{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_15745/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_15745","id":"gutenberg_15745","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/15745","summary":null,"tags":["Category: French Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Fantasy fiction, French -- Translations into English","Paranormal fiction, French -- Translations into English"],"text":"Produced by Suzanne Shell, Beginners Projects, Mary Meehan, and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                              THE MAN-WOLF\n\n                             AND OTHER TALES\n\n                 By Emile Erckmann and Alexandre Chatrian\n\n                                  1876\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nThe Man-Wolf:--\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\n\nMyrtle:--\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nUncle Christian's Inheritance\n\n\nThe Bear-Baiting\n\n\nThe Scapegoat\n\n\nA Night In The Woods:--\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\n\n\nPRELIMINARY NOTE BY THE TRANSLATOR.\n\nIt has often been remarked, with perfect justice, that the eminent French\nwriters, a translation of one of whose works is here attempted, are\nsingularly faithful in their adherence to historic truth. Remove the\nthread of obvious fiction which is indispensable to make these admirable\nproductions romances or tales, and what we have left is perfectly\nreliable history. It is this feature mainly which gives the indescribable\ncharm to their historical tales--a charm powerfully realised in the\noriginal, though less appreciable in an imperfect translation.\n\nThe same claim to perfect truthfulness in all essential points may be\nplaced to the credit of the following \"Roman Populaire,\" notwithstanding\nthe startling supernatural element on which the story is founded.\nErckmann-Chatrian have not thought it right or necessary to depart in\nthis case from their practice of abstaining from all prefaces or notes in\nevery edition of their works. Yet perhaps the translator may be forgiven,\nand even condoned with thanks, if he ventures upon an explanation tending\nto show that the tale of _Hugh the Wolf_ is not entirely founded upon\nsuperstition and the supernatural.\n\n\"Let his heart be changed from man's, and let a beast's heart be given\nunto him!\" Such was the sentence pronounced and executed upon him of\nBabylon whose pride called for abasement from the Lord. Dr. Mead (_Medica\nSacra_, p. 59) observes that there was known among the ancients a mental\ndisorder called lycanthropy, the victims of which fancied themselves\nwolves, and went about howling and attacking and tearing sheep and young\nchildren (_Aetius, Lib. Med_. vi., _Paul AEgineta_, iii. 16). So, again,\nVirgil tells of the daughters of Praetus, who fancied themselves to be\ncows, and running wildly about the pastures, \"implerunt falsis mugitibus\nagros.\"--Ecl. vi. 48. This horrible disease appears happily to have been\na rare one, and recoveries from it have taken place, for it is not\ndestructive of the sufferer's life. It has even been thoroughly cured\nafter a lapse of many years.\n\nDr. Pusey (_Notes on Daniel_, p. 425), in a disquisition of great fulness\nupon the disease of Nebuchadnezzar, refers to a communication which he\nreceived from Dr. Browne, a Commissioner of the Board of Lunacy for\nScotland, in which he says, \"My opinion is that in all mental powers or\nconditions the idea of personal identity is but rarely enfeebled, and\nthat it is never extinguished. The ego and non-ego may be confused; the\nego, however, continues to preserve the personality. All the angels,\ndevils, dukes, lords, kings, \"gods many\" that I have had under my care\nremained what they were before they became angels, dukes, etc., in a\nsense, and even nominally. I have seen a man declaring himself the\nSaviour or St. Paul sign himself _James Thomson_, and attend worship as\nregularly as if the notion of divinity had never entered into his head.\"\n\nEsquirol, a very trustworthy writer, has a description of an\nextraordinary outbreak of lycanthropy in France (in the Jura, at Dole,\nand other places in Eastern France) in the 16th century.\n\n\"This terrible affliction began to manifest itself in France in the\n15th century, and the name of '_loups-garous_' has been given to the\nsufferers. These unhappy beings fly from the society of mankind and live\nin the woods, the cemeteries, or old ruins, prowling about the open\ncountry only by night, howling as they go. They let their beard and nails\ngrow, and then seeing themselves armed with claws and covered with shaggy\nhair, they become confirmed in the belief that they are wolves. Impelled\nby ferocity or want, they throw themselves upon young children and tear,\nkill, and devour them.\" (Esquirol, _Des Maladies Mentales_, Paris, 1838,\nvol i., p. 521.) Those whom the French called _loups-garous_ were in\nGerman termed _werewolves_.\n\nIt may be observed on this that when the nails of the fingers and toes\nare cut they grow indefinitely; but if they are allowed to grow unchecked\nthey soon curve over the extremities, form talons or claws, and cease to\ngrow--answering to the Scriptural account of the effects of the mental\ndisorder of Nebuchadnezzar.\n\nOf course for every case of real malady many were imputed or charged upon\npoor creatures, who were driven to madness by groundless charges of\nwitchcraft and sorcery, and being _loups-garous_ in secret. Many innocent\npeople were in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries burnt at the stake\nas wolves in human form.\n\nA correspondent has kindly supplied the following information:--\"When in\nOude in India, twenty-six years ago, we heard of several instances of\nnative babies being carried off out of the villages by she-wolves, and\nplaced with their whelps, and brought up wild there; there was one about\nwhen we were there, partially reclaimed, but retaining much of the savage\nnature imbibed with the wolf's milk, and having been accustomed to go on\nall-fours--_i.e._, knees and elbows; but I conclude these were not\naffected with 'Lycanthropy.'\"\n\nWith a few touches of his magic pencil the Laureate has drawn a powerful\npicture of such a state of things in ancient Britain, of which we can\nscarcely deny the literal faithfulness. It is not a poetic conception; it\nis historic truth:--\n\n\"And ever and anon the wolf would steal\nThe children and devour; but now and then,\nHer own brood lost or dead, lent her fierce teat\nTo human sucklings; and the children, housed\nIn her foul den, there at their meat would growl,\nAnd mock their foster-mother on four feet,\nTill, straightened, they grew up to wolf-like men,\nWorse than the wolves.\"\n\n_Coming of Arthur_.\n\nThe following tale, in which the lycanthropy is far from being altogether\na mere effort of the imagination, appears to be founded upon the belief\nin the continued existence of this rare species of madness down to our\nown day--or near it--for the story seems to belong to the year 1832.\n\nThe English reader will not fail to notice the correspondence between the\ntitle and the well-known designation of the illustrious head of the noble\nhouse of Grosvenor. Whatever connection there may or may not be between\nthat German Hugh Lupus of a thousand years ago and the truly British Hugh\nLupus of our day, all the base qualities of his supposed progenitor have\ndisappeared in him who is adorned with all the qualities which make the\nEnglish nobility rank as the pride and the flower of our land.\n\nF. A. M.\n\n_The Vicaraqe,\nBroughton-in-Furness_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MAN-WOLF.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nAbout Christmas time in the year 18--, as I was lying fast asleep at the\nCygne at Fribourg, my old friend Gideon Sperver broke abruptly into my\nroom, crying--\n\n\"Fritz, I have good news for you; I am going to take you to Nideck, two\nleagues from this place. You know Nideck, the finest baronial castle in\nthe country, a grand monument of the glory of our forefathers?