their search, were very polite to the big frog and made him feel quite at home. Even the Cookie Cook, because she was a stranger and Ozma's guest, was shown as much deference as if she had been a queen. "All the same, Your Majesty," said Cayke to Ozma, day after day, with tiresome repetition, "I hope you will soon find my jeweled dishpan, for never can I be quite happy without it." Dorothy Forgives [Illustration] CHAPTER 26 The gray dove which had once been Ugu the Shoemaker sat on its tree in the far Quadling Country and moped, chirping dismally and brooding over its misfortunes. After a time the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman came along and sat beneath the tree, paying no heed to the mutterings of the gray dove. The Tin Woodman took a small oilcan from his tin pocket and carefully oiled his tin joints with it. While he was thus engaged the Scarecrow remarked: "I feel much better, dear comrade, since we found that heap of nice clean straw and you stuffed me anew with it." "And I feel much better now that my joints are oiled," returned the Tin Woodman, with a sigh of pleasure. "You and I, friend Scarecrow, are much more easily cared for than those clumsy meat people, who spend half their time dressing in fine clothes and who must live in splendid dwellings in order to be contented and happy. You and I do not eat, and so we are spared the dreadful bother of getting three meals a day. Nor do we waste half our lives in sleep, a condition that causes the meat people to lose all consciousness and become as thoughtless and helpless as logs of wood." "You speak truly," responded the Scarecrow, tucking some wisps of straw into his breast with his padded fingers. "I often feel sorry for the meat people, many of whom are my friends. Even the beasts are happier than they, for they require less to make them content. And the birds are the luckiest creatures of all, for they can fly swiftly where they will and find a home at any place they care to perch; their food consists of seeds and grains they gather from the fields and their drink is a sip of water from some running brook. If I could not be a Scarecrow--or a Tin Woodman--my next choice would be to live as a bird does." [Illustration] The gray dove had listened carefully to this speech and seemed to find comfort in it, for it hushed its moaning. And just then the Tin Woodman discovered Cayke's dishpan, which was on the ground quite near to him. "Here is a rather pretty utensil," he said, taking it in his tin hands to examine it, "but I would not care to own it. Whoever fashioned it of gold and covered it with diamonds did not add to its usefulness, nor do I consider it as beautiful as the bright dishpans of tin one usually sees. No yellow color is ever so handsome as the silver sheen of tin," and he turned to look at his tin legs and body with approval. "I cannot quite agree with you there," replied the Scarecrow. "My straw stuffing has a light yellow color, and it is not only pretty to look at but it crunkles most delightfully when I move." "Let us admit that all colors are good in their proper places," said the Tin Woodman, who was too kind-hearted to quarrel; "but you must agree with me that a dishpan that is yellow is unnatural. What shall we do with this one, which we have just found?" "Let us carry it back to the Emerald City," suggested the Scarecrow. "Some of our friends might like to have it for a foot-bath, and in using it that way its golden color and sparkling ornaments would not injure its usefulness." So they went away and took the jeweled dishpan with them. And, after wandering through the country for a day or so longer, they learned the news that Ozma had been found. Therefore they straightway returned to the Emerald City and presented the dishpan to Princess Ozma as a token of their joy that she had been restored to them. Ozma promptly gave the diamond-studded gold dishpan to Cayke the Cookie Cook, who was so delighted at regaining her lost treasure that she danced up and down in glee and then threw her skinny arms around Ozma's neck and kissed her gratefully. Cayke's mission was now successfully accomplished, but she was having such a good time at the Emerald City that she seemed in no hurry to go back to the Country of the Yips. It was several weeks after the dishpan had been restored to the Cookie Cook when one day, as Dorothy was seated in the royal gardens with Trot and Betsy beside her, a gray dove came flying down and alighted at the girl's feet. "I am Ugu the Shoemaker," said the dove in a soft, mourning voice, "and I have come to ask you to forgive me for the great wrong I did in stealing Ozma and the magic that belonged to her and to others." "Are you sorry, then?" asked Dorothy, looking hard at the bird. "I am _very_ sorry," declared Ugu. "I've been thinking over my misdeeds for a long time, for doves have little else to do but think, and I'm surprised that I was such a wicked man and had so little regard for the rights of others. I am now convinced that even had I succeeded in making myself ruler of all Oz I should not have been happy, for many days of quiet thought have shown me that only those things one acquires honestly are able to render one content." "I guess that's so," said Trot. "Anyhow," said Betsy, "the bad man seems truly sorry, and if he has now become a good and honest man we ought to forgive him." "I fear I cannot become a good _man_ again," said Ugu, "for the transformation I am under will always keep me in the form of a dove. But, with the kind forgiveness of my former enemies, I hope to become a very good dove, and highly respected." "Wait here till I run for my Magic Belt," said Dorothy, "and I'll transform you back to your reg'lar shape in a jiffy." "No--don't do that!" pleaded the dove, fluttering its wings in an excited way. "I only want your forgiveness; I don't want to be a man again. As Ugu the Shoemaker I was skinny and old and unlovely; as a dove I am quite pretty to look at. As a man I was ambitious and cruel, while as a dove I can be content with my lot and happy in my simple life. I have learned to love the free and independent life of a bird and I'd rather not change back." "Just as you like, Ugu," said Dorothy, resuming her seat. "Perhaps you are right, for you're cert'nly a better dove than you were a man, and if you should ever backslide, an' feel wicked again, you couldn't do much harm as a gray dove." "Then you forgive me for all the trouble I caused you?" he asked earnestly. "Of course; anyone who's sorry just _has_ to be forgiven." "Thank you," said the gray dove, and flew away again. [Illustration] ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ*** ******* This file should be named 24459.txt or 24459.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/4/5/24459 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

herself

How many times the word 'herself' appears in the text?

whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

fair

How many times the word 'fair' appears in the text?

whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

slim

How many times the word 'slim' appears in the text?

whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

bright

How many times the word 'bright' appears in the text?

whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

journeying

How many times the word 'journeying' appears in the text?

whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

tender

How many times the word 'tender' appears in the text?

whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

ear

How many times the word 'ear' appears in the text?

whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

me

How many times the word 'me' appears in the text?

whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

snaky

How many times the word 'snaky' appears in the text?

whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

agents

How many times the word 'agents' appears in the text?

whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

talking

How many times the word 'talking' appears in the text?

whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

some

How many times the word 'some' appears in the text?

whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

been

How many times the word 'been' appears in the text?

whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

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whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

yard

How many times the word 'yard' appears in the text?

whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

sullen

How many times the word 'sullen' appears in the text?

whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

ditch

How many times the word 'ditch' appears in the text?

whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

us

How many times the word 'us' appears in the text?

whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

shows

How many times the word 'shows' appears in the text?

