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Speaker 1: The werewulf by Eugene Field. In the reign of Egbert

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the Saxon. There dwelt in Britain a maiden named esolt

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who was beloved of all, both for her goodness and

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for her beauty. But though many a youth came wooing her,

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she loved Harold only, and to him she plighted her

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Trothe Among the other youth of whom Isolta was beloved

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was Alfred, and he was sore angered that isolt showed

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favor to Harold, so that one day Alfred said to Harold,

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is it right that old Siegfried should come from his

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grave and have is Isolta to wife? Then added he prithee,

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good sir, Why do you turn so white when I

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speak your grandsire name? Then Harold asked, what know you

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of Siegfried that you taunt me? What memory of him

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should vex me? Now we know and we know, retorted Alfred,

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there are some tales told us by our grandma's we

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have not forgot. So Ever, after that, Alfred's words and

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Alfred's bitter smile haunted Harold by day and night. Harold's grandsire,

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Sigfried the Teuton, had been a man of cruel violence.

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The legend said that a curse rested upon him, and

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that at certain times he was possessed of an evil

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spirit that wreaked its fury on mankind. But Ziegfried had

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been dead full many years, and there was nought to

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mind the world of him, save the legend and a

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cunning wrought spear, which he had from Brunhilde, the witch.

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This spear was such a weapon that it never lost

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its brightness, nor had its point been blunted. It hung

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in Harold's chamber, and it was the marvel among weapons

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of that time. Hisolt knew that Alfred loved her, but

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she did not know of the bitter words which Alfred

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had spoken to Harold. Her love for Harold was perfect

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in its trust and gentleness. But Alfred had hit the truth.

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The curse of old Ziegfried was upon Harold, slumbering. A

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century had awakened in the blood of the grandson. And

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Harold knew the curse that was upon him, and it

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was this that seemed to stand between him and Isault.

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But love is stronger than all else, and Harold loved

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Harold did not tell Isult of the curse that was

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upon him, for he feared that she would not love

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him if she knew. Whensoever he felt the fire of

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the curse burning in his veins, he would say to her,

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Tomorrow I hunt the wild boar in the uttermost forest,

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or next week I go stag stalking among the distant

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northern hills. Even so it was that he ever made

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good excuse for his absence, and is Old thought no

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evil things, for she was trustful. Aye, though he went

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many times away and was long gone, is Old suspected

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no wrong. So none beheld Harold, when the curse was

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upon him in its violence, Alfred alone bethought himself of

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evil things. Tis passing strange quoth he that ever and Anon,

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this gallant lover, should quit our company and betake himself.

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Whither none knoweth in sooth twill be well to have

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an eye on Old. Ziegfried's grandson. Harold knew that Alfred

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watched him zealously, and he was tormented by a constant

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fear that Alfred would discuss the curse that was on him.

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But what gave him greater anguish was the fear that mayhap,

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at some moment when he was in Eaesault's presence, the

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curse would seize upon him and cause him to do

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great evil unto her, whereby she would be destroyed, or

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her love for him would be undone forever. So Harold

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lived in terror, feeling that his love was hopeless, yet

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knowing not how to combat it. Now it befell in

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those times that the country round about was ravaged of

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a werewolf, a creature that was feared by all men.

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Howe'er so valorous. This werewolf was by day a man,

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but by night a wolf, given to ravage and to slaughter,

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and having a charmed life against which no human agency

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availed aught. Wheeresoever he went, he attacked and devoured mankind,

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spreading terror and desolation round about. And the dream readers

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said that the earth would not be freed from the

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werewolf until some man offered himself a voluntary sacrifice to

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the monster's rage. Now, although Harold was known far and

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wide as a mighty huntsman, he had never set forth

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to hunt the werewolf, And strange eno, the werewolf never

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ravaged the domain while Harold was therein whereat. Alfred marveled much,

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and oftentimes he said, our Harold is a wondrous huntsman,

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who is like unto him in stalking the timid doe

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and in crippling the fleeing boar. But how passing well

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doth he time his absence from the haunts of the werewolf?