\"\n\nNow I had not seen Sperver, who was my foster-father, for sixteen years;\nhe had grown a full beard in that time, a huge fox-skin cap covered his\nhead, and he was holding his lantern close under my nose. It was,\ntherefore, only natural that I should answer--\n\n\"In the first place let us do things in order. Tell me who you are.\"\n\n\"Who I am? What! don't you remember Gideon Sperver, the Schwartzwald\nhuntsman? You would not be so ungrateful, would you? Was it not I who\ntaught you to set a trap, to lay wait for the foxes along the skirts of\nthe woods, to start the dogs after the wild birds? Do you remember me\nnow? Look at my left ear, with a frost-bite.\"\n\n\"Now I know you; that left ear of yours has done it; Shake hands.\"\n\nSperver, passing the back of his hand across his eyes, went on--\n\n\"You know Nideck?\"\n\n\"Of course I do--by reputation; what have you to do there?\"\n\n\"I am the count's chief huntsman.\"\n\n\"And who has sent you?\"\n\n\"The young Countess Odile.\"\n\n\"Very good. How soon are we to start?\"\n\n\"This moment. The matter is urgent; the old count is very ill, and his\ndaughter has begged me not to lose a moment. The horses are quite ready.\"\n\n\"But, Gideon, my dear fellow, just look out at the weather; it has been\nsnowing three days without cessation.\"\n\n\"Oh, nonsense; we are not going out boar-hunting; put on your thick coat,\nbuckle on your spurs, and let us prepare to start. I will order something\nto eat first.\" And he went out, first adding, \"Be sure to put on your\ncape.\"\n\nI could never refuse old Gideon anything; from my childhood he could do\nanything with me with a nod or a sign; so I equipped myself and came into\nthe coffee-room.\n\n\"I knew,\" he said, \"that you would not let me go back without you. Eat\nevery bit of this slice of ham, and let us drink a stirrup cup, for the\nhorses are getting impatient. I have had your portmanteau put in.\"\n\n\"My portmanteau! what is that for?\"\n\n\"Yes, it will be all right; you will have to stay a few days at Nideck,\nthat is indispensable, and I will tell you why presently.\"\n\nSo we went down into the courtyard.\n\nAt that moment two horsemen arrived, evidently tired out with riding,\ntheir horses in a perfect lather of foam. Sperver, who had always been\na great admirer of a fine horse, expressed his surprise and admiration\nat these splendid animals.\n\n\"What beauties! They are of the Wallachian breed, I can see, as finely\nformed as deer, and as swift. Nicholas, throw a cloth over them quickly,\nor they will take cold.\"\n\nThe travellers, muffled in Siberian furs, passed close by us just as we\nwere going to mount. I could only discern the long brown moustache of\none, and his singularly bright and sparkling eyes.\n\nThey entered the hotel.\n\nThe groom was holding our horses by the bridle. He wished us _bon\nvoyage_, removed his hand, and we were off.\n\nSperver rode a pure Mecklemburg. I was mounted on a stout cob bred in the\nArdennes, full of fire; we flew over the snowy ground. In ten minutes we\nhad left Fribourg behind us.\n\nThe sky was beginning to clear up. As far as the eye could reach we could\ndistinguish neither road, path, nor track. Our only company were the\nravens of the Black Forest spreading their hollow wings wide over the\nbanks of snow, trying one place after another unsuccessfully for food,\nand croaking, \"Misery! misery!\"\n\nGideon, with his weather-beaten countenance, his fur cloak and cap,\ngalloped on ahead, whistling airs from the _Freyschuetz_; sometimes as he\nturned I could see the sparkling drops of moisture hanging from his long\nmoustache.\n\n\"Well, Fritz, my boy, this is a fine winter's morning.\"\n\n\"So it is, but it is rather severe; don't you think so?\"\n\n\"I am fond of a clear hard frost,\" he replied; \"it promotes circulation.\nIf our old minister Tobias had but the courage to start out in weather\nlike this he would soon put an end to his rheumatic pains.\"\n\nI smiled, I am afraid, involuntarily.\n\nAfter an hour of this rapid pace Sperver slackened his speed and let me\ncome abreast of him.\n\n\"Fritz, I shall have to tell you the object of this journey at some time,\nI suppose?\"\n\n\"I was beginning to think I ought to know what I am going about.\"\n\n\"A good many doctors have already been consulted.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\"\n\n\"Yes, some came from Berlin in great wigs who only asked to see the\npatient's tongue. Others from Switzerland examined him another way. The\ndoctors from Paris stared at their patient through magnifying glasses to\nlearn something from his physiognomy. But all their learning was wasted,\nand they got large fees in reward of their ignorance.\"\n\n\"Is that the way you speak of us medical gentlemen?\"\n\n\"I am not alluding to you at all. I have too much respect for you, and if\nI should happen to break my leg I don't know that there is another that I\nshould prefer to yourself to treat me as a patient, but you have not\ndiscovered an optical instrument yet to tell what is going on inside of\nus.\"\n\n\"How do you know that?\"\n\nAt this reply the worthy fellow looked at me doubtfully as if he thought\nme a quack like the rest, yet he replied--\n\n\"Well, Fritz, if you have indeed such a glass it will be wanted now, for\nthe count's complaint is internal; it is a terrible kind of illness,\nsomething like madness. You know that madness shows itself in either nine\nhours, nine days, or nine weeks?\"\n\n\"So it is said; but not having noticed this myself, I cannot say that it\nis so.\"\n\n\"Still you know there are agues which return at periods of either three,\nsix, or nine years. There are singular works in this machinery of ours.\nWhenever this human clockwork is wound up in some particular way, fever,\nor indigestion, or toothache returns at the very hour and day.\"\n\n\"Why, Gideon, I am quite aware of that; those periodical complaints are\nthe greatest trouble we have.\"\n\n\"I am sorry to hear it, for the count's complaint is periodical; it\ncomes back every year, on the same day, at the same hour; his mouth\nruns over with foam, his eyes stand out white and staring, like great\nbilliard-balls; he shakes from head to foot, and he gnashes with his\nteeth.\"\n\n\"Perhaps this man has had serious troubles to go through?\"\n\n\"No, he has not. If his daughter would but consent to be married he\nwould be the happiest man alive. He is rich and powerful and full of\nhonours. He possesses everything that the rest of the world is coveting.\nUnfortunately his daughter persists in refusing every offer of marriage.\nShe consecrates her life to God, and it harasses him to think that the\nancient house of Nideck will become extinct.\"\n\n\"How did his illness come on?\" I asked.\n\n\"Suddenly, ten years ago,\" was the reply.\n\nAll at once the honest fellow seemed to be recollecting himself. He took\nfrom his pocket a short pipe, filled it, and having lighted it--\n\n\"One evening,\" said he, \"I was sitting alone with the count in the\narmoury of the castle. It was about Christmas time. We had been hunting\nwild boars the whole day in the valleys of the Rhethal, and had returned\nat night bringing home with us two of our boar-hounds ripped open from\nhead to tail. It was just as cold as it is to-night, with snow and frost.\nThe count was pacing up and down the room with his chin upon his breast\nand his hands crossed behind him, like a man in profound thought. From\ntime to time he stopped to watch the gathering snow on the high windows,\nand I was warming myself in the chimney corner, bewailing my dead hounds,\nand bestowing maledictions on all the wild boars that infest the\nSchwartzwald. Everybody at Nideck had been asleep a couple of hours,\nand not a sound could be heard but the tread and the clank of the\ncount's heavy spurred boots upon the flags. I remember well that a crow,\nno doubt driven by a gust of wind, came flapping its wings against the\nwindow-panes, uttering a discordant shriek, and how the sheets of snow\nfell from the windows, and the windows suddenly changed from white to\nblack--\"\n\n\"But what has all this to do with your master's illness?\" I interrupted.