whom he loved so much. And when she had listened enough to him she began to speak. _Here they sing_. Nicolette the bright of face Leaned her at the buttress-base, Heard within her lover dear Weeping and bewailing her; Then she spake the thought in her: "Aucassin, most gentle knight, High-born lording, honoured wight, What avails you to weep so? What your wailing, what your woe? I may ne'er your darling be, For your father hateth me; All your kin thereto agree. For your sake I'll pass the sea, Get me to some far countrie." Tresses of her hair she clipped, And within the tower slipped. Aucassin, that lover true, Took them and did honour due, Fondly kissed them and caressed, And bestowed them in his breast. Then in tears anew he brake For his love's sake. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would depart into another country, he felt nothing but anger. "Fair sweet friend," said he, "you shall not depart, for then would you have killed me. The first man that set eyes on you and could do so would straightway lay hands on you and take you to be his concubine. And once you had lived with any man but me, now dream not that I should wait to find a knife wherewith to strike me to the heart and kill me! Nay, verily, that were all too long to wait. Rather would I fling me just so far as I might see a bit of wall, or a grey stone; and against that would I dash my head so hard that my eyes should start out and all my brains be scattered. Yet even such a death would I die rather than know you had lived with any man but me." "Ah!" said she, "I trow not that you love me so well as you say; but I love you better than you do me." "Alack!" said Aucassin, "fair sweet friend! That were not possible that you should love me so well as I do you. Woman cannot love man so well as man loves woman. For a woman's love lies in her eye, in bud of bosom or tip of toe. But a man's love is within him, rooted in his heart, whence it cannot go forth." While Aucassin and Nicolette were talking together, the town watch came down a street. They had their swords drawn under their cloaks, for Count Warren had given them command that if they could lay hands on her they should kill her. And the watchman on the tower saw them coming, and heard that they were talking of Nicolette and threatening to kill her. "Great Heavens!" he said, "what pity it were should they slay so fair a maid! 'Twere a mighty good deed if I could tell her, in such wise that they perceived it not, and she could be ware of them. For if they slay her, then will Aucassin my young lord die; and that were great pity." _Here they sing_. Valiant was the watch on wall, Kindly, quick of wit withal. He struck up a roundelay Very seasonably gay. "Maiden of the noble heart, Winsome fair of form thou art; Winsome is thy golden hair, Blue thine eye and blithe thine air. Well I see it by thy cheer, Thou hast spoken with thy fere, Who for thee lies dying here. This I tell thee, thou give ear! 'Ware thee of the sudden foe! Yonder seeking thee they go. 'Neath each cloak a sword I see; Terribly they threaten thee. Soon they'll do thee some misdeed Save thou take heed!" {39} _Here they speak and tell the story_. "Ah!" said Nicolette; "now may thy father's soul and thy mother's be in blessed repose, for the grace and for the courtesy with which thou hast told me! Please God I will guard me well from them, and may God Himself be my guard!" She wrapped her mantle about her in the shadow of the pier, till they had passed. Then she took leave of Aucassin and went her way till she came to the castle wall. There was a breach in it which had been boarded up. On to this she climbed, and so got over between the wall and the ditch; and looking down she saw the ditch was very deep and the sides very sheer, and she was sore afraid. "Ah, gracious Heaven!" she said; "if I let myself fall I shall break my neck; and if I abide here, I shall be taken to-morrow and burned in a fire. Nay, I had liefer die here than be made a show to-morrow for all the folk to stare at!" She crossed herself, and let herself slip down into the ditch. And when she came to the bottom, her fair feet and her fair hands, untaught that ought could hurt them, were bruised and torn, and the blood flowed in full a dozen places. Nevertheless she felt neither hurt nor pain for her great dread. And if she were troubled as to the getting in, she was far more troubled as to the getting out. But she bethought her that it was no good to linger there; and she found a sharpened stake which had been thrown by those within in the defence of the castle; and with this she made steps one above the other, and with much difficulty climbed up till she reached the top. Now hard by was the forest, within two bowshots. It stretched full thirty leagues in length and in breadth, and had wild beasts in it and snaky things. She was afraid that if she went into it, these would kill her; and on the other hand she bethought her that if she were found there she would be taken back to the town to be burned. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, Up the moat had won her way, And to waymenting did fall, And on Jesu's name 'gan call: "Father, King of Majesty! Now I wot not which way fly. Should I to the greenwood hie, There the wolves will me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Whereof yonder is great store. Should I wait the daylight clear, So that they should find me here, Lighted will the fire bin That my body shall burn in. But, O God of Majesty! I had liefer yet fairly That the wolves should me devour, And the lions and wild boar, Than into the city fare! I'll not go there." _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette made great lamentation, as you have heard. She commended herself to God, and went on till she came into the forest. She durst not go deep into it, for the wild beasts and the snaky things; and she crept into a thick bush, and sleep fell on her. She slept till the morrow at high Prime, when the herdboys came out of the town, and drove their beasts between the wood and the river. They drew aside to a very beautiful spring which was at the edge of the forest, and spread out a cloak and put their bread on it. While they were eating, Nicolette awoke at the cry of the birds and of the herdboys, and she sprang towards them. "Fair children!" said she, "may the Lord help you!" "May God bless you!" said the one who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said she, "know you Aucassin, the son of the Count Warren of Beaucaire?" "Yes, we know him well." "So God help you, fair children," said she, "tell him that there is a beast in this forest, and that he come to hunt it. And if he can catch it he would not give one limb of it for a hundred marks of gold, no, not for five hundred, nor for any wealth." And they gazed at her, and when they saw her so beautiful they were all amazed. "What, I tell him?" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his whoever speak of it or whoever tell him! 'Tis fantasy that you say, since there is not so costly a beast in this forest, neither stag nor lion nor wild boar, one of whose limbs were worth more than two pence, or three at the most; and you speak of so great wealth! Foul sorrow be his who believe you, or whoever tell him! You are a fay, and we have no care for your company. So keep on your way!" "Ah, fair children!" said she, "this will you do! The beast has such a medicine that Aucassin will be cured of his hurt. And I have here five sous in my purse; take them, so you tell him! Aye, and within three days must he hunt it, and, if in three days he find it not, never more will he be cured of his hurt!" "I' faith!" said he, "the pence will we take; and if he come here we will tell him, but we will never go to seek him." "I' God's name!" said she. Then she took leave of the herdboys, and went her way. _Here they sing_. Nicolette, that bright-faced may, From the herdboys went her way, And her journeying addressed Through the leafy thick forest, Down a path of olden day, Till she came to a highway, Where do seven roads divide Through the land to wander wide. Then she fell bethinking her She will try her true lover If he love her as he sware. Flow'rs o' the lily gathered she, Branches of the jarris-tree, And green leaves abundantly. And she built a bower of green; Daintier was there never seen. By the truth of Heaven she sware, That should Aucassin come there, And a little rest not take In the bower for her sweet sake, Ne'er shall he her lover be, Nor his love she! _Here they speak and tell the story_. Nicolette had made the bower, as you have harkened and heard; very pretty she made it and very dainty, and all bedecked within and without with flowers and leaves. Then she laid her down near to the bower in a thick bush, to see what Aucassin would do. And the cry and the noise went through all the land and through all the country that Nicolette was lost. There are some say that she is fled away; other some that the Count Warren has had her done to death. Rejoice who might, Aucassin was not well pleased. Count Warren his father bade take him out of prison; and summoned the knights of the land, and the damozels, and made a very rich feast, thinking to comfort Aucassin his son. But while the feasting was at its height, there was Aucassin leaned against a balcony, all sorrowful and all downcast. Make merry who might, Aucassin had no taste for it; since he saw nothing there of that he loved. A knight looked upon him, and came to him, and accosted him: "Aucassin," said he, "of such sickness as yours, I too have been sick. I will give you good counsel, if you will trust me." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! Good counsel should I hold dear." "Mount on a horse," said he, "and go by yon forest side to divert you; there you will see the flowers and green things, and hear the birds sing. Peradventure you shall hear a word for which you shall be the better." "Sir," said Aucassin, "gramercy! So will I do." He stole from the hall, and descended the stairs, and came to the stable where his horse was. He bade saddle and bridle him; and setting foot in stirrup, he mounted and rode forth out of the castle, and went on till he came to the forest. He rode till he reached the spring, and came upon the herdboys at the point of None. They had spread a cloak on the grass, and were eating their bread and making very great merriment. _Here they sing_. Came the herds from every part in; There was Esme, there was Martin; There was Fruelin and Johnny; Aubrey boon, and Robin bonny. Then to speech did one address him: "Mates, young Aucassin, God bless him! 'Struth, it is a fine young fellow! And the girl with hair so yellow, With the body slim and slender, Eyes so blue and bloom so tender! She that gave us such a penny As shall buy us sweetmeats many, Hunting-knife and sheath of leather, Flute and fife to play together, Scrannel pipe and cudgel beechen. I pray God leech him!" {48} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the shepherd boys, he minded him of Nicolette his most sweet friend whom he loved so well; and he bethought him that she had been there. And he pricked his horse with the spurs, and came to the shepherd boys. "Fair children, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Fair children," said he, "say again the song that you were saying just now!" "We will not say it," said he who was more ready of speech than the others. "Sorrow be his who sings it for you, fair sir!" "Fair children," said Aucassin, "do you not know me?" "Aye, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are not your men, but the Count's." "Fair children, you will do so, I pray you!" "Hear, by gog's heart!" said he. "And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not? When there is no man in this land so rich, saving Count Warren's self, who finding my oxen or my cows or my sheep in his pastures or in his crops, would dare to chase them from it, for fear of having his eyes put out. And why should I sing for you, an it suit me not?" "So God help you, fair children, you will do so! And take ten sous which I have here in a purse!" "Sir, the pence will we take, but I will not sing to you, for I have sworn it. But I will tell it to you, if you will." "I' God's name!" said Aucassin; "I had liefer telling than nothing." "Sir, we were here just now, between Prime and Tierce, and were eating our bread at this spring, even as we are doing now. And a maiden came here, the most beautiful thing in the world, so that we deemed it was a fay, and all the wood lightened with her. And she gave us of what was hers, so that we covenanted with her, if you came here, we would tell you that you are to go a-hunting in this forest. There is a beast there which, could you catch