BLTC Press Titles


available for Kindle at Amazon.com


The Haunted Bookshop

Christopher Morely


Tao Te Ching

Lao Tzu, James Legge (trans.)


The Count of Monte Cristo

Alexandre Dumas


Further Adventures of an Irish R. M.

Edith Somerville and Martin Ross


Little Henry

by Christoph von Schmid

Excerpt:

One day Margaret was working, seated near the cradle of the sleeping child; she had strewed it with roses, that his eyes might, at his waking, be struck with a grateful object; a thin veil of gauze covered his head, to guard it from the flies. Some musicians came to play before the castle. All the people ran immediately, and made them enter into a parlour; profiting thus by the absence of their master to pass the evening agreeably. Margaret loved nothing more than music, but, faithful to the orders of the Countess, she dared not quit the child, though he was asleep. George, the gardener, came in great

haste into the room; "My little Margaret," said he, "come quickly to join us; thou canst not think how we are diverting ourselves; I have never heard such pretty music. One has got a dulcimer, and knocks it in such a manner as if he would beat it to pieces; a little boy, with a pipe, does not play bad neither, and another big one blows the horn in a manner to make us all deaf: in short, it is a noise excessively diverting." Margaret replied, sighing, that she could not leave the child. "Do not make thyself a child," replied George; "wilt thou pique thyself on beingwiser than we? The child sleeps and has not need of thee; come, come, in a quarter of an hour thou shalt return; thou wilt not refuse me a round of waltzing?" Margaret let herself be" persuaded, and followed him, not without feeling some terror. She could not take part in the general joy; she was too unquiet; she wished to quit the dance, but the others stopped her. At last she tore herself away by force, and ran to the cradle of the cherished child confided to her care. She arrived out of breath; she looked,-—the cradle Was empty !— terror struck her heart,—she stopped, immoveable; but presently she re-assured herself; she thought that some one had hid the child, to make her afraid; she already trembled lest the Countess should know it: her terror increased when, after having ran from room to room, she could not see Henry any where. She descended in agony and entered into the parlour where the

troop of servants were assembled; she complained of the fear they caused her, and implored those that had amused themselves thus, to give her up the child if they would not make her die of fear. They did not know what she meant, and nobody had gone out of the room. When Margaret had explained herself, every body partook of her terror; the dance ceased, the musicians retired without having asked for their pay. All the people went up, and they renewed the search. They perceived that a great many precious things were missing; they could not then doubt that some thieves had entered the castle, and had carried away the child. The general terror changed into tears and lamentations. "Good heaven," cried the housekeeper, "what will become of the good Countess when she knows this misfortune? she will die of sorrow." Margaret, in her first transports, would have drowned herself, if they had not prevented her. In the midst of her sorrow she said very often, "Ah! heaven, who would have thought that only one disobedience would have been followed with such fatal consequences."

. • .-1

. T..1 f.f

CHAPTER III.

The Sorrow of a good Mother.

All the servants of the castle, seized with fear and in the greatest consternation, wept and sobbed in the room of the child. Margaret, whose mind was a little deranged, threw around her eyes, fierce and wild, tore her hair, and rolled herself upon the floor, still strewed with the leaves of the roses that had ornamented the cradle. At this moment the door opened: somebody entered: it was the Countess. The Count's wound was not so dangerous as they at first thought: when he was completely out c

of danger. Adelaide returned to the castle, at the persuasion of her husband and of her own heart, which recalled her to her cherished child; she darted out of the carriage, and ran, without stopping, to the room where she thought of kissing what was dearer to her than all the world. A spectre the most hideous could not have caused more fear, than the presence of the Countess at such a moment. Margaret exclaimed, "Good God, have pity on her and on me!" The Countess saw nothing but pale figures and eyes filled with tears; the cradle was empty! and Margaret was in despair. Nobody replied to her questions: a thousand secret forebodings, a thousand mournful fears, followed each other in her heart like thunder-bolts; she treinbled for the safety of her child, and, sinking under these alarms, she fainted.


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