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Such valor beseemeth our young Ziegfried, which, being brought to Harold,

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his heart flamed with anger. But he made no answer,

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lest he should betray the truth he feared. It happened

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so about that time that he is Old said to Harold,

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wilt thou go with me tomorrow, even to the feast

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in the Sacred Grove? That can I not do? Answered, Hold,

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I am privily summoned hence to Normandy upon a mission

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of which I shall some time tell THEE. And I

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pray THEE on thy love for me. Go not to

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the feast in the Sacred Grove without me? What sayest

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thou cried, isould shall I not go to the feast

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of Saint ALFREDA? My father would be sore displeased were

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I not there with the other maidens. Tware greatest pity

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that I should despite his love. Thus, but do not

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I beseech THEE? Harald implored, Go not to the feast

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of Saint Alfreda in the Sacred Grove, and thou would

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thus love me? Go not see thou my life on

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my two knees. I ask it how pale thou art,

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said Isoult, and trembling, go not to the sacred grove.

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Upon the morrow night he begged. Isoult marveled at his

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acts and at his speech. Then for the first time

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she thought him to be jealous, whereat she secretly rejoiced

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being a woman. Ah quoth she thou dost doubt my love?

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But when she saw a look of pain come on

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his face, she added, as if she repented of the

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words she had spoken. Or dost thou fear the werewolf?

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Then Harald answered, fixing his eyes on hers, Thou hast

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said it it is the werewolf that I fear. Why

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dost thou look at me so strangely? Harold, cried Isoult.

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By the cruel light in thine eyes, one might almost

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take THEE to be the werewolf. Come hither, sit beside me,

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said Harold, tremblingly, and I will tell THEE why I

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fear to have thee Go to the feast of Saint

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Alfreda to morrow evening hear what I dreamt last night?

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I dreamt I was the werewolf. Do not shudder, dear love,

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for twas only a dream. A grizzled old man stood

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at my bedside and strove to pluck my soul from

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my bosom. What wouldst thou? I cried, Thy soul is mine?

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He said, thou shalt live out my curse. Give me

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thy soul, hold back thy hands, give me thy soul.

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I say, thy curse shall not be upon me. I cried,

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What have I done that thy curse should rest upon me?

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Thou shalt not have my soul for my offense, shalt

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thou suffer? And in my curse thou shalt endure hell.

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It is so decreed, So spake the old man. And

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he strove with me, and he prevailed against me, and

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he plucked my soul from my bosom, and he said,

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go search and kill. And and lo I was a

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wolf upon the moor. The dry grass crackled beneath my tread.

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The darkness of the night was heavy, and it oppressed me.

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Strange horrors tortured my soul, and it groaned and groaned,

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jailed in that wolfish body. The wind whispered to me

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with its myriad voices. It spake to me and said,

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go search and kill. And above these voices sounded the

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hideous laughter of an old man. I fled the more

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whither I knew not, nor knew I what motive lashed

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me on. I came to a river, and I plunged in.

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A burning thirst consumed me, and I lapped the waters

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of the river. They were waves of flame, and they

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flashed around me and hissed. And what they said was

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go search and kill. And I heard the old man's

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laughter again. A forest lay before me, with its gloomy

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thickets and its somber shadows, with its ravens, its vampires,

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its serpents, its reptiles, and all its hideous brood of night.

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I darted among its thorns and crouched amid the leaves,

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the nettles, and the brambles. The owls hooted at me,

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and the thorns pierced my flesh. Go search and kill,

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said everything. The hares sprang from my pathway, the other

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beasts ran bellowing away. Every form of life shrieked in

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my ears. The curse was on me. I was the werewolf.

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On on I went with the fleetness of the wind,

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and my soul groaned in its wolfish prison. And the

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winds and the waters and the trees bade me go

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search and kill. Thou, a cursed brute, go search and kill?

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Nowhere was there pity for the wolf? What mercy? Thus

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should I the werewolf show? The curse was on me,

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and it filled me with a hunger and a thirst

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for blood. Skulking on my way within myself, I cried,

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let me have blood, Oh, let me have human blood,

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that this wrath may be appeased, that this curse may

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be removed. At last, I came to the sacred grove.

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Somber loomed, the poplars, the oaks frowned upon me. Before

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me stood an old man, twas he grizzled and taunting,

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whose curse I bore. He feared me. Not all other

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living things fled before me, But the old man feared me.

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Not A maiden stood beside him. She did not see me,

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for she was blind. Kill, kill, cried the old man,

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and he pointed at the girl beside him. Hell raged

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within me. The curse impelled me. I sprang at her throat.