it, you would not give one of its limbs for five hundred marks of silver, nor for any wealth. For the beast has such a medicine that if you can catch it you will be cured of your hurt. Aye, and within three days must you have caught it, and if you have not caught it, never more will you see it. Now hunt it an you will, or an you will leave it; for I have well acquitted myself towards her." "Fair children," said Aucassin, "enough have you said; and God grant me to find it!" _Here they sing_. Aucassin has word for word Of his lithe-limbed lady heard; Deep they pierced him to the quick; From the herds he parted quick, Struck into the greenwood thick. Quickly stepped his gallant steed, Bore him fairly off full speed. Then he spake, three words he said: "Nicolette, O lithe-limbed maid! For your sake I thrid the glade! Stag nor boar I now pursue, But the sleuth I track for you! Your bright eyes and body lithe, Your sweet words and laughter blithe, Wounded have my heart to death. So God, the strong Father will, I shall look upon you still, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin went through the forest this way and that way, and his good steed carried him a great pace. Think not that the briars and thorns spared him! Not a whit! Nay they tore his clothes so, that 'twere hard work to have patched them together again; and the blood flowed from his arms and his sides and his legs in forty places or thirty; so that one could have followed the boy by the trace of the blood that fell upon the grass. But he thought so much on Nicolette, his sweet friend, that he felt neither hurt nor pain. All day long he rode through the forest, but so it was that he never heard news of her. And, when he saw that evening drew on, he began to weep because he found her not. He was riding down an old grassy road, when he looked before him in the way and saw a boy, and I will tell you what he was like. He was tall of stature and wonderful to see, so ugly and hideous. He had a monstrous shock-head black as coal, and there was more than a full palm-breadth between his two eyes; and he had great cheeks, and an immense flat nose, with great wide nostrils, and thick lips redder than a roast, and great ugly yellow teeth. He was shod in leggings and shoes of ox-hide, laced with bast to above the knee; and was wrapped in a cloak which seemed inside out either way on, and was leaning on a great club. Aucassin sprang to meet him, and was terrified at the nearer sight of him. "Fair brother, may God help you!" "May God bless you!" said he. "So God help you, what do you there?" "What matters it to you?" said he. "Nothing"; said Aucassin; "I ask not for any ill reason." "But wherefore are you weeping," said he, "and making such sorrow? I' faith, were I as rich a man as you are, all the world would not make me weep!" "Bah! Do you know me?" said Aucassin. "Aye. I know well that you are Aucassin the son of the Count; and if you tell me wherefore you are weeping I will tell you what I am doing here." "Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you right willingly. I came this morning to hunt in this forest; and I had a white greyhound, the fairest in the world, and I have lost it; 'tis for this I am weeping." "Hear him!" said he, "by the blessed heart! and you wept for a stinking dog! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account! Why there is no man in this land so rich, of whom if your father asked ten, or fifteen, or twenty, he would not give them only too willingly, and be only too glad. Nay, 'tis I should weep and make sorrow." "And wherefore you, brother?" "Sir, I will tell you. I was hireling to a rich farmer, and drove his plough--four oxen there were. Three days since a great misfortune befell me. I lost the best of my oxen, Roget, the best of my team; and I have been in search of it ever since. I have neither eaten nor drunk these three days past; and I dare not go into the town, as they would put me in prison, since I have not wherewith to pay for it. Worldly goods have I none worth ought but what you see on the body of me. I have a mother, poor woman, who had nothing worth ought save one poor mattress, and this they have dragged from under her back, so that she lies on the bare straw; and for her I am troubled a deal more than for myself. For wealth comes and goes; if I have lost now I shall gain another time, and I shall pay for my ox when I can; nor will I ever weep for an ox. And you wept for a dog of the dunghill! Sorrow be his who ever again hold you in account!" "Certes, you are of good comfort, fair brother! Bless you for it! And what was thine ox worth?" "Sir, it is twenty sous they ask me for it; I cannot abate a single farthing." "Here," said Aucassin, "take these twenty which I have in my purse, and pay for thine ox!" "Sir," said he, "Gramercy! And may God grant you to find that which you seek!" He took leave of him; and Aucassin rode on. The night was fine and still; and he went on till he came to the place where the seven roads divide, and there before him he saw the bower which Nicolette had made, bedecked within and without and over and in front with flowers, and so pretty that prettier could not be. When Aucassin perceived it, he drew rein all in a moment; and the light of the moon smote within it. "Ah, Heaven!" said Aucassin, "here has Nicolette been, my sweet friend; and this did she make with her beautiful hands! For the sweetness of her, and for her love, I will now alight here, and rest me there this night through." He put his foot out of the stirrup to alight. His horse was big and high; and he was thinking so much on Nicolette, his most sweet friend, that he fell on a stone so hard that his shoulder flew out of place. He felt that he was badly hurt; but he bestirred him the best he could, and tied his horse up with his other hand to a thorn; and he turned over on his side, so that he got into the bower on his back. And he looked through a chink in the bower, and saw the stars in the sky; and he saw one there brighter than the rest, and he began to say: _Here they sing_. "Little star, I see thee there, That the moon draws close to her! Nicolette is with thee there, My love of the golden hair. God, I trow, wants her in Heaven To become the lamp of even. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . {57} Whatsoe'er the fall might be, Would I were aloft with thee! Straitly I would kiss thee there. Though a monarch's son I were, Yet would you befit me fair, Sister, sweet friend!" _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Nicolette heard Aucassin she came to him, for she was not far off. She came into the bower, and threw her arms round his neck, and kissed and caressed him. "Fair sweet friend, well be you met!" "And you, fair sweet friend, be you the well met!" They kissed and caressed each other, and their joy was beautiful. "Ah, sweet friend!" said Aucassin, "I was but now sore hurt in my shoulder; and now I feel neither hurt nor pain since I have you!" She felt about, and found that he had his shoulder out of place. She plied it so with her white hands, and achieved (as God willed, who loveth lovers) that it came again into place. And then she took flowers and fresh grass and green leaves, and bound them on with the lappet of her smock, and he was quite healed. "Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, take counsel what you will do! If your father makes them search this forest to-morrow, and they find me--whatever may become of you, they will kill me!" "Certes, fair sweet friend, I should be much grieved at that! But, an I be able, they shall never have hold of you!" He mounted on his horse, and took his love in front of him, kissing and caressing her; and they set out into the open fields. _Here they sing_. Aucassin, the boon, the blond, High-born youth and lover fond, Rode from out the deep forest; In his arms his love he pressed, 'Fore him on the saddle-bow; Kisses her on eyes and brow, On her mouth and on her chin. Then to him did she begin: "Aucassin, fair lover sweet, To what land are we to fleet?" "Sweet my sweetheart, what know I? Nought to me 'tis where we fly, In greenwood or utter way, So I am with you alway!" So they pass by dale and down, By the burgh and by the town, At daybreak the sea did reach, And alighted on the beach 'Longside the strand. _Here they speak and tell the story_. Aucassin had alighted, he and his love together, as you have harkened and heard. He held his horse by the bridle and his love by the hand, and they began to go along the shore; and they went on till Aucassin descried some merchants who were in a ship sailing near the shore. He beckoned to them and they came to him; and he dealt with them so that they took him into their ship. And when they were on the high sea a storm arose, great and wonderful, which carried them from land to land, till they arrived at a foreign land, and entered the port of the castle of Torelore. Then they asked what land it was; and they told them that it was the land of the king of Torelore. Then he asked, Who was he, and was there war? And they told him: "Yes, great war." He took leave of the merchants, and they commended him to God. He mounted his horse, with his sword girt, and his love before him, and went on till he came to the castle. He asked where the king was, and they told him that he lay in child-bed. "And where then is his wife?" And they told him that she was with the army, and had taken thither all the folk of the land. And when Aucassin heard it, he thought it a very strange thing; and he came to the palace, and alighted, he and his love together. And she held his horse, and he went up to the palace, with his sword girt; and went on till he came to the room where the king lay a- bed. _Here they sing_. Aucassin the room ent'red, He the courteous, the high-bred, And went straight up to the bed, On the which the king was laid. Right in front of him he stayed, And so spake, hear what he said: "Go to, fool! What dost thou there?" Quoth the king: "A son I bear. Soon as is my month fulfilled, And I am quite whole and healed, Then shall I the mass go hear, As my ancestor did ere, And my great war to maintain 'Gainst mine enemies again. I will not leave it!" {62} _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin heard the king speak thus, he took all the clothes which were on him, and flung them down the room. He saw behind him a stick. He took it, and turned and struck him, and beat him so that he was like to have killed him. "Ah, fair sir!" said the king, "what is it you ask of me? Have you your wits distraught, you who beat me in my own house?" "By the heart of God," said Aucassin, "you whoreson knave, I will kill you unless you give me your word that never more shall any man in your land lie in child-bed!" He gave him his word; and when he had given it, "Sir," said Aucassin, "now take me where your wife is with the army!" "Sir, right willingly!" said the king. He mounted a horse, and Aucassin mounted his; and Nicolette remained in the queen's chambers. And the king and Aucassin rode till they came where the queen was; and they found it a battle of crab-apples roasted, and eggs, and fresh cheeses. And Aucassin began to gaze at them, and he wondered very hard. _Here they sing_. Aucassin has stayed him so, Elbow-propped on saddle-bow, And began a-gazing at This tremendous pitched combat. They had brought with them thereto Store of cheeses enow new, Wild crab-apples roasted through, And of great field-mushrooms too. He who best disturbs the fords Is proclaimed the chief of lords. Aucassin, the gallant knight, 'Gan a-gazing at the sight, And fell a-laughing. _Here they speak and tell the story_. When Aucassin saw this strange thing, he came to the king and accosted him: "Sir," said Aucassin, "are these your enemies?" "Yes, sir," said the king. "And would you that I should avenge you of them?" "Yes," said he, "willingly." And Aucassin put his hand to his sword, and dashed in among them, and began to strike to right and to left, and killed many of them. And when the king saw that he was killing them he took him by the bridle, and said, "Ah, fair sir! Do not kill them so!" "How?" said Aucassin. "Do you not wish that I should avenge you?" "Sir," said the king, "you have done it overmuch. It is not our custom to kill one another." The other side turned to flight; and the king and Aucassin returned to the Castle of Torelore. And the people of the country bade the king drive Aucassin out of his land, and keep Nicolette for his son, since she seemed in sooth a lady of high degree. And when Nicolette heard it she was not well-pleased; and she began to say, _Here they sing_. "King of Torelore!" she said, Nicolette the lovely maid, "Fool I seem in your folk's sight! When my sweet friend

