This is a tale of sorcery; so although you hear of its happening in the old historic town of Rome, you will hardly look for any mention of it in her city annals, where the true is sifted from the false.
In the heart of the town, says our story, there once stood an image, cut in hard corneal wood, on whose outstretched hand were carried the word Per cute hic-Strike here! For more than two hundred years the image stood through storm and sunshine in the busy square, pointing its finger with that strange bidding to every passer-by; but while many a man paused to marvel, no one, in all those years, had guessed the secret of the letters.
At the length came a man who read the simple words alright. He was a Scholar, from the island of Sicily, whose life of toilsome study had furnished his mind with boundless magic lore, but had brought him little to relieve the pinch of poverty. From the moment that his eyes first rested on the image, Rome and the other famous cities he had seen on his travels held, to his thinking, no greater wonder than his uncouth little wooden figure. Day after day he turned his steps to the square, and prowled around the statue in search of a clue to its mystery, for well he knew from his studies that it was the work of a cunning magician.
"He was a crafty master who raised this monument," he murmured to himself as he stood before the image one midday. "There is black magic here, I'll be bound."
He glanced behind him, and, making sure that no one was near enough to notice his movements, he went down to the place where lay the shadow of the pointing finger. With his knife he scratched a little circle to mark the exact spot upon the paving stones. Then he returned to his lodgings, and waited as patiently as he could until night fell and the streets were deserted.
At midnight he crept quietly from the house, with lantern, pick-axe and spade in hand, and a stout leathern sack on his shoulders. Through the slumbering town he stole back to the square and finding the mark which he had made in the morning, he set to work with his tools, broke through the pavement, and before long he had dug a great deep hole in then ground. At length his spade struck against something hard, that clanged harshly to his blow. Raising his lantern, the Saholar peered into the hole, and saw that he had come upon a plate as thick as a man's wrist, and green with rust. It was found to be large copper plate, on which were wonderful carvings of flowering trees, and beasts, and strange figures of evil. Plain warning was given by these unholy symbols that he who raised the plate would be inter meddling with works of the black art. But our ready Scholar scented treasures underneath, and dazzled by the prospect of wealth, he was ready to risk body and soul alike.
"The old sorcerer,' he said to himself, "has buried vast of riches for the first man who has wit enough to understand the writing on the image; therefore the prize hidden below his copper plate is rightly mine. I followed this bidding, and struck deep in the ground where the outstretched finger pointed at noonday, an why should I now shrink from hazard? My eternal welfare is of less concern to me tonight than this chance of winning a princedom."
So, boldly, he put his hand in the ring, and gave it a strong pull, fancying that it would need his utmost strength to lift the heavy copper plate. To his surprise it was easily raised, and behind it was disclosed a winding staircase down which the fresh night-wind rushed with a long drawn moan. There was no further need of his lantern, for the stairs were lighted by many curiously wrought lamps, whose rays too fell on walls that were covered with painting of priests, warriors, kings and fair queens.
"This fine entrance gives promise of riches greater even than I dared hope for", cried the Scholar; and with beating heart he started to run down the steps. At the foot of the staircase hing a curtain embroidered with gold letters, which, with all his learning, the Sicilian could not decipher. He swept aside the curtain, and stepped forward only to fall back a pace or two as he caught sight of men within. It was a richly decorated hall in which he found himself; at the upper end of it ran a dais, and there (did his eyes deceive him, he wondered) sat a royal party at table. His courage failed in the presence of these figures, and he tried to flee, when, to his dismay, a gust of wind swept down the staircase, and blew out every lamp past which it swirled. More afraid to grope his way to the outer air with these people at his back than to meet them face to face, the Scholar again raised the curtain, and entered the hall. His approach caused no stir upon the dais; no finger moved, not an eyelid was raised. Creeping cautiously forward, he was astonished to find that the motionless figures were the bodies of men who had long been dead, but so cleverly had each been preserved that even yet it bore the exact semblance of life.
In the center of the group sat a king whose grey beard fell long and thick over his robes of gold. Beside him was the queen, in a handsomely embroidered gown of green, a golden mantle hung on her shoulders, while her necklet and girdle were studded with glittering jewels. On either side of the royal pair stood lords-in-waiting. In the background the Scholar saw a bodyguard of armed men squires in attendance and minstrels too. Above the king's head a golden lamp, and through its rich fretwork blazed an enormous carbuncle that filled the whole hall with ruddy light. Last of all, the intruder noticed that a few paces from the dais was placed the statue of an archer, bow in hand, with his arrow pointed against the carbuncle stone.
Awe and amazement help the Scholar in check for a time. He wandered amongst this marvels, content only to admire. But his purpose in coming was recalled by the thought that night time was fast passing, and before long men would be astir in the city overhead.
"I must make haste to gather the treasures that lie here", said he. "Dead men can do me no injury though I strip them of their riches."