\n\n\"Let me go on--you will soon see. At that cry the count suddenly gathered\nhimself together with a shuddering movement, his eyes became fixed with a\nglassy stare, his cheeks were bloodless, and he bent his head forward\njust like a hunter catching the sound of his approaching game. I went on\nwarming myself, and I thought, 'Won't he soon go to bed now?' for, to\ntell you the truth, I was overcome with fatigue. All these details,\nFritz, are still present in my memory. Scarcely had the bird of ill omen\ncroaked its unearthly cry when the old clock struck eleven. At that\nmoment the count turns on his heel--he listens, his lips tremble, I can\nsee him staggering like a drunken man. He stretches out his hands, his\njaws are tightly clenched, his eyes staring and white. I cried, 'My lord,\nwhat is the matter?' but he began to laugh discordantly like a madman,\nstumbled, and fell upon the stone floor, face downwards. I called for\nhelp; servants came round. Sebalt took the count by the shoulders; we\nremoved him to a bed near the window; but just as I was loosening the\ncount's neckerchief--for I was afraid it was apoplexy--the countess came\nand flung herself upon the body of her father, uttering such heartrending\ncries that the very remembrance of them makes me shudder.\"\n\nHere Gideon took his pipe from his lips, knocked the ashes out upon the\npommel of his saddle, and pursued his tale in a saddened voice.\n\n\"From that day, Fritz, none but evil days have come upon Nideck, and\nbetter times seem to be far off. Every year at the same day and hour the\ncount has shuddering fits. The malady lasts from a week to a fortnight,\nduring which he howls and yells so frightfully that it makes a man's\nblood run cold to hear him. Then he slowly recovers his usual health. He\nis still pale and weak, and moves trembling from one chair to another,\nstarting at the least noise or movement, and fearful of his own shadow.\nThe young countess, the sweetest creature in the world, never leaves his\nside; but he cannot endure her while the fit is upon him. He roars at\nher, 'Go, leave me this moment! I have enough to endure without seeing\nyou hanging about me!' It is a horrible sight. I am always close at his\nheels in the chase, I who sound the horn when he has killed the forest\nbeasts; I am at the head of all his retainers, and I would give my life\nfor his sake; yet when he is at his worst I can hardly keep off my hands\nfrom his throat, I am so horrified at the way in which he treats his\nbeautiful daughter.\"\n\nSperver looked dangerously wroth for a moment, clapped both his spurs to\nhis mount, and we rode on at a hard gallop.\n\nI had fallen into a reverie. The cure of a complaint of this description\nappeared to me more than doubtful, even impossible. It was evidently a\nmental disorder. To fight against it with any hope of success it would\nbe needful to trace it back to its origin, and this would, no doubt, be\ntoo remote for successful investigation.\n\nAll these reflections perplexed me greatly. The old huntsman's story, far\nfrom strengthening my hopes, only depressed me--not a very favourable\ncondition to insure success. At about three we came in sight of the\nancient castle of Nideck on the verge of the horizon. In spite of the\ngreat distance we could distinguish the projecting turrets, apparently\nsuspended from the angles of the edifice. It was but a dim outline barely\ndistinguishable from the blue sky, but soon the red points of the Vosges\nbecame visible.\n\nAt that moment Sperver drew in his bridle and said--\n\n\"Fritz, we shall have to get there before night--onward!\"\n\nBut it was in vain that he spurred and lashed. The horse stood rooted\nto the ground, his ears thrown back, his nostrils dilated, his sides\npanting, his legs firmly planted in an attitude of resistance.\n\n\"What is the matter with the beast?\" cried Gideon in astonishment. \"Do\nyou see anything, Fritz? Surely--\"\n\nHe broke off abruptly, pointing with his whip at a dark form in the snow\nfifty yards off, on the slope of the hill.\n\n\"The Black Plague!\" he exclaimed with a voice of distress which almost\nrobbed me of my self-possession.\n\nFollowing the indication of his outstretched whip I discerned with\nastonishment an aged woman crouching on the snowy ground, with her arms\nclasped about her knees, and so tattered that her red elbows came through\nher tattered sleeves. A few ragged locks of grey hung about her long,\nscraggy, red, and vulture-like neck.\n\nStrange to say, a bundle of some kind lay upon her knees, and her haggard\neyes were directed upon distant objects in the white landscape.\n\nSpencer drew off to the left, giving the hideous object as wide a berth\nas he could, and I had some difficulty in following him.\n\n\"Now,\" I cried, \"what is all this for? Are you joking?\"\n\n\"Joking?--assuredly not! I never joke about such serious matters. I am\nnot given to superstition, but I confess that I am alarmed at this\nmeeting!\"\n\nThen turning his head, and noticing that the old woman had not moved, and\nthat her eyes were fixed upon the same one spot, he appeared to gather a\nlittle courage.\n\n\"Fritz,\" he said solemnly, \"you are a man of learning--you know many\nthings of which I know nothing at all. Well, I can tell you this, that a\nman is in the wrong who laughs at a thing because he can't understand it.\nI have good reasons for calling this woman the Black Plague. She is known\nby that name in the whole Black Forest, but here at Nideck she has earned\nthat title by supreme right.\"\n\nAnd the good man pursued his way without further observation.\n\n\"Now, Sperver, just explain what you mean,\" I asked, \"for I don't\nunderstand you.\"\n\n\"That woman is the ruin of us all. She is a witch. She is the cause of it\nall. It is she who is killing the count by inches.\"\n\n\"How is that possible?\" I exclaimed. \"How could she exercise such a\nbaneful influence?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell how it is. All I know is, that on the very day that the\nattack comes on, at the very moment, if you will ascend the beacon tower,\nyou will see the Black Plague squatting down like a dark speck on the\nsnow just between the Tiefenbach and the castle of Nideck. She sits there\nalone, crouching close to the snow. Every day she comes a little nearer,\nand every day the attacks grow worse. You would think he hears her\napproach. Sometimes on the first day, when the fits of trembling have\ncome over him, he has said to me, 'Gideon, I feel her coming.' I hold him\nby the arms and restrain the shuddering somewhat, but he still repeats,\nstammering and struggling with his agony, and his eyes staring and fixed,\n'She is coming--nearer--oh--oh--she comes!' Then I go up Hugh Lupus's\ntower; I survey the country. You know I have a keen eye for distant\nobjects. At last, amidst the grey mists afar off, between sky and earth,\nI can just make out a dark speck. The next morning that black spot has\ngrown larger. The Count of Nideck goes to bed with chattering teeth. The\nnext day again we can make out the figure of the old hag; the fierce\nattacks begin; the count cries out. The day after, the witch is at the\nfoot of the mountain, and the consequence is that the count's jaws are\nset like a vice; his mouth foams; his eyes turn in his head. Vile\ncreature! Twenty times I have had her within gunshot, and the count has\nbid me shed no blood. 'No, Sperver, no; let us have no bloodshed.' Poor\nman, he is sparing the life of the wretch who is draining his life from\nhim, for she is killing him, Fritz; he is reduced to skin and bone.\"\n\nMy good friend Gideon was in too great a rage with the unhappy woman to\nmake it possible to bring him back to calm reason. Besides, who can draw\nthe limits around the region of possibility? Every day we see the range\nof reality extending more widely. Unseen and unknown influences,\nmarvellous correspondences, invisible bonds, some kind of mysterious\nmagnetism, are, on the one hand, proclaimed as undoubted facts, and\ndenied on the other with irony and scepticism, and yet who can say that\nafter a while there will not be some astonishing revelations breaking in\nin the midst of us all when we least expect it? In the midst of so much\nignorance it seems easy to lay a claim to wisdom and shrewdness.