company

How many times the word 'company' appears in the text?

whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

loop

How many times the word 'loop' appears in the text?

whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

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whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

thus

How many times the word 'thus' appears in the text?

whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

began

How many times the word 'began' appears in the text?

whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

and

How many times the word 'and' appears in the text?

whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

ascent

How many times the word 'ascent' appears in the text?

whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

wheel

How many times the word 'wheel' appears in the text?

whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

assessment

How many times the word 'assessment' appears in the text?

whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

cracked

How many times the word 'cracked' appears in the text?

whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

climb

How many times the word 'climb' appears in the text?

whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

hood

How many times the word 'hood' appears in the text?

whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

x.

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whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

breaches

How many times the word 'breaches' appears in the text?

whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

emergency

How many times the word 'emergency' appears in the text?

whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

musketry

How many times the word 'musketry' appears in the text?

whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

pass

How many times the word 'pass' appears in the text?

whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

coldly

How many times the word 'coldly' appears in the text?

whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

dark

How many times the word 'dark' appears in the text?

whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

belonging

How many times the word 'belonging' appears in the text?

whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety." "You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain. "Who is that?" "Lantenac." "Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!" "We must have Lantenac." "Never!" "We can treat with you on no other condition." "Then you had better begin the attack." Silence ensued. The Im nus having given the signal on his horn, came down, the Marquis grasped his sword, the nineteen besieged silently gathered in the lower hall behind the _retirade_, and fell upon their knees; they heard the measured tread of the attacking column as it advanced towards the tower, drawing nearer and nearer in the darkness, until suddenly the sound was close upon them, at the very mouth of the breach. Then every man knelt and adjusted his musket or blunderbuss in an opening of the retirade, while one of their number, Grand-Francoeur, the former priest Turmeau, rose, and holding in his right hand a drawn sabre, and in his left a crucifix, solemnly uttered the blessing. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!" All fired at once, and the conflict began. [Illustration 114] [Illustration 115] IX. TITANS AGAINST GIANTS. [Illustration 116] It was indeed a fearful scene. This hand-to-hand struggle surpassed all conception. To find its parallel one must have recourse to the great duels of schylus, or to the butcheries of old feudal times; to those "attacks with short arms" that continued in vogue until the seventeenth century, when men penetrated into fortified places by way of concealed breaches; tragic assaults, where, says an old sergeant of the province of Alentejo, "the mines having done their work, the besiegers will now advance, carrying boards covered with sheets of tin, armed with round shields and bucklers, and supplied with an abundance of grenades; and as they force those who hold the intrenchments and _retirades_ to give way, they will take possession of them, vigorously expelling the besieged." The scene of the attack was terrible; it was one of those breaches technically termed "a covered breach," and was, it must be remembered, not a wide breach opened to daylight, but a mere crack, traversing the wall from side to side. The powder had worked like an auger. The effect of the explosion had been so tremendous that the tower was cracked for more than forty feet above the chamber of the mine; but it was only a fissure, and the practicable rent that served as a breach and afforded an entrance into the lower hall, had the effect of having been pierced by the thrust of a lance rather than cleft by a blow from an axe. It was a puncture in the side of the tower, a long, deep cut, not unlike a well, horizontal with the ground, a narrow passage twisting and turning like an intestine through a wall fifteen feet thick, a shapeless cylinder, abounding in obstacles, pitfalls, and all the d bris of past explosions, where a man, blinded by the darkness and stumbling over the rubbish beneath his feet, would surely dash his head against the granite rock. Before the assailants yawned this black portal, like a cavernous mouth, whose upper and lower jaws, closely set with jagged rocks, rivalled a shark's mouth in the number of its teeth. This cavity was the only means of entrance or exit, and while the grape-shot was raining within, on the other side--that is to say, in the lower hall of the ground-floor--rose the _retirade._ The ferocity of the encounter can only be compared with the encounters of sappers in underground passages when a counter-mine has just cut across a mine, or with the cutlass butcheries that take place when in a naval battle a man-of-war is boarded. Fighting in the depths of a grave reaches the very climax of all that is dreadful. The fact that a ceiling is overhead seems to increase the horror of human slaughter. Just as the first of the assailants came surging in, the _retirade_ was wrapped in a sheet of lightning, and it seemed like the bursting of a subterranean thunder-clap, report answering report as the besiegers returned the thunder of the ambuscade. Above the uproar rose the voice of Gauvain, shouting, "Break them in!" then Lantenac's cry, "Stand firm against the enemy!" then the cry of the Im nus, "Stand by me, men of Maine!" then the clang of sabres clashing one against the other, and terrible discharges following in swift succession, dealing death on every hand. The torch fastened to the wall but dimly lighted this scene of horror. A lurid glare enveloped all objects, amid which nothing could be clearly distinguished; and those who entered were straightway struck deaf and blind,--deafened by the uproar, blinded by the smoke. The disabled lay here and there among the rubbish; while the combatants trampled upon the corpses, crushing the wounds and bruising the broken limbs of the injured men, who groaned aloud in their wild agony, and sometimes set their teeth in the feet of those who were torturing them. Now and then a silence more appalling than sound would settle over all. Men seized each other by the throat, and then were heard fierce pantings, followed by gnashings of teeth, death-rattles and imprecations, and directly all the din returned again. A stream of blood flowed through the breach in the tower, and spreading in the gloom, formed a dark, smoking pool outside upon the grass. [Illustration 117] One might have said that the tower herself was bleeding like a wounded giantess. Surprising to relate, all this tumult was hardly audible on the outside. The night was very dark, and around the besieged fortress an almost funereal sense of peace rested on forest and plain. Hell was within, a sepulchre without. This life-and-death struggle in the darkness, these volleys of musketry, this clamor and fury,--all this tumult and confusion was subdued by the massive walls and arches. There was not air enough for reverberation, and a sense of suffocation was added to the carnage. Outside the tower the noise was scarcely audible; and meanwhile the three little children still slumbered. The fury of the combat deepened; the _retirade_ held its own. There is nothing more difficult to force than this kind of barricade, with a re-entering angle. If the besieged were at a disadvantage in numbers, their position was in their favor. The attacking column had suffered serious loss of men. Formed in a long line outside the tower, it gradually worked its way through the breach, shortening as it disappeared, like a snake twisting itself into its hole. Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the m l e, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded. As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him. "Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?" "I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain. "But you will be killed." "What of that? Are you not in the same danger?" "But I am needed here, and you are not." "Since you are here, my place is by your side." "No, my master." "Yes, my child." And Cimourdain remained near Gauvain. The dead lay in heaps on the pavement of the lower hall. Although the _retirade_ had not as yet been carried, the majority would sooner or later gain the day. The assailants, it is true, were not protected, while the assailed were under cover; and ten of the besiegers fell to one of the besieged; but the latter were constantly replaced. In proportion as the besieged diminished the besiegers increased. The nineteen besieged were collected behind the _retirade_, since that was the centre of attack; and among them were their dead and wounded; not more than fifteen of them were in fighting condition. One of the fiercest, Chante-en-hiver, had been fright-fully mutilated. He was a thick-set Breton, with curling hair, and short of stature, but full of life and energy. Although his jaw was broken and one of his eyes blown out, he could still walk, and he dragged himself up the winding staircase into the room on the first story, hoping there to be able to say his prayers and die. He leaned against the wall near the loop-hole trying to get a breath of air. The butchery down below in front of the _retirade_ had grown more and more horrible. Once when there was a pause between two volleys Cimourdain raised his voice. "Besieged," he cried, "why continue this bloodshed? You are conquered. Surrender! Remember we are four thousand five hundred against nineteen, which is over two hundred to one. Surrender!" "Let us put an end to that idle babble," replied the Marquis de Lantenac. And twenty balls responded to Cimourdain's appeal. The _retirade_ did not reach as high as the vaulted ceiling, thus the besieged were enabled to fire over it; but at the same time it presented to the besiegers an opportunity for an escalade. "An assault on the _retirade_!" cried Gauvain. "Is there a man among you who will volunteer to scale it?" "I," replied Sergeant Radoub. X. RADOUB. A sudden stupor fell upon the assailants. Radoub had been the sixth to enter the breach at the head of the attacking column, and of these six men of the Parisian battalion four had already fallen. After uttering the exclamation "I," he was seen to draw back instead of advancing, and bending over, in a crouching attitude, he crawled between the legs of the combatants, until, reaching the opening of the breach, he rushed out. Was this flight? Was it possible for such a man to flee? What could it mean? Having escaped from the breach, Radoub, still blinded by the smoke, rubbed his eyes, as though to dispel the horror and gloom of the night, and by the faint glimmer of the stars began to scrutinize the wall of the tower. He nodded with an air of satisfaction, as much as to say, "So I was not mistaken." Radoub had noticed that the deep fissure caused by the explosion of the mine extended from the breach to that loop-hole on the first story whose iron grating had been shattered and partially torn off by a cannon-ball, and thus hanging, the network of broken bars left just room enough for a man to pass through,--provided he could climb up to it; and that was the question. Possibly it might be done by following the crack, supposing the man to be a cat; and Radoub was precisely like a cat. He was of the race which Pindar calls "the agile athletes." Although a man may be an old soldier, it by no means follows that he is no longer young. Radoub, who had been in the French Guards, was not yet forty years of age, and he was as active as Hercules. Laying his musket on the ground, he removed his shoulder-belt, threw off his coat and waistcoat, keeping only his two pistols, which he stuck in the belt of his trousers, and his drawn sabre, which he held between his teeth. The butts of his pistols projected from above his belt. Thus burdened by no unnecessary weight, and followed in the darkness by the eyes of all those of the attacking column who had not as yet entered the breach, he began the ascent, climbing the stones of the cracked wall as though they had been the steps of a staircase. It was an advantage to him that he wore no shoes; there is nothing like a naked foot for clinging, and he twisted his toes into the holes between the stones. While hoisting himself by means of his fists, he used his knees for support. It was a hard pull, not unlike climbing up the teeth of a saw. "Luckily," he thought to himself, "there is no one in the room on the first story; for if there were, I should never have been allowed to climb up in this way." He had about forty feet to climb after this fashion, and, as he advanced, somewhat