Anne of Geierstein; Or, The Maiden of the Mist. Volume 1 (of 2)Scott, Walter
History
Anne of Geierstein; Or, The Maiden of the Mist. Volume 1 (of 2)
Scott, Walter
France -- History -- Louis XI, 1461-1483 -- Fiction
The young man accordingly prepared for his journey, and, stripping
himself of his cumbrous cloak, showed his well-proportioned limbs in a
jerkin of grey cloth, which sat close to his person. The father's
resolution gave way when his son turned round to bid him farewell. He
recalled his permission, and in a peremptory tone forbade him to
proceed. But, without listening to the prohibition, Arthur had
commenced his perilous adventure. Descending from the platform on
which he stood, by the boughs of an old ash-tree, which thrust itself
out of the cleft of a rock, the youth was enabled to gain, though at
great risk, a narrow ledge, the very brink of the precipice, by
creeping along which he hoped to pass on till he made himself heard or
seen from the habitation, of whose existence the guide had informed
him. His situation, as he pursued this bold purpose, appeared so
precarious, that even the hired attendant hardly dared to draw breath
as he gazed on him. The ledge which supported him seemed to grow so
narrow, as he passed along it, as to become altogether invisible,
while sometimes with his face to the precipice, sometimes looking
forward, sometimes glancing his eyes upward, but never venturing to
cast a look below, lest his brain should grow giddy at a sight so
appalling, he wound his way onward. To his father and the attendant,
who beheld his progress, it was less that of a man advancing in the
ordinary manner, and resting by aught connected with the firm earth,
than that of an insect crawling along the face of a perpendicular
wall, of whose progressive movement we are indeed sensible, but cannot
perceive the means of its support. And bitterly, most bitterly, did
the miserable parent now lament, that he had not persisted in his
purpose to encounter the baffling and even perilous measure of
retracing his steps to the habitation of the preceding night. He
should then, at least, have partaken the fate of the son of his love.
Meanwhile, the young man's spirits were strongly braced for the
performance of his perilous task. He laid a powerful restraint on his
imagination, which in general was sufficiently active, and refused to
listen, even for an instant, to any of the horrible insinuations by
which fancy augments actual danger. He endeavoured manfully to reduce
all around him to the scale of right reason, as the best support of
true courage. "This ledge of rock," he urged to himself, "is but
narrow, yet it has breadth enough to support me; these cliffs and
crevices in the surface are small and distant, but the one affords as
secure a resting-place to my feet, the other as available a grasp to
my hands, as if I stood on a platform of a cubit broad, and rested my
arm on a balustrade of marble. My safety, therefore, depends on
myself. If I move with decision, step firmly, and hold fast, what
signifies how near I am to the mouth of an abyss?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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