\n\nI therefore only begged Sperver to moderate his anger, and by no means to\nfire upon the Black Plague, warning him that such a proceeding would\nbring serious misfortune upon him.\n\n\"Pooh!\" he cried; \"at the very worst they could but hang me.\"\n\nBut that, I remarked, was a good deal for an honest man to suffer.\n\n\"Not at all,\" he cried; \"it is but one kind of death out of many. You are\nsuffocated, that is all. I would just as soon die of that as of a hammer\nfalling on my head, as in apoplexy, or not to be able to sleep, or smoke,\nor swallow, or digest my food.\"\n\n\"You, Gideon, with your grey beard, you have learnt a peculiar mode of\nreasoning.\"\n\n\"Grey beard or not, that is my way of seeing things. I always keep a ball\nin my double-barrelled gun at the witch's service; from time to time I\nput in a fresh charge, and if I get the chance--\"\n\nHe only added an expressive gesture.\n\n\"Quite wrong, Sperver, quite wrong. I agree with the Count of Nideck, and\nI say no bloodshed. Oceans cannot wipe away blood shed in anger. Think of\nthat, and discharge that barrel against the first boar you meet.\"\n\nThese words seemed to make some impression upon the old huntsman; he hung\ndown his head and looked thoughtful.\n\nWe were then climbing the wooded steeps which separate the poor village\nof Tiefenbach from the Castle of Nideck.\n\nNight had closed in. As it always happens with us after a bright clear\nwinter's day, snow was again beginning to fall, heavy flakes dropped and\nmelted upon our horses' manes, who were beginning now to pluck up their\nspirits at the near prospect of the comfortable stable.\n\nNow and then Sperver looked over his shoulder with evident uneasiness;\nand I myself was not altogether free from a feeling of apprehension in\nthinking of the strange account which the huntsman had given me of his\nmaster's complaint.\n\nBesides all this, there is a certain harmony between external nature and\nthe spirit of a man, and I know of nothing more depressing than a gloomy\nforest loaded in every branch with thick snow and hoar frost, and moaning\nin the north wind. The gaunt and weird-looking trunks of the tall pines\nand the gnarled and massive oaks look mournfully upon you, and fill you\nwith melancholy thoughts.\n\nAs we ascended the rocky eminence the oaks became fewer, and scattered\nbirches, straight and white as marble pillars, divided the dark green of\nthe forest pines, when in a moment, as we issued from a thicket, the\nancient stronghold stood before us in a heavy mass, its dark surface\nstudded with brilliant points of light.\n\nSperver had pulled up before a deep gateway between two towers, barred in\nby an iron grating.\n\n\"Here we are,\" he cried, throwing the reins on the horses' necks.\n\nHe laid hold of the deer's-foot bell-handle, and the clear sound of a\nbell broke the stillness.\n\nAfter waiting a few minutes the light of a lantern flickered in the deep\narchway, showing us in its semicircular frame of ruddy light the figure\nof a humpbacked dwarf, yellow-bearded, broad-shouldered, and wrapped in\nfurs from head to foot.\n\nYou might have thought him, in the deep shadow, some gnome or evil spirit\nof earth realised out of the dreams of the Niebelungen Lieder.\n\nHe came towards us at a very leisurely pace, and laid his great flat\nfeatures close against the massive grating, straining his eyes, and\ntrying to make us out in the darkness in which we were standing.\n\n\"Is that you, Sperver?\" he asked in a hoarse voice.\n\n\"Open at once, Knapwurst,\" was the quick reply. \"Don't you know how cold\nit is?\"\n\n\"Oh! I know you now,\" cried the little man; \"there's no mistaking you.\nYou always speak as if you were going to gobble people up.\"\n\nThe door opened, and the dwarf, examining me with his lantern, with an\nodd expression in his face, received me with \"Willkommen, herr doctor,\"\nbut which seemed to say besides, \"Here is another who will have to go\naway again as others have done.\" Then he quietly closed the door, whilst\nwe alighted, and came to take our horses by the bridle.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nFollowing Sperver, who ascended the staircase with rapid steps, I was\nstill able to convince myself that the Castle of Nideck had not an\nundeserved reputation.\n\nIt was a true stronghold, partly cut out of the rock, such as used\nformerly to be called a _chateau d'ambuscade_. Its lofty vaulted arches\nre-echoed afar with our steps, and the outside air blowing with sharp\ngusts through the loopholes--narrow slits made for the archers of former\ndays--caused our torches to flare and flicker from space to space over\nthe faintly-illuminated protruding lines of the arches as they caught the\nuncertain light.\n\nSperver knew every nook and corner of this vast place. He turned now to\nthe right and now to the left, and I followed him breathless. At last he\nstopped on a spacious landing, and said to me--\n\n\"Now, Fritz, I will leave you for a minute with the people of the castle\nto inform the young Countess Odile of your arrival.\"\n\n\"Do just what you think right.\"\n\n\"Then you will find the head butler, Tobias Offenloch, an old soldier of\nthe regiment of Nideck. He campaigned in France under the count; and you\nwill see his wife, a Frenchwoman, Marie Lagoutte, who pretends that she\ncomes of a high family.\"\n\n\"And why should she not?\"\n\n\"Of course she might; but, between ourselves, she was nothing but a\n_cantiniere_ in the Grande Armee. She brought in Tobias Offenloch upon\nher cart, with one of his legs gone, and he has married her out of\ngratitude. You understand?\"\n\n\"That will do, but open, for I am numb with cold.\"\n\nAnd I was about to push on; but Sperver, as obstinate as any other good\nGerman, was not going to let me off without edifying me upon the history\nof the people with whom my lot was going to be cast for awhile, and\nholding me by the frogs of my fur coat he went on--\n\n\"There's, besides, Sebalt Kraft, the master of the hounds; he is rather\na dismal fellow, but he has not his equal at sounding the horn; and there\nwill be Karl Trumpf, the butler, and Christian Becker, and everybody,\nunless they have all gone to bed.\"\n\nThereupon Sperver pushed open the door, and I stood in some surprise on\nthe threshold of a high, dark hall, the guard room of the old lords of\nNideck.\n\nMy eyes fell at first upon the three windows at the farther end, looking\nout upon the sheer rocky precipice. On the right stood an old sideboard\nin dark oak, and upon it a cask, glasses, and bottles; on the left a\nGothic chimney overhung with its heavy massive mantelpiece, empurpled by\nthe brilliant roaring fire underneath, and ornamented on both front and\nsides with wood-carvings representing scenes from boar-hunts in the\nMiddle Ages, and along the centre of the apartment a long table, upon\nwhich stood a huge lamp throwing its light upon a dozen pewter tankards.\n\nAt one glance I saw all this; but the human portion of the scene\ninterested me most.\n\nI recognised the major-domo, or head butler, by his wooden leg, of which\nI had already heard; he was of low stature, round, fat, and rosy, and his\nknees seldom coming within an easy range of his eyesight; a nose red and\nbulbous like a ripe raspberry; on his head he wore a huge hemp-coloured\nwig, bulging out over his fat poll; a coat of light green plush, with\nsteel buttons as large as a five-franc piece; velvet breeches, silk\nstockings, and shoes garnished with silver buckles. He was just with his\nhand upon the top of the cask, with an air of inexpressible satisfaction\nbeaming upon his ruddy features, and his eyes glowing in profile, from\nthe reflection of the fire, like a couple of watch-glasses.\n\nHis wife, the worthy Marie Lagoutte, her spare figure draped in\nvoluminous folds, her long and sallow face like a skin of chamois\nleather, was playing at cards with two servants who were gravely seated\non straight-backed arm-chairs. Certain small split pegs were seated\nastride across the nose of the old woman and that of another player,\nwhilst the third was significantly and cunningly winking his eye and\nseeming to enjoy seeing them victimised upon these new Caudine Forks.