inconvenienced by the projecting butts of his pistols, the crack grew narrower and the ascent more and more difficult. The increasing depth of the precipice beneath his feet added constantly to the danger of a fall; but at last he reached the edge of the loop-hole, and on pushing aside the twisted and broken grating he found that he had ample room to pass through. Then raising himself by a powerful effort, he braced his knees against the cornices of the ledge, caught hold of a fragment of the grating on either hand, and holding his sabre between his teeth, he drew himself up as high as his waist in front of the embrasure of the loop-hole; there, with his entire weight resting on his two fists, he hung suspended over the abyss. Now, with a single bound, he had but to leap into the hall of the first story. Suddenly he beheld in the gloom a horrible object; a face appeared in the embrasure, like a bleeding mask with its jaw crushed and one eye torn out, and this one-eyed mask was gazing steadily at him. The two hands belonging to this mask were seen to reach forth from the darkness in the direction of Radoub; one of them instantly caught the pistols from his belt, and the other pulled the sabre from his teeth, and thus Radoub was disarmed. He felt his knee slipping from the sloping cornice, the grasp of his hands on fragments of the grating barely sufficed to support him, while behind him yawned an abyss of forty feet. [Illustration 118] That mask and those hands belonged to Chante-en-hiver. Suffocated by the smoke that rose from below, Chante-en-hiver had made his way into the embrasure of this loop-hole, where the out-door air had revived him, the freshness of the night had checked the bleeding of his wounds, and he had begun to feel somewhat stronger, when suddenly in the opening before him appeared the form of Radoub; then, while the latter hung there, clinging with both hands to the railing, with no choice but to drop or suffer himself to be disarmed, Chante-en-hiver, with an awful calmness, snatched the two pistols from big belt and the sabre from his teeth. Whereupon ensued a duel between the unarmed and the wounded,--a duel without a parallel. There could be no doubt that the dying man would come off victorious; one shot would be enough to hurl Radoub into the yawning gulf below. Luckily for Radoub, Chante-en-hiver, in consequence of holding the two pistols in one hand, was unable to fire either, and was forced to use the sabre, with which he gave Radoub a thrust in the shoulder,--a blow which wounded him and at the same time saved his life. Although unarmed, Radoub, in full possession of his strength and heedless of his injury, which was simply a flesh-wound, suddenly swung himself forward, and releasing his hold on the bars, leaped into the embrasure, where he found himself face to face with Chante-en-hiver, who had thrown the sabre behind him, as he knelt clutching a pistol in either hand. As he took aim at Radoub, the muzzle of his pistol was so close as nearly to touch him; but his enfeebled arm trembled, and a minute passed before he could fire. Radoub availed himself of this respite to burst out laughing. "Look here, you hideous object!" he cried, "do you think you can frighten me with your jaw like beef _ la mode?_ Sapristi! how they have spoiled your face for you." Chante-en-hiver was aiming at him. "I suppose it is rather rude to say so," continued Radoub, "but the grape-shot has made a pretty ragged piece of work of your head. Bellona spoiled your beauty, my poor fellow. Come, come, spit out your little pistol-shot, my friend." The pistol went off, and the ball, grazing Radoub's head, tore away half his ear. Chante-en-hiver, still grasping the second pistol, raised his other arm, but Radoub gave him no time to take aim. "It's quite enough to lose one ear," he cried. "You have wounded me twice, and now my turn has come." Throwing himself on Chante-en-hiver, he gave his arm so powerful a blow that the pistol went off in the air; then seizing him by his wounded jaw, he twisted it until Chante-en-hiver uttered a howl of agony and fainted. Radoub stepped over his prostrate form and left him lying in the embrasure. "Now that I have made known to you my ultimatum, don't you dare to stir," he said. "Lie there, base reptile that you are! You may be very sure that I shall not amuse myself at present by killing you. Crawl at your leisure over the ground, under my feet You will have to die, anyhow. And then you will find out what nonsense your cur has been telling you. Away with you into the great mystery, peasant!" And he sprang into the hall of the lower story. "One can't see his hand before him," he grumbled. Chante-en-hiver was convulsively writhing and moaning in his agony. Radoub looked back. "Silence! Will you please to keep still, citizen without knowing it? I have nothing more to do with you; for I should scorn to put an end to your life. Now, leave me in peace." And as he stood watching Chante-en-hiver, he plunged his hands restlessly into his hair. "What am I to do? This is all very well, but here I am disarmed. I had two shots to fire, and you have wasted them, animal that you are. And besides, the smoke is so thick that it makes my eyes water;" and accidentally touching his tom ear, he cried out with pain. "You have not gained much by getting my ear," he continued; "in fact, I would rather lose that than any other member; it's only an ornament, any way. You have scratched my shoulder, too, but that's of no consequence. You may die in peace, rustic; I forgive you." He listened. The noise in the lower hall was frightful. The fight was raging more wildly than ever. "Things are progressing downstairs. Hear them yelling 'Long live the King!' It must be acknowledged that they die nobly." He stumbled over his sabre that lay on the floor, and as he picked it up, he said to Chante-en-hiver, who had ceased to moan, and who might very possibly be dead:-- "You see, man of the woods, my sabre is not of the slightest use for what I intended to do. However, I take it as a keepsake from you. But I needed my pistols. Devil take you, savage! What am I to do here? I am of no use at all." As he advanced into the hall, tiding to see where he was and to get his bearings, he suddenly discovered in the shadow behind the central pillar a long table, and upon this table something faintly gleaming. He felt of the objects. They were muskets, pistols, and carbines, a whole row of fire-arms arranged in order and apparently only waiting for hands to seize them. This was the reserve prepared by the besieged for the second stage of the assault; indeed, it was a complete arsenal. "This is a treasure indeed!" exclaimed Radoub; and half dazed with joy he flung himself upon them. [Illustration 119] Then it was that he became formidable. Near the table covered with fire-arms could be seen the wide-open door of the staircase leading to the upper and lower stories. Radoub dropped his sabre, seized a double-barrelled pistol in each hand, and instantly fired at random through the door leading to the spiral staircase; then he grasped a blunderbuss, firing that also, and directly afterwards a gun loaded with buckshot, whose fifteen balls made as much noise as a volley of grape-shot. After which, pausing to take breath, he shouted in thundering tones down the staircase, "Long live Paris!" Seizing another blunderbuss bigger than the first he aimed it towards the vault of the winding staircase and paused again. The uproar that ensued in the lower hall baffles description. Resistance is shattered by such unlooked for surprises. Two of the balls of Radoub's triple discharge had taken effect, killing the older of the brothers Pique-en-bois and Houzard, who was M. de Qu len. "They are upstairs," cried the Marquis. At this exclamation; the men determined to abandon the _retirade_ and no flock of birds could have surpassed the rapidity of their flight, as they rushed pell-mell towards the staircase, the Marquis urging them onward. "Make haste!" he cried; "now we must show our courage by flight. Let us all go up to the second floor and there begin anew!" He himself was the last man to leave the _retirade_, and to this act of bravery he owed his life. Radoub, with his finger on the trigger, was concealed on the first landing of the staircase, watching the rout. The first men who appeared at the turn of the staircase received the discharge full in their faces and fell, and if the Marquis had been among them he would have been a dead man. Before Radoub had time to seize another weapon they had all passed, and the Marquis, moving more deliberately than the others, brought up the rear. Supposing as they did that the room on the first story was filled with the besiegers, they never paused until they reached the mirror room on the second story,--the room with the iron door and the sulphur match, where they must either capitulate or die. Gauvain, quite as much surprised as any one of the besieged at the sound of the shots from the staircase, and having no idea of the source of this unexpected assistance, but availing himself of it without trying to understand, had leaped over the _retirade_, followed by his men, and, sword in hand, had driven the fugitives to the first story. There he found Radoub, who, with a military salute, said to him,-- "One moment, commander. It was I who did that. I had not forgotten Dol, so I followed your example, and took the enemy between two fires." "You are a clever scholar," replied Gauvain with a smile. One's eyes, like those of night birds, grow accustomed to a dim light after a certain time, and Gauvain discovered that Radoub was covered with blood. "But you are wounded, comrade!" "Oh, that is nothing, commander. What is an ear more or less? I got a sabre-thrust, too, but I don't mind it. When one breaks a pane of glass, of course one gets a few cuts; it is only a question of a little blood." In the room in the first story conquered by Radoub the men halted. A lantern was brought, and Cimourdain rejoined Gauvain; whereupon they both took counsel together, and well they might. The besiegers were not in the confidence of the besieged; they had no means of knowing their scarcity of ammunition nor their want of powder; the second story was their very last intrenchment, and the assailants thought it not unlikely that the staircase might be mined. One thing was certain,--the enemy could not escape. Those who were not killed, were like men locked in a prison. Lantenac was caught in the trap. Resting upon this assurance, they felt that it would be well to devote a short time to considering the matter of bringing the affair to a crisis. Many of their men had already been killed. They must take measures to prevent too great a loss of life in the final assault. There would be serious danger in this last attack. At the first onset they would no doubt find themselves exposed to a heavy fire. Hostilities had ceased. The besiegers in possession of the ground-floor and the first story waited for orders from their chief to renew the fight. While Gauvain and Cimourdain held counsel together, Radoub listened in silence to their deliberations. At last he timidly ventured another military salute. "Commander!" "What is it, Radoub?" "Have I earned a small reward?" "Certainly. Ask what you will." "Then I ask to be the first one to go up." It was impossible to refuse him; besides, he would have gone without permission. XI. THE DESPERATE. While these deliberations were in progress on the first floor, a barricade was going up overhead. If success inspires fury, defeat fills men with rage. The two stories were about to clash in wild frenzy. There is a sense of intoxication in the assurance of victory. The assailants below were buoyed up by hope, that most powerful incentive to human effort when it is not counteracted by despair. All the despair was above,--calm, cold, and gloomy despair. When they reached this hall of refuge, their last resource, they proceeded first of all to bar the entrance, and in order to accomplish this object they decided that the blockading of the staircase would be more effectual than barring the door. Under such circumstances an obstacle through which one can both see what is going on and fight at the same time is a better defence than a closed door. All the light they had, came from the torch which Im nus had stuck in the holder on the wall near the sulphur match. One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Im nus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abb Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Im nus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace." "Amen!" replied all the voices. The Marquis rose. "Now let us die," he said. "And kill, as well," said the Im nus. The blows from the butt-ends of the muskets already shook the chest that stood within the door, barring the entrance. "Turn your thoughts to God," said the priest; "earth no longer exists for you." "Yes," rejoined the Marquis, "we are in the tomb." All bowed their heads and smote their breasts. The priest and the Marquis alone remained standing. All eyes were fixed on the ground,--the priest and the peasants absorbed in prayer, the Marquis buried in his own thoughts. The chest, under the hammer-like strokes of the guns, sent forth its dismal reverberations. At that moment a powerful, resonant voice suddenly rang out behind them, exclaiming,-- "I told you so, Monseigneur!" All the heads turned in amazement. A hole had just opened in the wall. A stone, fitting perfectly with the others, but left without cement and provided with a pivot above and below, had revolved on itself like a turnstile, and, as it turned, had opened the wall. In revolving on its axis it opened a double passage to the right and left,--narrow, it is true, yet wide enough to allow a man to