He drew from off his shoulders the leather bag, patched and old, that was to bear away his plunder, and seizing a golden goblet on which the hand of the mute king rested, he flung his booty into the gaping mouth of the wallet. In spite of his reassuring murmurs that the dead made easy prey, he almost expected the king to rise and avenge the theft; but the figure sat rigid, its eyes fixed in a passionless gaze.
Gaining heart, the Scholar untied the chain gems from the queen's neck and stowed it in his bag along with two regal crown's the jeweled shoes and girdles, and other priceless ornaments. By the time that he had satisfied his greed, the sack was packed so full that he fairly staggered beneath its weight. Just as he was turning towards the door his eyes fell on a gem of surpassing splendor. It was a great emerald set by itself in the centre of the floor.
"That green stone is worth a kingdom; I'll have it too!" he claimed; and down he knelt to pick it from its setting. But, try as he might, he could not dislodge it. Impatiently he flung aside his heavy sack, and strove with both hands to wrench up the stone. While his fingers were thus busy he happened to glance across the hall. What was it now that made him relax his hold upon the emerald and spring to his feet with a hoarse shriek of terror? He saw the image of the archer draw the bowstring, still pointing the arrow straight at the carbuncle that glowed in the swinging lamp. In wildest alarm the Scholar snatched up his wallet, and made ready to dash towards the curtained entrance. Too late! The arrow whizzed through the air, struck the brilliant red stone, and instantly the light of the carbuncle failed. Blackest darkness covered the hall from dais to doorway.
It was long before the Scholar, stunned by fright, recovered courage enough to rise from the spot where he had fallen. At length he ventured to grope his way around the walls, hoping, even in the unearthly darkness, to find the opening to the staircase. He sought in vain. The wrenching of the green stone had made the arrow speed from the hand of the bowman and strike out the light of the glowing carbuncle, and by a like cunning contrivance the passage to the outer world was closed for ever when the covetous hand of the intruder had grasped the enticing emerald. Imprisoned in the dungeon of riches, the Scholar met slow death by starvation; the treasures that elsewhere would have bought countless comforts were of no avail to him who has thus wittingly risked his life in the magic hall.
On the night of his unhappy venture, just before day break, a terrible thunderstorm swept across Rome. A stroke of lighting destroyed the cornel wood image whose finger had pointed the Scholar to his doom. The same thunderbolt flung back the copper plate over the mouth of the passage and the heavy rain that followed thunder, washed into the hole the soil which the adventurer had flung aside in his digging. Next morning men stood and gazed at the charred wooden image, but none wondered at the broken pavement, which seemed to be likewise only the result of the storm. As to the Scholar's disappearance to was too poor and friendless a stranger to be missed.
In the heart of the town, says our story, there once stood an image, cut in hard corneal wood, on whose outstretched hand were carried the word Per cute hic-Strike here! For more than two hundred years the image stood through storm and sunshine in the busy square, pointing its finger with that strange bidding to every passer-by; but while many a man paused to marvel, no one, in all those years, had guessed the secret of the letters.
At the length came a man who read the simple words alright. He was a Scholar, from the island of Sicily, whose life of toilsome study had furnished his mind with boundless magic lore, but had brought him little to relieve the pinch of poverty. From the moment that his eyes first rested on the image, Rome and the other famous cities he had seen on his travels held, to his thinking, no greater wonder than his uncouth little wooden figure. Day after day he turned his steps to the square, and prowled around the statue in search of a clue to its mystery, for well he knew from his studies that it was the work of a cunning magician.
"He was a crafty master who raised this monument," he murmured to himself as he stood before the image one midday. "There is black magic here, I'll be bound."
He glanced behind him, and, making sure that no one was near enough to notice his movements, he went down to the place where lay the shadow of the pointing finger. With his knife he scratched a little circle to mark the exact spot upon the paving stones. Then he returned to his lodgings, and waited as patiently as he could until night fell and the streets were deserted.
At midnight he crept quietly from the house, with lantern, pick-axe and spade in hand, and a stout leathern sack on his shoulders. Through the slumbering town he stole back to the square and finding the mark which he had made in the morning, he set to work with his tools, broke through the pavement, and before long he had dug a great deep hole in then ground. At length his spade struck against something hard, that clanged harshly to his blow. Raising his lantern, the Saholar peered into the hole, and saw that he had come upon a plate as thick as a man's wrist, and green with rust. It was found to be large copper plate, on which were wonderful carvings of flowering trees, and beasts, and strange figures of evil. Plain warning was given by these unholy symbols that he who raised the plate would be inter meddling with works of the black art. But our ready Scholar scented treasures underneath, and dazzled by the prospect of wealth, he was ready to risk body and soul alike.
"The old sorcerer,' he said to himself, "has buried vast of riches for the first man who has wit enough to understand the writing on the image; therefore the prize hidden below his copper plate is rightly mine. I followed this bidding, and struck deep in the ground where the outstretched finger pointed at noonday, an why should I now shrink from hazard? My eternal welfare is of less concern to me tonight than this chance of winning a princedom."