\n\n\"How many cards?\" he was asking.\n\n\"Two,\" answered the old woman.\n\n\"And you, Christian?\"\n\n\"Two.\"\n\n\"Aha! now I have got you, then. Cut the king--now the ace--here's one,\nhere's another. Another peg, mother! This will teach you once more not\nto brag about French games.\"\n\n\"Monsieur Christian, you don't treat the fair sex with proper respect.\"\n\n\"At cards you respect nobody.\"\n\n\"But you see I have no room left!\"\n\n\"Pooh, on a nose like yours there's always room for more!\"\n\nAt that moment Sperver cried--\n\n\"Mates, here I am!\"\n\n\"Ha! Gideon, back already?\"\n\nMarie Lagoutte shook off her numerous pegs with a jerk of her head. The\nbig butler drank off his glass. Everybody turned our way.\n\n\"Is monseigneur better?\"\n\nThe butler answered with a doubtful ejaculation.\n\n\"Is he just the same?\"\n\n\"Much about,\" answered Marie Lagoutte, who never took her eyes off me.\n\nSperver noticed this.\n\n\"Let me introduce to you my foster-son, Doctor Fritz, from the Black\nForest,\" he answered proudly. \"Now we shall see a change, Master Tobie.\nNow that Fritz has come the abominable fits will be put an end to. If I\nhad but been listened to earlier--but better late than never.\"\n\nMarie Lagoutte was still watching us, and her scrutiny seemed\nsatisfactory, for, addressing the major-domo, she said--\n\n\"Now, Monsieur Offenloch, hand the doctor a chair; move about a little,\ndo! There you stand with your mouth wide open, just like a fish. Ah, sir,\nthese Germans!\"\n\nAnd the good man, jumping up as if moved by a spring, came to take off my\ncloak.\n\n\"Permit me, sir.\"\n\n\"You are very kind, my dear lady.\"\n\n\"Give it to me. What terrible weather! Ah, monsieur, what a dreadful\ncountry this is!\"\n\n\"So monseigneur is neither better nor worse,\" said Sperver, shaking the\nsnow off his cap; \"we are not too late, then. Ho, Kasper! Kasper!\"\n\nA little man, who had one shoulder higher than the other, and his face\nspotted with innumerable freckles, came out of the chimney corner.\n\n\"Here I am!\"\n\n\"Very good; now get ready for this gentleman the bedroom at the end of\nthe long gallery--Hugh's room; you know which I mean.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sperver, in a minute.\"\n\n\"And you will take with you, as you go, the doctor's knapsack. Knapwurst\nwill give it you. As for supper--\"\n\n\"Never you mind. That is my business.\"\n\n\"Very well, then. I will depend upon you.\"\n\nThe little man went out, and Gideon, after taking off his cape, left us\nto go and inform the young countess of my arrival.\n\nI was rather overpowered with the attentions of Marie Lagoutte.\n\n\"Give up that place of yours, Sebalt,\" she cried to the kennel-keeper.\n\"You are roasted enough by this time. Sit near the fire, monsieur le\ndocteur; you must have very cold feet. Stretch out your legs; that's the\nway.\"\n\nThen, holding out her snuff-box to me--\n\n\"Do you take snuff?\"\n\n\"No, dear madam, with many thanks.\"\n\n\"That is a pity,\" she answered, filling both nostrils. \"It is the most\ndelightful habit.\"\n\nShe slipped her snuff-box back into her apron pocket, and went on--\n\n\"You are come not a bit too soon. Monseigneur had his second attack\nyesterday; it was an awful attack, was it not, Monsieur Offenloch?\"\n\n\"Furious indeed,\" answered the head butler gravely.\n\n\"It is not surprising,\" she continued, \"when a man takes no nourishment.\nFancy, monsieur, that for two days he has never tasted broth!\"\n\n\"Nor a glass of wine,\" added the major-domo, crossing his hands over his\nportly, well-lined person.\n\nAs it seemed expected of me, I expressed my surprise, on which Tobias\nOffenloch came to sit at my right hand, and said--\n\n\"Doctor, take my advice; order him a bottle a day of Marcobrunner.\"\n\n\"And,\" chimed in Marie Lagoutte, \"a wing of a chicken at every meal. The\npoor man is frightfully thin.\"\n\n\"We have got Marcobrunner sixty years in bottle,\" added the major-domo,\n\"for it is a mistake of Madame Offenloch's to suppose that the French\ndrank it all. And you had better order, while you are about it, now and\nthen, a good bottle of Johannisberg. That is the best wine to set a man\nup again.\"\n\n\"Time was,\" remarked the master of the hounds in a dismal voice--\"time\nwas when monseigneur hunted twice a week; then he was well; when he left\noff hunting, then he fell ill.\"\n\n\"Of course it could not be otherwise,\" observed Marie Lagoutte. \"The open\nair gives you an appetite. The doctor had better order him to hunt three\ntimes a week to make up for lost time.\"\n\n\"Two would be enough,\" replied the man of dogs with the same gravity;\n\"quite enough. The hounds must have their rest. Dogs have just as much\nright to rest as we have.\"\n\nThere was a few moments' silence, during which I could hear the wind\nbeating against the window-panes, and rush, sighing and wailing, through\nthe loopholes into the towers.\n\nSebalt sat with legs across, and his elbow resting on his knee, gazing\ninto the fire with unspeakable dolefulness. Marie Lagoutte, after having\nrefreshed herself with a fresh pinch, was settling her snuff into shape\nin its box, while I sat thinking on the strange habit people indulge in\nof pressing their advice upon those who don't want it.\n\nAt this moment the major-domo rose.\n\n\"Will you have a glass of wine, doctor?\" said he, leaning over the back\nof my arm-chair.\n\n\"Thank you, but I never drink before seeing a patient.\"\n\n\"What! not even one little glass?\"\n\n\"Not the smallest glass you could offer me.\"\n\nHe opened his eyes wide and looked with astonishment at his wife.\n\n\"The doctor is right,\" she said. \"I am quite of his opinion. I prefer\nto drink with my meat, and to take a glass of cognac afterwards. That\nis what the ladies do in France. Cognac is more fashionable than\nkirschwasser!\"\n\nMarie Lagoutte had hardly finished with her dissertation when Sperver\nopened the door quietly and beckoned me to follow him.\n\nI bowed to the \"honourable company,\" and as I was entering the passage\nI could hear that lady saying to her husband--\n\n\"That is a nice young man. He would have made a good-looking soldier.\"\n\nSperver looked uneasy, but said nothing. I was full of my own thoughts.\n\nA few steps under the darkling vaults of Nideck completely effaced from\nmy memory the queer figures of Tobias and Marie Lagoutte, poor harmless\ncreatures, existing like bats under the mighty wing of the vulture.\n\nSoon Gideon brought me into a sumptuous apartment hung with\nviolet-coloured velvet, relieved with gold. A bronze lamp stood in a\ncorner, its brightness toned down by a globe of ground crystal; thick\ncarpets, soft as the turf on the hills, made our steps noiseless. It\nseemed a fit abode for silence and meditation.\n\nOn entering Sperver lifted the heavy draperies which fell around an ogee\nwindow. I observed him straining his eyes to discover something in the\ndarkened distance; he was trying to make out whether the witch still lay\nthere crouching down upon the snow in the midst of the plain; but he\ncould see nothing, for there was deep darkness over all.\n\nBut I had gone on a few steps, and came in sight, by the faint rays of\nthe lamp, of a pale, delicate figure seated in a Gothic chair not far\nfrom the sick man. It was Odile of Nideck. Her long black silk dress, her\ngentle expression of calm self-devotion and complete resignation, the\nideal angel-like cast of her sweet features, recalled to one's mind those\nmysterious creations of the pencil in the Middle Ages when painting was\npursued as a true art, but which modern imitators have found themselves\nobliged to give up in despair, while at the same time they never can\nforget them.\n\nI cannot say what thoughts passed rapidly through my mind at the sight\nof this fair creature, but certainly much of devotion mingled with my\nsentiments. A sense of music and harmony swept sadly through by soul,\nwith faint impressions of the old ballads of my childhood--of those pious\nsongs with which the kind nurses of the Black Forest rock to peaceful\nsleep our infant sorrows.