crack

How many times the word 'crack' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

into

How many times the word 'into' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

except

How many times the word 'except' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

impervious

How many times the word 'impervious' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

order

How many times the word 'order' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

williams

How many times the word 'williams' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

sir

How many times the word 'sir' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

right

How many times the word 'right' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

far

How many times the word 'far' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

either

How many times the word 'either' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

declensions

How many times the word 'declensions' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

scenery

How many times the word 'scenery' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

drunken

How many times the word 'drunken' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

considered

How many times the word 'considered' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

copses

How many times the word 'copses' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

which

How many times the word 'which' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

diffident

How many times the word 'diffident' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

companion,--of

How many times the word 'companion,--of' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

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How many times the word 'seared' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

thoroughly

How many times the word 'thoroughly' appears in the text?

whose powers would never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without the application of some sternness. Not that Mr Stelling was a harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes at all like Mr Stelling s; and for the first time in his life he had a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr Stelling said, as the roast-beef was being uncovered, Now, Tulliver! which would you rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it? Tom, to whom in his coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of course he answered, Roast-beef, whereupon there followed much laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in fact, made himself appear a silly. If he could have seen a fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman s undivided neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman s undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr Tulliver paid a high price in Tom s initiatory months at King s Lorton. That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley s advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr Stelling s eyes were so wide open, and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every difficult, slow remark of Mr Tulliver s with, I see, my good sir, I see ; To be sure, to be sure ; You want your son to be a man who will make his way in the world, that Mr Tulliver was delighted to find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the everyday affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had heard at the last sessions, Mr Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with, not unlike Wylde, in fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Mr Tulliver was not by any means an exception in mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a dull fellow. But he told Mr Tulliver several stories about Swing and incendiarism, and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a match for the lawyers, which poor Mr Tulliver himself did _not_ know, and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, and not at all wiser. As for Mrs Tulliver, finding that Mrs Stelling s views as to the airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs Stelling, though so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to the behaviour and fundamental character of the monthly nurse, she expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. They must be very well off, though, said Mrs Tulliver, for everything s as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like it. Ah, said Mr Tulliver, he s got some income besides the curacy, I reckon. Perhaps her father allows em something. There s Tom ull be another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That s wonderful, now, added Mr Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his horse a meditative tickling on the flank. Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr Stelling, that he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr Broderip s amiable beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in Upper Canada. It was Binny s function to build; the absence of water or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr Stelling set to work at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of solid instruction; all other means of education were mere charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr Stelling believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing the very best thing for Mr Tulliver s boy. Of course, when the miller talked of mapping and summing in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling s duty was to teach the lad in the only right way, indeed he knew no other; he had not wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though by hard labour he could get particular declensions into his brain, anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to recognise a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr Stelling as something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of thorough application. You feel no interest in what you re doing, sir, Mr Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those of the Rev. Mr Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without any measurement. But Mr Stelling took no note of these things; he only observed that Tom s faculties failed him before the abstractions hideously symbolised to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. Whence Mr Stelling concluded that Tom s brain, being peculiarly impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his favourite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr Stelling s theory; if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the brain an intellectual stomach, and one s ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one s knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being the freshest modern instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor, that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by saying it is something else? Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was advanced enough to call it a bore and beastly stuff. At present, in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not belonging strictly to the masses, who are now understood to have the monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, and transacted the everyday affairs of life, through the medium of this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with the Romans at Mr Jacob s academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, but it went no farther than the fact that they were in the New Testament ; and Mr Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil s mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that Mr Stelling s standard of things was quite different, was certainly something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the girl s susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at his lessons, and so acquire Mr Stelling s approbation, by standing on one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr Stelling, convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a man, Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his parents and little sister (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God s commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, and please to make me always remember my Latin. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: And make Mr Stelling say I sha n t do Euclid any more. Amen. The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and neutralised any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr Stelling s continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It seemed clear that Tom s despair under the caprices of the present tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn t help thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, Hoigh! would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him out of school hours. Mrs Stelling had lately had her second baby, and as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself useful, Mrs Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the garden, within sight of Mrs Stelling s window, according to orders. If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady s-maid; when, moreover, her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. Mr Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world for young Tulliver s gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr Stelling would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby Mr Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his own house. What then? He had married as kind a little soul as ever breathed, according to Mr Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs Stelling s blond ringlets and smiling demeanour throughout her maiden life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her married life must be entirely Mr Stelling s fault. If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs Stelling, and contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent reference to other people s duty. But he couldn t help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of playfellow and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at home, he always represented it as a great favour on his part to let Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come and stay with her brother; so when Mr Tulliver drove over to King s Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr Tulliver s first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think too much about home. Well, my lad, he said to Tom, when Mr Stelling had left the room to announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom freely, you look rarely! School agrees with you. Tom wished he had looked rather ill. I don t think I _am_ well, father, said Tom; I wish you d ask Mr Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think. (The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.) Euclid, my lad, why, what s that? said Mr Tulliver. Oh, I don t know; it s definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It s a book I ve got to learn in there s no sense in it. Go, go! said Mr Tulliver, reprovingly; you mustn t say so. You must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it s right for you to learn. _I ll_ help you now, Tom, said Maggie, with a little air of patronizing consolation. I m come to stay ever so long, if Mrs Stelling asks me. I ve brought my box and my pinafores, haven t I, father? _You_ help me, you silly little thing! said Tom, in such high spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. I should like to see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such things. They re too silly. I know what Latin is very well, said Maggie, confidently, Latin s a language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There s bonus, a gift. Now, you re just wrong there, Miss Maggie! said Tom, secretly astonished. You think you re very wise! But bonus means good, as it happens, bonus, bona, bonum. Well, that s no reason why it shouldn t mean gift, said Maggie, stoutly. It may mean several things; almost every word does. There s lawn, it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff pocket handkerchiefs are made of. Well done, little un, said Mr Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt rather disgusted with Maggie s knowingness, though beyond measure cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. Mrs Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time than a week for Maggie s stay; but Mr Stelling, who took her between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr Stelling was a charming man, and Mr Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie, said Tom, as their father drove away. What do you shake and toss your head now for, you silly? he continued; for though her hair was now under a new dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. It makes you look as if you were crazy. Oh, I can t help it, said Maggie, impatiently. Don t tease me, Tom. Oh, what books! she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. How I should like to have as many books as that! Why, you couldn t read one of em, said Tom, triumphantly. They re all Latin. No, they aren t, said Maggie. I can read the back of this, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Well, what does that mean? _You_ don t know, said Tom, wagging his head. But I could soon find out, said Maggie, scornfully. Why, how? I should look inside, and see what it was about. You d better not, Miss Maggie, said Tom, seeing her hand on the volume. Mr Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and _I_ shall catch it, if you take it out. Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then, said Maggie, turning to throw her arms round Tom s neck, and rub his cheek with her small round nose. Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and more vigor, till Maggie s hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr Stelling s reading stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr or Mrs Stelling. Oh, I say, Maggie, said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, we must keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs Stelling ll make us cry peccavi. What s that? said Maggie. Oh, it s the Latin for a good scolding, said Tom, not without some pride in his knowledge. Is she a cross woman? said Maggie. I believe you! said Tom, with an emphatic nod. I think all women are crosser than men, said Maggie. Aunt Glegg s a great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than father does. Well, _you ll_ be a woman some day, said Tom, so _you_ needn t talk. But I shall be a _clever_ woman, said Maggie, with a toss. Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody ll hate you. But you oughtn t to hate me, Tom; it ll be very wicked of you, for I shall be your sister. Yes, but if you re a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you. Oh, but, Tom, you won t! I sha n t be disagreeable. I shall be very good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won t hate me really, will you, Tom? Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it s time for me to learn my lessons. See here! what I ve got to do, said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of humiliation. It s nonsense! she said, and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to make it out. Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie! said Tom, drawing the book away, and wagging his head at her, You see you re not so clever as you thought you were. Oh, said Maggie, pouting, I dare say I could make it out, if I d learned what goes before, as you have. But that s what you just couldn t, Miss Wisdom, said Tom. For it s all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you ve got to say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you now; I must go on with this. Here s the Latin Grammar. See what you can make of that. Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise

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will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

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will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

samson

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will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

smells

How many times the word 'smells' appears in the text?

will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

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will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

might

How many times the word 'might' appears in the text?

will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

liberty

How many times the word 'liberty' appears in the text?

will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

intervention

How many times the word 'intervention' appears in the text?

will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

gills

How many times the word 'gills' appears in the text?

will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

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will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

occasion

How many times the word 'occasion' appears in the text?

will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

civilized

How many times the word 'civilized' appears in the text?

will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

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will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

possible

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will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

him

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will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

mine

How many times the word 'mine' appears in the text?

will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

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will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

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will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

fellows

How many times the word 'fellows' appears in the text?

will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

gentry

How many times the word 'gentry' appears in the text?