So, boldly, he put his hand in the ring, and gave it a strong pull, fancying that it would need his utmost strength to lift the heavy copper plate. To his surprise it was easily raised, and behind it was disclosed a winding staircase down which the fresh night-wind rushed with a long drawn moan. There was no further need of his lantern, for the stairs were lighted by many curiously wrought lamps, whose rays too fell on walls that were covered with painting of priests, warriors, kings and fair queens.
"This fine entrance gives promise of riches greater even than I dared hope for", cried the Scholar; and with beating heart he started to run down the steps. At the foot of the staircase hing a curtain embroidered with gold letters, which, with all his learning, the Sicilian could not decipher. He swept aside the curtain, and stepped forward only to fall back a pace or two as he caught sight of men within. It was a richly decorated hall in which he found himself; at the upper end of it ran a dais, and there (did his eyes deceive him, he wondered) sat a royal party at table. His courage failed in the presence of these figures, and he tried to flee, when, to his dismay, a gust of wind swept down the staircase, and blew out every lamp past which it swirled. More afraid to grope his way to the outer air with these people at his back than to meet them face to face, the Scholar again raised the curtain, and entered the hall. His approach caused no stir upon the dais; no finger moved, not an eyelid was raised. Creeping cautiously forward, he was astonished to find that the motionless figures were the bodies of men who had long been dead, but so cleverly had each been preserved that even yet it bore the exact semblance of life.
In the center of the group sat a king whose grey beard fell long and thick over his robes of gold. Beside him was the queen, in a handsomely embroidered gown of green, a golden mantle hung on her shoulders, while her necklet and girdle were studded with glittering jewels. On either side of the royal pair stood lords-in-waiting. In the background the Scholar saw a bodyguard of armed men squires in attendance and minstrels too. Above the king's head a golden lamp, and through its rich fretwork blazed an enormous carbuncle that filled the whole hall with ruddy light. Last of all, the intruder noticed that a few paces from the dais was placed the statue of an archer, bow in hand, with his arrow pointed against the carbuncle stone.
Awe and amazement help the Scholar in check for a time. He wandered amongst this marvels, content only to admire. But his purpose in coming was recalled by the thought that night time was fast passing, and before long men would be astir in the city overhead.
"I must make haste to gather the treasures that lie here", said he. "Dead men can do me no injury though I strip them of their riches."
He drew from off his shoulders the leather bag, patched and old, that was to bear away his plunder, and seizing a golden goblet on which the hand of the mute king rested, he flung his booty into the gaping mouth of the wallet. In spite of his reassuring murmurs that the dead made easy prey, he almost expected the king to rise and avenge the theft; but the figure sat rigid, its eyes fixed in a passionless gaze.
Gaining heart, the Scholar untied the chain gems from the queen's neck and stowed it in his bag along with two regal crown's the jeweled shoes and girdles, and other priceless ornaments. By the time that he had satisfied his greed, the sack was packed so full that he fairly staggered beneath its weight. Just as he was turning towards the door his eyes fell on a gem of surpassing splendor. It was a great emerald set by itself in the centre of the floor.
"That green stone is worth a kingdom; I'll have it too!" he claimed; and down he knelt to pick it from its setting. But, try as he might, he could not dislodge it. Impatiently he flung aside his heavy sack, and strove with both hands to wrench up the stone. While his fingers were thus busy he happened to glance across the hall. What was it now that made him relax his hold upon the emerald and spring to his feet with a hoarse shriek of terror? He saw the image of the archer draw the bowstring, still pointing the arrow straight at the carbuncle that glowed in the swinging lamp. In wildest alarm the Scholar snatched up his wallet, and made ready to dash towards the curtained entrance. Too late! The arrow whizzed through the air, struck the brilliant red stone, and instantly the light of the carbuncle failed. Blackest darkness covered the hall from dais to doorway.
It was long before the Scholar, stunned by fright, recovered courage enough to rise from the spot where he had fallen. At length he ventured to grope his way around the walls, hoping, even in the unearthly darkness, to find the opening to the staircase. He sought in vain. The wrenching of the green stone had made the arrow speed from the hand of the bowman and strike out the light of the glowing carbuncle, and by a like cunning contrivance the passage to the outer world was closed for ever when the covetous hand of the intruder had grasped the enticing emerald. Imprisoned in the dungeon of riches, the Scholar met slow death by starvation; the treasures that elsewhere would have bought countless comforts were of no avail to him who has thus wittingly risked his life in the magic hall.
On the night of his unhappy venture, just before day break, a terrible thunderstorm swept across Rome. A stroke of lighting destroyed the cornel wood image whose finger had pointed the Scholar to his doom. The same thunderbolt flung back the copper plate over the mouth of the passage and the heavy rain that followed thunder, washed into the hole the soil which the adventurer had flung aside in his digging. Next morning men stood and gazed at the charred wooden image, but none wondered at the broken pavement, which seemed to be likewise only the result of the storm. As to the Scholar's disappearance to was too poor and friendless a stranger to be missed.
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