\n\nAt my approach Odile rose.\n\n\"You are very welcome, monsieur le docteur,\" she said with touching\nkindness and simplicity; then, pointing with her finger to a recess where\nlay the count, she added, \"There is my father.\"\n\nI bowed respectfully and without answering, for I felt deeply affected,\nand drew near to my patient.\n\nSperver, standing at the head of the bed, held up the lamp with one hand,\nholding his far cap in the other. Odile stood at my left hand. The light,\nsoftened by the subdued light of the globe of ground crystal, fell softly\non the face of the count.\n\nAt once I was struck with a strangeness in the physiognomy of the Count\nof Nideck, and in spite of all the admiration which his lovely daughter\nhad at once obtained from me, my first conclusion was, \"What an old\nwolf!\"\n\nAnd such he seemed to be indeed. A grey head, covered with short, close\nhair, strangely full behind the ears, and drawn out in the face to a\nportentous length, the narrowness of his forehead up to its summit\nwidening over the eyebrows, which were shaggy and met, pointing downwards\nover the bridge of the nose, imperfectly shading with their sable outline\nthe cold and inexpressive eyes; the short, rough beard, irregularly\nspread over the angular and bony outline of the mouth--every feature of\nthis man's dreadful countenance made me shudder, and strange notions\ncrossed my mind about the mysterious affinities between man and the lower\ncreation.\n\nBut I resisted my first impressions and took the sick man's hand. It was\ndry and wiry, yet small and strong; I found the pulse quick, feverish,\nand denoting great irritability.\n\nWhat was I to do?\n\nI stood considering; on the one side stood the young lady, anxiously\ntrying to read a little hope in my face; on the other Sperver, equally\nanxious and watching my every movement. A painful constraint lay,\ntherefore, upon me, yet I saw that there was nothing definite that\ncould be attempted yet.\n\nI dropped the arm and listened to the breathing. From time to time a\nconvulsive sob heaved the sick man's heart, after which followed a\nsuccession of quick, short respirations. A kind of nightmare was\nevidently weighing him down--epilepsy, perhaps, or tetanus. But what\ncould be the cause or origin?\n\nI turned round full of painful thoughts.\n\n\"Is there any hope, sir?\" asked the young countess.\n\n\"Yesterday's crisis is drawing to its close,\" I answered; \"we must see if\nwe can prevent its recurrence.\"\n\n\"Is there any possibility of it, sir?\"\n\nI was about to answer in general medical terms, not daring to venture any\npositive assertions, when the distant sound of the bell at the gate fell\nupon our ears.\n\n\"Visitors,\" said Sperver.\n\nThere was a moment's silence.\n\n\"Go and see who it is,\" said Odile, whose brow was for a minute shaded\nwith anxiety. \"How can one be hospitable to strangers at such a time? It\nis hardly possible!\"\n\nBut the door opened, and a rosy face, with golden hair, appeared in the\nshadow, and said in a whisper--\n\n\"It is the Baron of Zimmer-Bluderich, with a servant, and he asks for\nshelter in the Nideck. He has lost his way among the mountains.\"\n\n\"Very well, Gretchen,\" answered the young countess, kindly; \"go and tell\nthe steward to attend to the Baron de Zimmer. Inform him that the count\nis very ill, and that this alone prevents him from doing the honours as\nhe would wish. Wake up some of our people to wait on him, and let\neverything be done properly.\"\n\nNothing could exceed the sweet and noble simplicity of the young\nchatelaine in giving her orders. If an air of distinction seems\nhereditary in some families it is surely because the exercise of the\nduties conferred by the possession of wealth has a natural tendency to\nennoble the whole character and bearing.\n\nThese thoughts passed through my mind whilst admiring the grace and\ngentleness in every movement of Odile of Nideck, and that clearness and\npurity of outline which is only found marked in the features of the\nhigher aristocracy, and I could recall nothing to my recollection equal\nto this ideal beauty.\n\n\"Go now, Gretchen,\" said the young countess, \"and make haste.\"\n\nThe attendant went out, and I stood a few seconds under the influence of\nthe charm of her manner.\n\nOdile turned round, and addressing me, \"You see, sir,\" said she with a\nsad smile, \"one may not indulge in grief without a pause; we must divide\nourselves between our affection within and the world without.\"\n\n\"True, madam,\" I replied; \"souls of the highest order are for the common\nproperty and advantage of the unhappy--the lost wayfarer, the sick, the\nhungry poor--each has his claim for a share, for God has made them like\nthe stars of heaven to give light and pleasure to all.\"\n\nThe deep-fringed eyelids veiled the blue eyes for a moment, while Sperver\npressed my hand.\n\nPresently she pursued--\n\n\"Ah, if you could but restore my father's health!\"\n\n\"As I have had the pleasure to inform you, madam, the crisis is past; the\nreturn must be anticipated, if possible.\"\n\n\"Do you hope that it may?\"\n\n\"With God's help, madam, it is not impossible; I will think carefully\nover it.\"\n\nOdile, much moved, came with me to the door. Sperver and I crossed the\nante-room, where a few servants were waiting for the orders of their\nmistress. We had just entered the corridor when Gideon, who was walking\nfirst, turned quickly round, and, placing both his hands on my shoulders,\nsaid--\n\n\"Come, Fritz; I am to be depended upon for keeping a secret; what is your\nopinion?\"\n\n\"I think there is no cause of apprehension for to-night.\"\n\n\"I know that--so you told the countess--but how about to-morrow?\"\n\n\"To-morrow?\"\n\n\"Yes; don't turn round. I suppose you cannot prevent the return of the\ncomplaint; do you think, Fritz, he will die of it?\"\n\n\"It is possible, but hardly probable.\"\n\n\"Well done!\" cried the good man, springing from the ground with joy; \"if\nyou don't think so, that means that you are sure.\"\n\nAnd taking my arm, he drew me into the gallery. We had just reached it\nwhen the Baron of Zimmer-Bluderich and his groom appeared there also,\nmarshalled by Sebalt with a lighted torch in his hand. They were on their\nway to their chambers, and those two figures, with their cloaks flung\nover their shoulders, their loose Hungarian boots up to the knees, the\nbody closely girt with long dark-green laced and frogged tunics, and the\nbear-skin cap closely and warmly covering the head, were very picturesque\nobjects by the flickering light of the pine-torch.\n\n\"There,\" whispered Sperver, \"if I am not very much mistaken, those are\nour Fribourg friends; they have followed very close upon our heels.\"\n\n\"You are quite right: they are the men; I recognise the younger by his\ntall, slender figure, his aquiline nose, and his long, drooping\nmoustache.\"\n\nThey disappeared through a side passage.\n\nGideon took a torch from the wall, and guided me through quite a maze of\ncorridors, aisles, narrow and wide passages, under high vaulted roofs and\nunder low-built arches; who could remember? There seemed no end.\n\n\"Here is the hall of the margraves,\" said he; \"here is the\nportrait-gallery, and this is the chapel, where no mass has been\nsaid since Louis the Bold became a Protestant.\"\n\nAll these particulars had very little interest for me.\n\nAfter reaching the end we had again to go down steps; at last we happily\ncame to the end of our journey before a low massive door. Sperver took a\nhuge key out of his pocket, and handing me the torch, said--\n\n\"Mind the light--look out!\"\n\nAt the same time he pushed open the door, and the cold outside air rushed\ninto the narrow passage. The torch flared and sent out a volley of sparks\nin all directions. I thought I saw a dark abyss before me, and recoiled\nwith fear.\n\n\"Ha, ha, ha!\" cried the huntsman, opening his mouth from ear to ear, \"you\nare surely not afraid, Fritz? Come on; don't be frightened! We are upon\nthe parapet between the castle and the old tower.\"\n\nAnd my friend advanced to set me the example.