will better appear in the Corollary, were abated about one-half, which made the order, when it came to be tasted, to be of good relish with the people in the very beginning; though the advantages then were no ways comparable to the consequences to be hereafter shown. Nevertheless, my Lord Epimonus, who with much ado had been held till now, found it midsummer moon, and broke out of bedlam in this manner. "MY LORD ARCHON: "I have a singing in my head like that of a cart-wheel, my brains are upon a rotation; and some are so merry, that a man cannot speak his griefs, but if your high-shod prerogative, and those same slouching fellows your tribunes, do not take my lord strategus's and my lord orator's heads, and jolt them together under the canopy, then let me be ridiculous to all posterity. For here is a commonwealth, to which if a man should take that of the 'prentices in their ancient administration of justice at Shrovetide, it were an aristocracy. You have set the very rabble with truncheons in their hands, and the gentry of this nation, like cocks with scarlet gills, and the golden combs of their salaries to boot, lest they should not be thrown at. "Not a night can I sleep for some horrid apparition or other; one while these myrmidons are measuring silks by their quarterstaves, another stuffing their greasy pouches with my lord high treasurer's jacobuses. For they are above 1,000 in arms to 300, which, their gowns being pulled over their ears, are but in their doublets and hose. But what do I speak of 1,000? There be 2,000 in every tribe, that is, 100,000 in the whole nation, not only in the posture of an army, but in a civil capacity sufficient to give us what laws they please. Now everybody knows that the lower sort of people regard nothing but money; and you say it is the duty of a legislator to presume all men to be wicked: wherefore they must fall upon the richer, as they are an army; or, lest their minds should misgive them in such a villany, you have given them encouragement that they have a nearer way, seeing it may be done every whit as well as by the overbalancing power which they have in elections. There is a fair which is annually kept in the centre of these territories at Kiberton, a town famous for ale, and frequented by good fellows; where there is a solemnity of the pipers and fiddlers of this nation (I know not whether Lacedaemon, where the Senate kept account of the stops of the flutes and of the fiddle-strings of that commonwealth, bad any such custom) called the bull-running, and he that catches and holds the bull, is the annual and supreme magistrate of that comitia or congregation, called king piper, without whose license it is not lawful for any of those citizens to enjoy the liberty of his calling; nor is he otherwise legitimately qualified (or civitate donatus) to lead apes or bears in any perambulation of the same. Mine host of the Bear, in Kiberton, the father of ale, and patron of good football and cudgel players, has any time since I can remember been grand-chancellor of this order. "Now, say I, seeing great things arise from small beginnings, what should hinder the people, prone to their own advantage and loving money, from having intelligence conveyed to them by this same king piper and his chancellor, with their loyal subjects the minstrels and bear-wards, masters of ceremonies, to which there is great recourse in their respective perambulations, and which they will commission and instruct, with directions to all the tribes, willing and commanding them, that as they wish their own good, they choose no other into the next primum mobile but of the ablest cudgel and football players? Which done as soon as said, your primum mobile, consisting of no other stuff, must of necessity be drawn forth into your nebulones and your galimofries; and so the silken purses of your Senate and prerogative being made of sows' ears, most of them blacksmiths, they will strike while the iron is hot, and beat your estates into hob-nails, mine host of the Bear being strategus, and king piper lord orator. Well, my lords, it might have been otherwise expressed, but this is well enough a-conscience. In your way, the wit of man shall not prevent this or the like inconvenience; but if this (for I have conferred with artists) be a mathematical demonstration, I could kneel to you, that ere it be too late we might return to some kind of sobriety. If we empty our purses with these pomps, salaries, coaches, lackeys, and pages, what can the people say less than that we have dressed a Senate and a prerogative for nothing but to go to the park with the ladies?" My Lord Archon, whose meekness resembled that of Moses, vouchsafed this answer: "My LORDS: "For all this, I can see my Lord Epimonus every night in the park, and with ladies; nor do I blame this in a young man, or the respect which is and ought to be given to a sex that is one-half of the commonwealth of mankind, and without which the other would be none: but our magistrates, I doubt, may be somewhat of the oldest to perform this part with much acceptation; and, as the Italian proverb says, 'Servire e non gradire e cosa da far morire.' Wherefore we will lay no certain obligation upon them in this point, but leave them, if it please you, to their own fate or discretion. But this (for I know my Lord Epimonus loves me, though I can never get his esteem) I will say, if he had a mistress should use him so, he would find it a sad life; or I appeal to your lordships, how I can resent it from such a friend, that he puts king piper's politics in the balance with mine. King piper, I deny not, may teach his bears to dance, but they have the worst ear of all creatures. Now how he should make them keep time in fifty several tribes, and that two years together, for else it will be to no purpose, may be a small matter with my lord to promise; but it seems to me of impossible performance. First, through the nature of the bean; and, secondly, through that of the ballot; or how what he has hitherto thought so hard, is now come to be easy; but he may think that for expedition they will eat up these balls like apples. "However, there is so much more in their way by the constitution of this, than is to be found in that of any other commonwealth, that I am reconciled, it now appearing plainly that the points of my lord's arrows are directed at no other white than to show the excellency of our government above others; which, as he proceeds further, is yet plainer; while he makes it appear that there can be no other elected by the people but smiths: "'Brontesque Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon:' "Othoniel, Aod, Gideon, Jephtha, Samson, as in Israel; Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, as in Athens; Papyrius, Cincinnatus, Camillus, Fabius Scipio, as in Rome: smiths of the fortune of the commonwealth; not such as forged hob-nails, but thunderbolts. Popular elections are of that kind, that all of the rest of the world is not able, either in number or glory, to equal those of these three commonwealths. These indeed were the ablest cudgel and football players; bright arms were their cudgels, and the world was the ball that lay at their feet. Wherefore we are not so to understand the maxim of legislators, which holds all men to be wicked, as if it related to mankind or a commonwealth, the interests whereof are the only straight lines they have whereby to reform the crooked; but as it relates to every man or party, under what color soever he or they pretend to be trusted apart, with or by the whole. Hence then it is derived, which is made good in all experience, that the aristocracy is ravenous, and not the people. Your highwaymen are not such as have trades, or have been brought up to industry; but such commonly whose education has pretended to that of gentlemen. My lord is so honest, he does not know the maxims that are of absolute necessity to the arts of wickedness; for it is most certain, if there be not more purses than thieves, that the thieves themselves must be forced to turn honest, because they cannot thrive by their trade; but now if the people should turn thieves, who sees not that there would be more thieves than purses? wherefore that a whole people should turn robbers or levellers, is as impossible in the end as in the means. "But that I do not think your artist which you mentioned, whether astronomer or arithmetician, can tell me how many barley-corns would reach to the sun, I could be content he were called to the account, with which I shall conclude this point: when by the way I have chid my lords the legislators, who, as if they doubted my tackling could not hold, would leave me to flag in a perpetual calm, but for my Lord Epimonus, who breathes now and then into my sails and stirs the waters. A ship makes not her way so briskly as when she is handsomely brushed by the waves, and tumbles over those that seem to tumble against her; in which case I have perceived in the dark that light has been struck even out of the sea, as in this place, where my Lord Epimonus feigning to give us a demonstration of one thing, has given it of another, and of a better. For the people of this nation, if they amount in each tribe to 2,000 elders and 2,000 youths upon the annual roll, holding a fifth to the whole tribe, then the whole of a tribe, not accounting women and children, must amount to 20,000; and so the whole of all the tribes, being fifty, to 1,000,000. "Now you have 10,000 parishes, and reckoning these one with another, each at 1,000 a year dry-rent, the rent or revenue of the nation, as it is or might be let to farm, amounts to 10,000,000; and 10,000,000 in revenue divided equally to 1,000,000 of men, comes but to 10 a year to each wherewith to maintain himself, his wife and children. But he that has a cow upon the common, and earns his shilling by the day at his labor, has twice as much already as this would come to for his share; because if the land were thus divided, there would be nobody to set him on work. So my Lord Epimonus's footman, who costs him thrice as much as one of these could thus get, would certainly lose by his bargain. What should we speak of those innumerable trades whereupon men live, not only better than others upon good shares of lands, but become also purchasers of greater estates? Is not this the demonstration which my lord meant, that the revenue of industry in a nation, at least in this, is three or four-fold greater than that of the mere rent? If the people then obstruct industry, they obstruct their own livelihood; but if they make a war, they obstruct industry. Take the bread out of the people's mouths, as did the Roman patricians, and you are sure enough of a war, in which case they may be levellers; but our agrarian causes their industry to flow with milk and honey. It will be owned that this is true, if the people were given to understand their own happiness; but where is it they do that? Let me reply with the like question, where do they not? They do not know their happiness it should seem in France, Spain, and Italy; but teach them what it is, and try whose sense is the truer. "As to the late wars in Germany, it has been affirmed to me there, that the princes could never make the people to take arms while they had bread, and have therefore suffered countries now and then to be wasted that they might get soldiers. This you will find to be the certain pulse and temper of the people; and if they have been already proved to be the most wise and constant order of a government, why should we think (when no man can produce one example of the common soldiery in an army mutinying because they had not captains' pay) that the prerogative should jolt the heads of the Senate together because these have the better salaries, when it must be as evident to the people in a nation, as to the soldiery in an army, that it is no more possible their emoluments of this kind should be afforded by any commonwealth in the world to be made equal with those of the Senate, than that the common soldiers should be equal with the captains? It is enough for the common soldier that his virtue may bring him to be a captain, and more to the prerogative, that each of them is nearer to be a senator. "If my lord thinks our salaries too great, and that the commonwealth is not housewife enough, whether is it better housewifery that she should keep her family from the snow, or suffer them to burn her house that they may warm themselves? for one of these must be. Do you think that she came off at a cheaper rate when men had their rewards by 1,000 or 2,000 a year in land if inheritance? if you say that they will be more godly than they have been, it may be ill taken; and if you cannot promise that, it is time we find out some way of stinting at least, if not curing them of that same sacra fames. On the other side, if a poor man (as such a one may save a city) gives his sweat to the public, with what conscience can you suffer his family in the meantime to starve? but he that lays his hand to this plough shall not lose by taking it off from his own, and a commonwealth that will mend this shall be penny-wise. The Sanhedrim of Israel, being the supreme, and a constant court of judicature, could not choose but be exceeding gainful. The Senate of the Bean in Athens, because it was but annual, was moderately salaried; but that of the Areopagites, being for life, bountifully; and what advantages the senators of Lacedaemon had, where there was little money or use of it, were in honors for life. The patricians having no profit, took all. Venice being a situation where a man goes but to the door for his employment, the honor is great and the reward very little; but in Holland a councillor of state has 1,500 Flemish a year, besides other accommodations. The States-General have more. And that commonwealth looks nearer her penny than ours needs to do. "For the revenue of this