This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1921 edition. Excerpt: ...Purple-enwound he leaps and drops his jewelled wand. Swiftly from lock to lock the hand of Justice flies turning the keys (eric! cracl). For here is John the Good. Stoop-shouldered, decked with chains that chime sad threnodies, the tortured smile of Christ and Christ's blue eyes he has. The madman ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1921 edition. Excerpt: ...Purple-enwound he leaps and drops his jewelled wand. Swiftly from lock to lock the hand of Justice flies turning the keys (eric! cracl). For here is John the Good. Stoop-shouldered, decked with chains that chime sad threnodies, the tortured smile of Christ and Christ's blue eyes he has. The madman Charles the Sixth lilies of France upheaves, scourging him well therewith from morion to greaves. Snapped petals fall. Charles Sixth, the drunkard, gathers them, and to his pious lips has pressed the ravaged stem. But ominously he reels. He has drunk too much, 'tis plain. 'Neath three sepulchral falls the chest resounds again. The line of Valois kings in strange commotion move. The great bed shakes. The eleven Valois kings summon another. There, and in the mirrors, see, the oaken coffer gapes. In metamorphoses does Death his talents prove? At each yawning, horns of satyrs raise the lid, then instantly are hid. A silence dead ensues. Till out of murky shades there mounts a pallid face as the full moon doth rise. And the bed sees approach Charles IX with sombre eyes. Houp! The chest gulps him down. All disappears. One hears the nibbling of a mouse through infinite depths of space. n. The chairs and tables sleep. The tapestries are drawn. At times the royal bed gives forth a mournful groan. It is the wood. The soul of the old oak doth complain. The yawning hearth obscure with new life trembles. Three blue wisps of dancing flame their flickering light prolong to reap the crop of walls marked with the fleurdelys. The ceiling, in that glow, attains new height, the bed sinks in the shadows dread beneath its canopy. In the fluctuant gloom the room to phantoms is a prey. A last revealing ray strikes on the chest the round that, from its gulfs profound, ...
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