\n\nThe narrow granite-walled platform was deep in snow, swept in swirling\nbanks by the angry winds. Any one who had seen our flaring torch from\nbelow would have asked, \"What are they doing up there in the clouds? what\ncan they want at this time of the night?\"\n\nPerhaps, I thought within myself, the witch is looking up at us, and that\nidea gave me a fit of shuddering. I drew closer together the folds of my\nhorseman's cloak, and with my hand upon my hat, I set off after Sperver\nat a run; he was raising the light above his head to show me the road,\nand was moving forward rapidly.\n\nWe rushed into the tower and then into Hugh Lupus's chamber. A bright\nfire saluted us here with its cheerful rays; how delightful to be once\nmore sheltered by thick walls!\n\nI had stopped while Sperver closed the door, and contemplating this\nancient abode, I cried--\n\n\"Thank God! we shall rest now!\"\n\n\"With a well-furnished table before us,\" added Gideon. \"Don't stand there\nwith your nose in the air, but rather consider what is before you--a leg\nof a kid, a couple of roast fowls, a pike fresh caught, with parsley\nsauce; cold meats and hot wines, that's what I like. Kasper has attended\nto my orders like a real good fellow.\"\n\nGideon spoke the truth. The meats were cold and the wines were warm, for\nin front of the fire stood a row of small bottles under the gentle\ninfluence of the heat.\n\nAt the sight of these good things my appetite rose in me wonderfully. But\nSperver, who understood what is comfortable, stopped me.\n\n\"Fritz,\" said he, \"don't let us be in too great a hurry; we have plenty\nof time; the fowls won't fly away. Your boots must hurt you. After eight\nhours on horseback it is pleasant to take off one's boots, that's my\nprinciple. Now sit down, put your boot between my knees; there goes one\noff, now the other, that's the way; now put your feet into these\nslippers, take off your cloak and throw this lighter coat over your\nshoulders. Now we are ready.\"\n\nAnd with his cheery summons I sat down with him to work, one on each side\nof the table, remembering the German proverb--\"Thirst comes from the evil\none, but good wine from the Powers above.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nWe ate with the vigorous appetite which ten hours in the snows of the\nBlack Forest would be sure to provoke.\n\nSperver making indiscriminate attacks upon the kid, the fowls, and the\nfish, murmured with his mouth full--\n\n\"The woods, the lakes and rivers, and the heathery hills are full of good\nthings!\"\n\nThen he leaned over the back of his chair, and laying his hand on the\nfirst bottle that came to hand, he added--\n\n\"And we have hills green in spring, purple in autumn when the grapes\nripen. Your health, Fritz!\"\n\n\"Yours, Gideon!\"\n\nWe were a wonder to behold. We reciprocally admired each other.\n\nThe fire crackled, the forks rattled, teeth were in full activity,\nbottles gurgled, glasses jingled, while outside the wintry blast, the\nhigh moaning mountain winds, were mournfully chanting the dirge of the\nyear, that strange wailing hymn with which they accompany the shock of\nthe tempest and the swift rush of the grey clouds charged with snow and\nhail, while the pale moon lights up the grim and ghastly battle scene.\n\nBut we were snug under cover, and our appetite was fading away into\nhistory. Sperver had filled the \"wieder komm,\" the \"come again,\" with old\nwine of Brumberg; the sparkling froth fringed its ample borders; he\npresented it to me, saying--\n\n\"Drink the health of Yeri-Hans, lord of Nideck. Drink to the last drop,\nand show them that you mean it!\"\n\nWhich was done.\n\nThen he filled it again, and repeating with a voice that re-echoed among\nthe old walls, \"To the recovery of my noble master, the high and mighty\nlord of Nideck,\" he drained it also.\n\nThen a feeling of satisfied repletion stole gently over us, and we felt\npleased with everything.\n\nI fell back in my chair, with my face directed to the ceiling, and my\narms hanging lazily down. I began dreamily to consider what sort of a\nplace I had got into.\n\nIt was a low vaulted ceiling cut out of the live rock, almost\noven-shaped, and hardly twelve feet high at the highest point. At the\nfarther end I saw a sort of deep recess where lay my bed on the ground,\nand consisting, as I thought I could see, of a huge bear-skin above, and\nI could not tell what below, and within this yet another smaller niche\nwith a figure of the Virgin Mary carved out of the same granite, and\ncrowned with a bunch of withered grass.\n\n\"You are looking over your room,\" said Spencer. \"_Parbleu!_ it is none of\nthe biggest or grandest, not quite like the rooms in the castle. We are\nnow in Hugh Lupus's tower, a place as old as the mountain itself, going\nas far back as the days of Charlemagne. In those days, as you see, people\nhad not yet learned to build arches high, round, or pointed. They worked\nright into the rock.\"\n\n\"Well, for all that, you have put me in strange lodgings.\"\n\n\"Don't be mistaken, Fritz; it is the place of honour. It is here that the\ncount put all his most distinguished friends. Mind that: Hugh Lupus's\ntower is the most honourable accommodation we have.\"\n\n\"And who was Hugh Lupus?\"\n\n\"Why, Hugh the Wolf, to be sure. He was the head of the family of Nideck,\na rough-and-ready warrior, I can tell you. He came to settle up here with\na score of horsemen and halberdiers of his following. They climbed up\nthis rock--the highest rock amongst these mountains. You will see this\nto-morrow. They constructed this tower, and proclaimed, 'Now we are the\nmasters! Woe befall the miserable wretches who shall pass without paying\ntoll to us! We will tear the wool off their backs, and their hide too, if\nneed be. From this watch-tower we shall command a view of the far\ndistance all round. The passes of the Rhethal, of Steinbach, Koche Plate,\nand of the whole line of the Black Forest are under our eye. Let the Jew\npedlars and the dealers beware!' And the noble fellows did what they\npromised. Hugh the Wolf was at their head. Knapwurst told me all about it\nsitting up one night.\"\n\n\"Who is Knapwurst?\"\n\n\"That little humpback who opened the gate for us. He is an odd fellow,\nFritz, and almost lives in the library.\"\n\n\"So you have a man of learning at Nideck?\"\n\n\"Yes, we have, the rascal! Instead of confining himself to the porter's\nlodge, his proper place, all the day over he is amongst the dusty books\nand parchments belonging to the family. He comes and goes along the\nshelves of the library just like a big cat. Knapwurst knows our story\nbetter than we know it ourselves. He would tell you the longest tales,\nFritz, if you would only let him. He calls them chronicles--ha, ha!\"\n\nAnd Sperver, with the wine mounting a little into his head, began to\nlaugh, he could hardly say why.\n\n\"So then, Gideon, you call this tower, Hugh's tower the Hugh Lupus\ntower?\"\n\n\"Haven't I told you so already? What are you so astonished at?\"\n\n\"Nothing particular.\"\n\n\"But you are. I can see it in your face. You are thinking of something\nstrange. What is it?\"\n\n\"Oh, never mind! It is not the name of the tower which surprises me. What\nI am wondering at is, how it is that you, an old poacher, who had never\nlived anywhere since you were a boy but amongst the fir forests, between\nthe snowy summits of the Wald Horn and the passes of the Rhethal--you\nwho, during all your prime of life, thought it the finest of fun to laugh\nat the count's gamekeepers, and to scour the mountain paths of the\nSchwartzwald, and boat the bushes there, and breathe the free air, and\nbask in the bright sunshine amongst the hills and valleys--here I find\nyou, at the end of sixteen years of such a life, shut up in this red\ngranite hole. That is what surprises me and what I cannot understand.\nCome, Sperver, light your pipe, and tell me all about it.