nation, besides that of her industry, it--amounts, as has been shown, to 10,000,000; and the salaries in the whole come not to 300,000 a year. The beauty they will add to the commonwealth will be exceeding great, and the people will delight in this beauty of their commonwealth; the encouragement they will give to the study of the public being very progitable, the accommodation they will afford to your magistrates very honorable and easy. And the sum, when it or twice as much was spent in bunting and housekeeping, was never any grievance to the people. I am ashamed to stand huckling upon this point; it is sordid. Your magistrates are rather to be provided with further accommodations. For what if there should be sickness? whither will you have them to remove? And this city in the soundest times, for the heat of the year, is no wholesome abode: have a care of their healths to whom you commit your own. I would have the Senate and the people, except they see cause to the contrary, every first of June to remove into the country air for the space of three months. You are better fitted with summer-houses for them than if you had built them to that purpose. "There is some twelve miles distant the convallium upon the river Halcionia, for the tribunes and the prerogative, a palace capable of 1,000 men; and twenty miles distant you have Mount Celia, reverend as well for the antiquity as state of a castle completely capable of the Senate, the proposers having lodgings in the convallium, and the tribunes in Celia, it holds the correspondency between the Senate and the people exactly And it is a small matter for the proposers, being attended with the coaches and officers of state, besides other conveniences of their own, to go a matter of five or ten miles (those seats are not much farther distant) to meet the people upon any heath or field that shall be appointed: where, having despatched their business, they may hunt their own venison (for I would have the great walled park upon the Halcionia to belong to the signory, and those about the convallium to the tribunes) and so go to supper. Pray, my lords, see that they do not pull down these houses to sell the lead of them; for when--you have considered on it, they cannot be spared. The founders of the school in Hiera provided that the boys should have a summer seat. You should have as much care of these magistrates. But there is such a selling, such a Jewish humor in our republicans, that I cannot tell what to say to it; only this, any man that knows what belongs to a commonwealth, or how diligent every nation in that case has been to preserve her ornaments, and shall see the waste lately made (the woods adjoining to this city, which served for the delight and health of it, being cut down to be sold for threepence), will you tell that they who did such things would never have made a commonwealth. The like may be said of the ruin or damage done upon our cathedrals, ornaments in which this nation excels all others. Nor shall this ever be excused upon the score of religion; for though it be true that God dwells not in houses made with hands, yet you cannot hold your assemblies but in such houses, and these are of the best that have been made with hands. Nor is it well argued that they are pompous, and therefore profane, or less proper for divine service, seeing the Christians in the primitive Church chose to meet with one accord in the Temple, so far were they from any inclination to pull it down." The orders of this commonwealth, so far, or near so far as they concern the elders, together with the several speeches at the institution, which may serve for the better understanding of them as so many commentaries, being shown, I should now come from the elders to the youth, or from the civil constitution of this government to the military, but that I judge this the fittest place whereinto, by the way, to insert the government of the city though for the present but perfunctorily. "'The metropolis or capital city of Oceana is commonly called Emporium, though it consists of two cities distinct, as well in name as in government, whereof the other is called Hiera, for which cause I shall treat of each apart, beginning with Emporium. "Emporium, with the liberties, is under a twofold division, the one regarding the national, and the other the urban or city government. It is divided, in regard of the national government, into three tribes, and in respect of the urban into twenty six, which for distinction's sake are called wards, being contained under three tribes but unequally; wherefore the first tribe containing ten wards is called scazon, the second containing eight metoche, and the third containing as many telicouta, the bearing of which names in mind concerns the better understanding of the government. "Every ward has her wardmote, court, or inquest, consisting of all that are of the clothing or liveries of companies residing within the same. "Such are of the livery or clothing as have attained to the dignity to wear gowns and parti-colored hoods or tippets, according to the rules and ancient customs of their respective companies. "A company is a brotherhood of tradesmen professing the same art, governed according to their charter by a master and wardens. Of these there be about sixty, whereof twelve are of greater dignity than the rest, that is to say, the mercers, grocers, drapers, fishmongers, goldsmiths, skinners, merchant-tailors, haberdashers, salters, ironmongers, vintners, clothworkers, which, with most of the rest, have common halls, divers of them being of ancient and magnificent structure, wherein they have frequent meetings, at the summons of their master or wardens, for the managing and regulation of their respective trades and mysteries. These companies, as I shall show, are the roots of the whole government of the city. For the liveries that reside in the same ward, meeting at the wardmote inquest (to which it belongs to take cognizance of all sorts of nuisances and violations of the customs and orders of the city, and to present them to the court of aldermen), have also power to make election of two sorts of magistrates or officers; the first of elders or aldermen of the ward, the second of deputies of the same, otherwise called common councilmen. "The wards in these elections, because they do not elect all at once, but some one year and some another, observe the distinction of the three tribes; for example, the scazon, consisting of ten wards, makes election the first year of ten aldermen, one in each ward, and of 150 deputies, fifteen in each ward, all which are triennial magistrates or officers, that is to say, are to bear their dignity for the space of three years. "The second year the metoche, consisting of eight wards, elects eight aldermen, one in each ward, and 120 deputies, fifteen in each ward, being also triennial magistrates. "The third year telicouta, consisting of a like number of wards, elects an equal number of like magistrates for a like term. So that the whole number of the aldermen, according to that of the wards, amounts to twenty-six; and the whole number of the deputies, to 390. "The aldermen thus elected have divers capacities; for, first, they are justices of the peace for the term, and in consequence of their election. Secondly, they are presidents of the wardmote and governors each of that ward whereby he was elected. And last of all, these magistrates being assembled together, constitute the Senate of the city, otherwise called the court of aldermen; but no man is capable of this election that is not worth 10,000. This court upon every new election makes choice of nine censors out of their own number. "The deputies in like manner being assembled together, constitute the prerogative tribe of the city, otherwise called the common council, by which means the Senate and the people of the city were comprehended, as it were, by the motion of the national government, into the same wheel of annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "But the liveries, over and above the right of these elections by their divisions mentioned, being assembled all together at the guild of the city, constitute another assembly called the common hall. "The common hall has the right of two other elections; the one of the lord mayor, and the other of the two sheriffs, being annual magistrates. The lord mayor can be elected out of no other than one of the twelve companies of the first ranks; and the common hall agrees by the plurality of suffrages upon two names, which, being presented to the lord mayor for the time being, and the court of the aldermen, they elect one by their scrutiny. For so they call it, though it differs from that of the commonwealth. The orator or assistant to the lord mayor in holding of his courts, is some able lawyer elected by the court of aldermen, and called the recorder of Emporium. "The lord mayor being thus elected, has two capacities: one regarding the nation, and the other the city. In that which regards the city, he is president of the court of aldermen, having power to assemble the same, or any other council of the city, as the common council or common hall, at his will and pleasure; and in that which regards the nation, he is commander-in-chief of the three tribes whereinto the city is divided; one of which he is to bring up in person at the national muster to the ballot, as his vice-comites, or high sheriffs, are to do by the other two, each at their distinct pavilion, where the nine aldermen, elected censors, are to officiate by three in each tribe, according to the rules and orders already given to the censors of the rustic tribes. And the tribes of the city have no other than one common phylarch, which is the court of aldermen and the common council, for which cause they elect not at their muster the first list called the prime magnitude. "The conveniences of this alteration of the city government, besides the bent of it to a conformity with that of the nation, were many, whereof I shall mention but a few: as first, whereas men under the former administration, when the burden of some of these magistracies lay for life, were oftentimes chosen not for their fitness, but rather unfitness, or at least unwillingness to undergo such a weight, whereby they were put at great rates to fine for their ease; a man might now take his share in magistracy with that equity which is due to the public, and without any inconvenience to his private affairs. Secondly, whereas the city (inasmuch as the acts of the aristocracy, or court of aldermen, in their former way of proceeding, were rather impositions than propositions) was frequently disquieted with the inevitable consequence of disorder in the power of debate exercised by the popular part, or common council; the right of debate being henceforth established in the court of aldermen, and that of result in the common council, killed the branches of division in the root. Which for the present may suffice to have been said of the city of Emporium. "That of Hiera consists as to the national government of two tribes, the first called agoroea, the second propola; but as to the peculiar policy of twelve manipuls, or wards divided into three cohorts, each cohort containing four wards, whereof the wards of the first cohort elect for the first year four burgesses, one in each ward, the wards of the second cohort for the second year four burgesses, one in each ward, and the wards of the third cohort for the third year four burgesses, one in each ward, all triennial magistrates; by which the twelve burgesses, making one court for the government of this city according to their instructions by act of Parliament, fall likewise into an annual, triennial, and perpetual revolution. "This court being thus constituted, makes election of divers magistrates; as first, of a high steward, who is commonly some person of quality, and this magistracy is elected in the Senate by the scrutiny of this court; with him they choose some able lawyer to be his deputy, and to hold the court; and last of all they elect out of their own number six censors. "The high steward is commander-in-chief of the two tribes, whereof he in person brings up the one at the national muster to the ballot, and his deputy the other at a distinct pavilion; the six censors chosen by the court officiating by three in each tribe at the urns; and these tribes have no other phylarch but this court. "As for the manner of elections and suffrage, both in Emporium and Hiera, it may be said, once for all, that they are performed by ballot, and according to the respective rules already given. "There be other cities and corporations throughout the territory, whose policy being much of this kind, would be tedious and not worth the labor to insert, nor dare I stay. Juvenum manus emicat ardens." I return, according to the method of the commonwealth, to the remaining parts of her orbs, which are military and provincial; the military, except the strategus, and the polemarchs or field-officers, consisting of the youth only, and the provincial consisting of a mixture both of elders and of the youth. To begin with the youth, or the military orbs, they are circles to which the commonwealth must have a care to keep close. A man is a spirit raised by the magic of nature; if she does not stand safe, and so that she may set him to some good and useful work, he spits fire, and blows up castles; for where there is life, there must be motion or work; and the work of idleness is mischief, but the work of industry is health. To set men to this, the commonwealth must begin betimes with them, or it will be too late; and the means whereby she sets them to it is education, the plastic art of government. But it is as frequent as sad in experience (whether through negligence, or, which in the consequence is all one or worse, over-fondness

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