come at night and torment men or women by
crouching on their chests or stomachs and stopping their respiration.
The scene is well enough represented in Fuseli's picture, though the
frenzied-looking horse which there accompanies the demon has no place
in the original superstition. A Netherlandish story illustrates the
character of the Mara. Two young men were in love with the same damsel.
One of them, being tormented every night by a Mara, sought advice from
his rival, and it was a treacherous counsel that he got. "Hold a sharp
knife with the point towards your breast, and you'll never see the Mara
again," said this false friend. The lad thanked him, but when he lay
down to rest he thought it as well to be on the safe side, and so held
the knife handle downward. So when the Mara came, instead of forcing the
blade into his breast, she cut herself badly, and fled howling; and let
us hope, though the legend here leaves us in the dark, that this poor
youth, who is said to have been the comelier of the two, revenged
himself on his malicious rival by marrying the young lady.

But the Mara sometimes appeared in less revolting shape, and became the
mistress or even the wife of some mortal man to whom she happened to
take a fancy. In such cases she would vanish on being recognized. There
is a well-told monkish tale of a pious knight who, journeying one day
through the forest, found a beautiful lady stripped naked and tied to a
tree, her back all covered with deep gashes streaming with blood, from a
flogging which some bandits had given her. Of course he took her home
to his castle and married her, and for a while they lived very happily
together, and the fame of the lady's beauty was so great that kings and
emperors held tournaments in honor of her. But this pious knight used
to go to mass every Sunday, and greatly was he scandalized when he found
that his wife would never stay to assist in the Credo, but would always
get up and walk out of church just as the choir struck up. All her
husband's coaxing was of no use; threats and entreaties were alike
powerless even to elicit an explanation of this strange conduct. At last
the good man determined to use force; and so one Sunday, as the lady got
up to go out, according to custom, he seized her by the arm and sternly
commanded her to remain. Her whole frame was suddenly convulsed, and her
dark eyes gleamed with weird, unearthly brilliancy. The services paused
for a moment, and all ey