Speaker 1: The werewulf by Eugene Field. In the reign of Egbert
the Saxon. There dwelt in Britain a maiden named esolt
who was beloved of all, both for her goodness and
for her beauty. But though many a youth came wooing her,
she loved Harold only, and to him she plighted her
Trothe Among the other youth of whom Isolta was beloved
was Alfred, and he was sore angered that isolt showed
favor to Harold, so that one day Alfred said to Harold,
is it right that old Siegfried should come from his
grave and have is Isolta to wife? Then added he prithee,
good sir, Why do you turn so white when I
speak your grandsire name? Then Harold asked, what know you
of Siegfried that you taunt me? What memory of him
should vex me? Now we know and we know, retorted Alfred,
there are some tales told us by our grandma's we
have not forgot. So Ever, after that, Alfred's words and
Alfred's bitter smile haunted Harold by day and night. Harold's grandsire,
Sigfried the Teuton, had been a man of cruel violence.
The legend said that a curse rested upon him, and
that at certain times he was possessed of an evil
spirit that wreaked its fury on mankind. But Ziegfried had
been dead full many years, and there was nought to
mind the world of him, save the legend and a
cunning wrought spear, which he had from Brunhilde, the witch.
This spear was such a weapon that it never lost
its brightness, nor had its point been blunted. It hung
in Harold's chamber, and it was the marvel among weapons
of that time. Hisolt knew that Alfred loved her, but
she did not know of the bitter words which Alfred
had spoken to Harold. Her love for Harold was perfect
in its trust and gentleness. But Alfred had hit the truth.
The curse of old Ziegfried was upon Harold, slumbering. A
century had awakened in the blood of the grandson. And
Harold knew the curse that was upon him, and it
was this that seemed to stand between him and Isault.
But love is stronger than all else, and Harold loved
Harold did not tell Isult of the curse that was
upon him, for he feared that she would not love
him if she knew. Whensoever he felt the fire of
the curse burning in his veins, he would say to her,
Tomorrow I hunt the wild boar in the uttermost forest,
or next week I go stag stalking among the distant
northern hills. Even so it was that he ever made
good excuse for his absence, and is Old thought no
evil things, for she was trustful. Aye, though he went
many times away and was long gone, is Old suspected
no wrong. So none beheld Harold, when the curse was
upon him in its violence, Alfred alone bethought himself of
evil things. Tis passing strange quoth he that ever and Anon,
this gallant lover, should quit our company and betake himself.
Whither none knoweth in sooth twill be well to have
an eye on Old. Ziegfried's grandson. Harold knew that Alfred
watched him zealously, and he was tormented by a constant
fear that Alfred would discuss the curse that was on him.
But what gave him greater anguish was the fear that mayhap,
at some moment when he was in Eaesault's presence, the
curse would seize upon him and cause him to do
great evil unto her, whereby she would be destroyed, or
her love for him would be undone forever. So Harold
lived in terror, feeling that his love was hopeless, yet
knowing not how to combat it. Now it befell in
those times that the country round about was ravaged of
a werewolf, a creature that was feared by all men.
Howe'er so valorous. This werewolf was by day a man,
but by night a wolf, given to ravage and to slaughter,
and having a charmed life against which no human agency
availed aught. Wheeresoever he went, he attacked and devoured mankind,
spreading terror and desolation round about. And the dream readers
said that the earth would not be freed from the
werewolf until some man offered himself a voluntary sacrifice to
the monster's rage. Now, although Harold was known far and
wide as a mighty huntsman, he had never set forth
to hunt the werewolf, And strange eno, the werewolf never
ravaged the domain while Harold was therein whereat. Alfred marveled much,
and oftentimes he said, our Harold is a wondrous huntsman,
who is like unto him in stalking the timid doe
and in crippling the fleeing boar. But how passing well
doth he time his absence from the haunts of the werewolf?