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I heard the old man's laughter once more, and then

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then I awoke, trembling cold, horrified. Scarce was this dream

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told when Alfred strode that way? Now by our lady,

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quoth he I bethink me never to have seen a

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sorrier twain. Then Isoult told him of Harald's going away,

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and how that Harald had besought her not to venture

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to the feast of Saint Alfreda in the sacred grove.

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These fears are childish, cried Alfred boastfully. And thou sufferest me,

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sweet lady, I will bear thee company to the feast,

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and a score of my lusty yeomen, with their good

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ewbows and honest spears, they shall attend me. There be

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no werewolf I trow will chance about with us whereat

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Isoult laughed merrily, and Harold said, tis well, thou shalt

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go to the sacred grove, and may my love and

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Heaven's grace forefend all evil. Then Harald went to his abode,

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and he fetched Old Ziegfried's spear back unto his olt,

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and he gave it into her two hands, saying, take

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this spear with thee to the feast tomorrow night. It

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is Old Ziegfried's spear, possessing mighty virtue and marvelous, and

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Harold took Isoult to his heart and blessed her, and

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he kissed her upon her brow and upon her lips, saying, well, oh,

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my beloved, how wilt thou love me when thou knowest

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my sacrifice? Farewell, farewell forever, oh alderlifest mine. So Harald

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went his way, and Esult was lost in wonderment. On

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the morrow night came Eesult to the sacred grove, wherein

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the feast was spread, and she bore Old Ziegfried's spear

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with her in her girdle. Alfred attended her, and a

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score of lusty yeomen were with him. In the grove.

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There was great merriment, and with singing and dancing and

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games withal did the honest folk celebrate the feast of

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the fairs Saint ALFREDA. But suddenly a mighty tumult arose,

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and there were cries of the werewolf. The werewolf terror

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seized upon all stout hearts were frozen with fear. Out

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from the further forest rushed the werewolf wood Wroth, bellowing hoarsely,

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gnashing his fangs and tossing hither and thither the yellow

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foam from his snapping jaws. He sought Exult straight, as

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if an evil power drew him to the spot where

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she stood. But Ezult was not afeared. Like a marble statue,

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she stood and saw the werewolfs coming. The Yeomen, dropping

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their torches and casting aside their bows, had fled. Alfred

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alone abided there to do the monster battle. At the

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approaching wolf, he hurled his heavy lance, but as it

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struck the werewolf's bristling back, the weapon was all too shivered.

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Then the werewolf, fixing his eyes upon Isoult, skulked for

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a moment in the shadow of the Ewes, and thinking

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then of Harald's words, Esult plucked Old Siegfried's spear from

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her girdle, raised it on high, and with the strength

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of despair, sent it hurtling through the air. The werewolf

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saw the shining weapon, and a cry burst from his

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gaping throat of human agony, and Isoult saw in the

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werewolf's eyes the eyes of someone she had seen and known,

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but twas for an instant only, and then the eyes

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were no longer human, but wolfish in their ferocity. A

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supernatural force seemed to speed the spear in its flight.

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With fearful precision, the weapon smote home and buried itself

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by half its length in the werewolf's shaggy breast, just

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above the heart. And then, with a monstrous sigh, as

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if he yielded up his life without regret, the werewolf

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fell dead in the shadow of the Ewes. Then Ah,

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Then in very truth, there was great joy, and loud

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were the acclaims. While beautiful in her trembling, Pallor Isult

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was led unto her home, where the people set about

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to give great feast to do her homage, for the

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werewolf was dead, and she it was that had slain him.

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But Isoult cried out, go search for Harold, Go bring

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him to me, Nor eat nor sleep till he be found. Good,

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my lady, quoth Alfred, how can that be, since he

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hath betaken himself to Normandy. I care not where he be,

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She cried, My heart stands still until I look into

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his eyes again. Surely he hath not gone to Normandy.

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Out spake Ubert, this very eventide I saw him enter

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his abode, They hastened thither a vast company. His chamber

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door was barred. Harold Harold come forth, They cried as

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they beat upon the door, but no answer came to

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their calls, and knockings afeared. They battered down the door,

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and when it fell, they saw that Harold lay upon

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his bed. He sleeps, said one. See he holds a

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portrait in his hand, and it is her portrait. How

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fair he is, and how tranquility he sleeps. But no,

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Harold was not asleep. His face was calm and beautiful,

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as if he dreamt of his beloved. But his raiment

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was red with the blood that streamed from a wound

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in his breast, a gaping, ghastly spear wound just above

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his heart, And of the werewolf,