“Nay, talent does not always meet its deserts,” said Maximilian. “His noble master thought him rather too clever, and contrived on some pretext to get rid of him with all possible speed. By the way, the power of fascinating beasts is ascribed to a certain John, who was in the service of one of the landgraves of Hesse, and who, like Sir Huon of Bordeaux, owned a magic horn. The landgrave was much less scrupulous than the nobleman of Münster; for whenever he went shooting, he took John as his companion, and desired him to sound his horn, which he always did to good purpose.”
“All the stories you have told,” remarked Edgar, “treat of a power of taking a sure aim, acquired by supernatural agency. Is there not another parallel series of tales turning on invulnerability acquired by similar means?”
“Of course you mean something more modern than the myths of Achilles and Siegfried, or the fabulous records of the Paladins,” said Laurence.
“Yes, something that represents what we consider a popular superstition,” returned Edgar.
“You may have remarked that in the Münster legend the wild forester who kills the miller is able to save himself by throwing up his hat,” suggested Maximilian. “It seems as if certainty of hitting and security against being hit were naturally associated with each other.”
“I can tell you a story which dates from the seventeenth century, and by which that view is confirmed,” said Laurence. “Erdmann Fischer, a sexton of Magdeburg, became acquainted, it appears, with a drummer in the imperial army, whose skin was proof against lead and steel, and expressed a wish to be in the same desirable condition. Hereupon the drummer gave him a paper inscribed with all sorts of strange characters, which he was to take with him to the foot of the gallows at midnight. This he did, and the Evil One appearing to him in the dress of a fine gentleman, asked if he was willing to enter his service, and vanished on receiving an answer in the affirmative. On the following midnight the sexton repaired to the same spot, and was greeted by the same awful personage, who asked him if he continued in the same mind.”
“He gave the poor wretch a chance of retracting,” observed Edgar, “clearly illustrating the proverb which tells us that he is not as black as he is painted.”
“The sexton having again answered in the affirmative,” continued Laurence, “a compact was easily made, to the effect that he should enter into the service of the Fiend, who in return should make him invulnerable, and allow him three free shots.”
“That is to say, the certainty of hitting a mark on three occasions,” interposed Maximilian. “Observe how the two privileges go together. And the association is here the more remarkable, inasmuch as the story has nothing to do with hunting.”
“As the sexton was no great scholar,” proceeded Laurence, “the Fiend was satisfied when he pricked his wrist with a pin, and wrote the initial letters of his name with three crosses on a scrap of paper, and on the following Good Friday brought him a box of green salve, by anointing himself with which he would become altogether invulnerable. At first he turned his gift to good account, and effectively aided his fellow-citizens in an expedition against some marauders attached to the imperial cause, who had devastated the fields in the neighbourhood of the great Protestant city.”
“I see the story occurs in the time of the Thirty Years’ War,” observed Maximilian.
Laurence nodded assent and continued. “During the skirmish that ensued, the sexton was struck in the middle of the chest by a bullet, which left a black mark, but could not penetrate the skin. The mark was noticed by his wife, who threatened to reveal her discovery to her father confessor, but the menaces on the other side were so strong, that she deemed it advisable to remain silent.”
“I think we ought to observe,” interposed Maximilian, “that we have before us two distinct kinds of invulnerability. The sexton, anointed with green salve, is precisely in the condition of Achilles and Siegfried. He can be hit but not hurt. On the other hand, the Münster forester was not hit at all, having the power to divert a bullet from its intended course.”
“The sexton soon went to the bad,” proceeded Laurence; “he became a hard drinker, scoffed at his wife when she taught the children to pray, and even assisted in the robbery of a poor-box. All this was done for the benefit of his terrible master, and sometimes, in cool moments, he would reflect whether there might not be some method to escape from a bondage which was becoming more and more oppressive. He had a notion that by communicating