Such valor beseemeth our young Ziegfried, which, being brought to Harold,
his heart flamed with anger. But he made no answer,
lest he should betray the truth he feared. It happened
so about that time that he is Old said to Harold,
wilt thou go with me tomorrow, even to the feast
in the Sacred Grove? That can I not do? Answered, Hold,
I am privily summoned hence to Normandy upon a mission
of which I shall some time tell THEE. And I
pray THEE on thy love for me. Go not to
the feast in the Sacred Grove without me? What sayest
thou cried, isould shall I not go to the feast
of Saint ALFREDA? My father would be sore displeased were
I not there with the other maidens. Tware greatest pity
that I should despite his love. Thus, but do not
I beseech THEE? Harald implored, Go not to the feast
of Saint Alfreda in the Sacred Grove, and thou would
thus love me? Go not see thou my life on
my two knees. I ask it how pale thou art,
said Isoult, and trembling, go not to the sacred grove.
Upon the morrow night he begged. Isoult marveled at his
acts and at his speech. Then for the first time
she thought him to be jealous, whereat she secretly rejoiced
being a woman. Ah quoth she thou dost doubt my love?
But when she saw a look of pain come on
his face, she added, as if she repented of the
words she had spoken. Or dost thou fear the werewolf?
Then Harald answered, fixing his eyes on hers, Thou hast
said it it is the werewolf that I fear. Why
dost thou look at me so strangely? Harold, cried Isoult.
By the cruel light in thine eyes, one might almost
take THEE to be the werewolf. Come hither, sit beside me,
said Harold, tremblingly, and I will tell THEE why I
fear to have thee Go to the feast of Saint
Alfreda to morrow evening hear what I dreamt last night?
I dreamt I was the werewolf. Do not shudder, dear love,
for twas only a dream. A grizzled old man stood
at my bedside and strove to pluck my soul from
my bosom. What wouldst thou? I cried, Thy soul is mine?
He said, thou shalt live out my curse. Give me
thy soul, hold back thy hands, give me thy soul.
I say, thy curse shall not be upon me. I cried,
What have I done that thy curse should rest upon me?
Thou shalt not have my soul for my offense, shalt
thou suffer? And in my curse thou shalt endure hell.
It is so decreed, So spake the old man. And
he strove with me, and he prevailed against me, and
he plucked my soul from my bosom, and he said,
go search and kill. And and lo I was a
wolf upon the moor. The dry grass crackled beneath my tread.
The darkness of the night was heavy, and it oppressed me.
Strange horrors tortured my soul, and it groaned and groaned,
jailed in that wolfish body. The wind whispered to me
with its myriad voices. It spake to me and said,
go search and kill. And above these voices sounded the
hideous laughter of an old man. I fled the more
whither I knew not, nor knew I what motive lashed
me on. I came to a river, and I plunged in.
A burning thirst consumed me, and I lapped the waters
of the river. They were waves of flame, and they
flashed around me and hissed. And what they said was
go search and kill. And I heard the old man's
laughter again. A forest lay before me, with its gloomy
thickets and its somber shadows, with its ravens, its vampires,
its serpents, its reptiles, and all its hideous brood of night.
I darted among its thorns and crouched amid the leaves,
the nettles, and the brambles. The owls hooted at me,
and the thorns pierced my flesh. Go search and kill,
said everything. The hares sprang from my pathway, the other
beasts ran bellowing away. Every form of life shrieked in
my ears. The curse was on me. I was the werewolf.
On on I went with the fleetness of the wind,
and my soul groaned in its wolfish prison. And the
winds and the waters and the trees bade me go
search and kill. Thou, a cursed brute, go search and kill?
Nowhere was there pity for the wolf? What mercy? Thus
should I the werewolf show? The curse was on me,
and it filled me with a hunger and a thirst
for blood. Skulking on my way within myself, I cried,
let me have blood, Oh, let me have human blood,
that this wrath may be appeased, that this curse may
be removed. At last, I came to the sacred grove.
Somber loomed, the poplars, the oaks frowned upon me. Before
me stood an old man, twas he grizzled and taunting,
whose curse I bore. He feared me. Not all other
living things fled before me, But the old man feared me.
Not A maiden stood beside him. She did not see me,
for she was blind. Kill, kill, cried the old man,
and he pointed at the girl beside him. Hell raged
within me. The curse impelled me. I sprang at her throat.
I heard the old man's laughter once more, and then
then I awoke, trembling cold, horrified. Scarce was this dream
told when Alfred strode that way? Now by our lady,
quoth he I bethink me never to have seen a
sorrier twain. Then Isoult told him of Harald's going away,
and how that Harald had besought her not to venture
to the feast of Saint Alfreda in the sacred grove.
These fears are childish, cried Alfred boastfully. And thou sufferest me,
sweet lady, I will bear thee company to the feast,
and a score of my lusty yeomen, with their good
ewbows and honest spears, they shall attend me. There be
no werewolf I trow will chance about with us whereat
Isoult laughed merrily, and Harold said, tis well, thou shalt
go to the sacred grove, and may my love and
Heaven's grace forefend all evil. Then Harald went to his abode,
and he fetched Old Ziegfried's spear back unto his olt,
and he gave it into her two hands, saying, take
this spear with thee to the feast tomorrow night. It
is Old Ziegfried's spear, possessing mighty virtue and marvelous, and
Harold took Isoult to his heart and blessed her, and
he kissed her upon her brow and upon her lips, saying, well, oh,
my beloved, how wilt thou love me when thou knowest
my sacrifice? Farewell, farewell forever, oh alderlifest mine. So Harald
went his way, and Esult was lost in wonderment. On
the morrow night came Eesult to the sacred grove, wherein
the feast was spread, and she bore Old Ziegfried's spear
with her in her girdle. Alfred attended her, and a
score of lusty yeomen were with him. In the grove.
There was great merriment, and with singing and dancing and
games withal did the honest folk celebrate the feast of
the fairs Saint ALFREDA. But suddenly a mighty tumult arose,
and there were cries of the werewolf. The werewolf terror
seized upon all stout hearts were frozen with fear. Out
from the further forest rushed the werewolf wood Wroth, bellowing hoarsely,
gnashing his fangs and tossing hither and thither the yellow
foam from his snapping jaws. He sought Exult straight, as
if an evil power drew him to the spot where
she stood. But Ezult was not afeared. Like a marble statue,
she stood and saw the werewolfs coming. The Yeomen, dropping
their torches and casting aside their bows, had fled. Alfred
alone abided there to do the monster battle. At the
approaching wolf, he hurled his heavy lance, but as it
struck the werewolf's bristling back, the weapon was all too shivered.
Then the werewolf, fixing his eyes upon Isoult, skulked for
a moment in the shadow of the Ewes, and thinking
then of Harald's words, Esult plucked Old Siegfried's spear from
her girdle, raised it on high, and with the strength
of despair, sent it hurtling through the air. The werewolf
saw the shining weapon, and a cry burst from his
gaping throat of human agony, and Isoult saw in the
werewolf's eyes the eyes of someone she had seen and known,
but twas for an instant only, and then the eyes
were no longer human, but wolfish in their ferocity. A
supernatural force seemed to speed the spear in its flight.
With fearful precision, the weapon smote home and buried itself
by half its length in the werewolf's shaggy breast, just
above the heart. And then, with a monstrous sigh, as
if he yielded up his life without regret, the werewolf
fell dead in the shadow of the Ewes. Then Ah,
Then in very truth, there was great joy, and loud
were the acclaims. While beautiful in her trembling, Pallor Isult
was led unto her home, where the people set about
to give great feast to do her homage, for the
werewolf was dead, and she it was that had slain him.
But Isoult cried out, go search for Harold, Go bring
him to me, Nor eat nor sleep till he be found. Good,
my lady, quoth Alfred, how can that be, since he
hath betaken himself to Normandy. I care not where he be,
She cried, My heart stands still until I look into
his eyes again. Surely he hath not gone to Normandy.
Out spake Ubert, this very eventide I saw him enter
his abode, They hastened thither a vast company. His chamber
door was barred. Harold Harold come forth, They cried as
they beat upon the door, but no answer came to
their calls, and knockings afeared. They battered down the door,
and when it fell, they saw that Harold lay upon
his bed. He sleeps, said one. See he holds a
portrait in his hand, and it is her portrait. How
fair he is, and how tranquility he sleeps. But no,
Harold was not asleep. His face was calm and beautiful,
as if he dreamt of his beloved. But his raiment
was red with the blood that streamed from a wound
in his breast, a gaping, ghastly spear wound just above
his heart, And of the werewolf,