\"\n\nThe old poacher took out of his leathern jacket a bit of a blackened\npipe; he filled it at his leisure, gathered up in the hollow of his hand\na live ember, which he placed upon the bowl of his pipe; then with his\neyes dreamily cast up to the ceiling he answered meditatively--\n\n\"Old falcons, gerfalcons, and hawks, when they have long swept the\nplains, end their lives in a hole in a rock. Sure enough I am fond of the\nwide expanse of sky and land. I always was fond of it; but instead of\nperching by night upon a high branch of a tall tree, rocked by the wind,\nI now prefer to return to my cavern, to drink a glass, to pick a bone of\nvenison, and dry my plumage before a warm fire. The Count of Nideck does\nnot disdain Sperver, the old hawk, the true man of the woods. One\nevening, meeting me by moonlight, he frankly said to me, 'Old comrade,\nyou hunt only by night. Come and hunt by day with me. You have a sharp\nbeak and strong claws. Well, hunt away, if such is your nature; but hunt\nby my licence, for I am the eagle upon these mountains, and my name is\nNideck!'\"\n\nSperver was silent a few minutes; then he resumed--\n\n\"That was just what suited me, and now I hunt as I used to do, and I\nquietly drink along with a friend my bottle of Affenthal or--\"\n\nAt that moment there was a shock that made the door vibrate; Sperver\nstopped and listened.\n\n\"It is a gust of wind,\" I said.\n\n\"No, it is something else. Don't you hear the scratching of claws?\nIt is a dog that has escaped. Open, Lieverle, open, Blitzen!\" cried\nthe huntsman, rising; but he had not gone a couple of steps when a\nformidable-looking hound of the Danish breed broke into the tower, and\nran to lay his heavy paws on his master's shoulders, licking his beard\nand his cheeks with his long rose-coloured tongue, uttering all the while\nshort barks and yelps expressive of his joy.\n\nSperver had passed his arm round the dog's neck, and, turning to me,\nsaid--\n\n\"Fritz, what man could love me as this dog does? Do look at this head,\nthese eyes, these teeth!\"\n\nHe uncovered the animal's teeth, displaying a set of fangs that would\nhave pulled down and rent a buffalo. Then repelling him with difficulty,\nfor the dog was re-doubling his caresses--\n\n\"Down, Lieverle. I know you love me. If you did not, who would?\"\n\nNever had I seen so tremendous a dog as this Lieverle. His height\nattained two feet and a half. He would have been a most formidable\ncreature in an attack. His forehead was broad, flat, and covered with\nfine soft hair; his eye was keen, his paws of great length, his sides\nand legs a woven mass of muscles and nerves, broad over the back and\nshoulders, slender and tapering towards the hind legs. But he had no\nscent. If such monstrous and powerful hounds were endowed with the scent\nof the terrier there would soon be an end of game.\n\nSperver had returned to his seat, and was passing his hand over\nLieverle's massive head with pride, and enumerating to me his excellent\nqualities.\n\nLieverle seemed to understand him.\n\n\"See, Fritz, that dog will throttle a wolf with one snap of his jaws. For\ncourage and strength, he is perfection. He is not five years old, but he\nis in his prime. I need not tell you that he is trained to hunt the boar.\nEvery time we come across a herd of them I tremble for Lieverle; his\nattack is too straightforward, he flies on the game as straight as an\narrow. That is why I am afraid of the brutes' tusks. Lie down, Lieverle,\nlie on your back!\"\n\nThe dog obeyed, and presented to view his flesh-coloured sides.\n\n\"Look, Fritz, at that long white seam without any hair upon it from under\nthe thigh right up to the chest. A boar did that. Poor creature! he was\nholding him fast by the ear and would not let go; we tracked the two by\nthe blood. I was the first up with them. Seeing my Lieverle I gave a\nshout, I jumped off my horse, I caught him between my arms, flung him\ninto my cloak, and brought him home. I was almost beside myself. Happily\nthe vital parts had not been wounded. I sewed up his belly in spite of\nhis howling and yelling, for he suffered fearfully; but in three days he\nwas already licking his wound, and a dog who licks himself is already\nsaved. You remember that, Lieverle, hey! and aren't we fonder of each\nother now than ever?\"\n\nI was quite moved with the affection of the man for that dog, and of the\ndog for his master; they seemed to look into the very depths of each\nother's souls. The dog wagged his tail, and the man had tears in his\neyes.\n\nSperver went on--\n\n\"What amazing strength! Do you see, Fritz, he has burst his cord to get\nto me--a rope of six strands; he found out my track and here he is! Here,\nLieverle, catch!\"\n\nAnd he threw to him the remains of the leg of kid. The jaws opened wide\nand closed again with a terrible crash, and Sperver, looking at me\nsignificantly, said--\n\n\"Fritz, if he were to grip you by your breeches you would not get away so\neasily!\"\n\n\"Nor any one else, I suppose.\"\n\nThe dog went to stretch himself at his ease full length under the\nmantelshelf with the leg fast between his mighty paws. He began to tear\nit into pieces. Sperver looked at him out of the corner of his eye with\ngreat satisfaction. The bone was fast falling into small fragments in the\npowerful mill that was crashing it. Lieverle was partial to marrow!\n\n\"Aha! Fritz, if you were requested to fetch that bone away from him, what\nwould you say?\"\n\n\"I should think it a mission requiring extraordinary delicacy and tact.\"\n\nThen we broke out into a hearty laugh, and Sperver, seated in his\nleathern easy chair, with his left arm thrown back over his head, one of\nhis manly legs over a stool, and the other in front of a huge log, which\nwas dripping at its end with the oozing sap, and darted volumes of light\ngrey smoke to the roof.\n\nI was still contemplating the dog, when, suddenly recollecting our broken\nconversation, I went on--\n\n\"Now, Sperver, you have not told me everything. When you left the mountain\nfor the castle was it not on account of the death of Gertrude, your good,\nexcellent wife?\"\n\nGideon frowned, and a tear dimmed his eye; he drew himself up, and\nshaking out the ashes of his pipe upon his thumbnail, he said--\n\n\"True, my wife is dead. That drove me from the woods. I could not look\nupon the valley of Roche Creuse without pain. I turned my flight in this\ndirection: I hunt less in the woods, and I can see it all from higher up,\nand if by chance the pack tails off in that direction I let them go. I\nturn back and try to think of something else.\"\n\nSperver had grown taciturn. With his head drooped upon his breast, his\neyes fixed on the stone floor, he sat silent. I felt sorry to have awoke\nthese melancholy recollections in him. Then, my thoughts once more\nreturning to the Black Plague grovelling in the snow, I felt a shivering\nof horror.\n\nHow strange! just one word had sent us into a train of unhappy thoughts.\nA whole world of remembrances was called up by a chance.\n\nI know not how long this silence lasted, when a growl, deep, long, and\nterrible, like distant thunder, made us start.\n\nWe looked at the dog. The half-gnawed bone was still between his\nforepaws, but with head raised high, ears cocked up, and flashing eye,\nhe was listening intently--listening to the silence as it were, and an\nangry quivering ran down the length of his back.\n\nSperver and I fixed on each other anxious eyes; yet there was not a\nsound, not a breath outside, for the wind had gone down; nothing could be\nheard but the deep protracted growl which came from deep down the chest\nof the noble hound.\n\nSuddenly he sprang up and bounded impetuously against the wall with a\nhoarse, rough bark of fearful loudness. The walls re-echoed just as if\na clap of thunder had rattled the casements.\n\nLieverle, with his head low down, seemed to want to see through the\ngranite, and his lips drawn back from his teeth discovered them to the\nvery gums, displaying two close rows of fangs white as ivory. Still he\ngrowled. For a moment he would stop abruptly with his nose snuffing close\nto the wall, next the floor, with strong respirations; then he would rise\nagain in a fresh rage, and with his forepaws seemed as if he would break\nthrough the granite.\n\nWe watched in silence without being able to understand what caused his\nexcitement.\n\nAnother yell of rage more terrible than the first made us spring from our\nseats.\n\n\"Lieverle! what possesses you? Are you going mad?\"\n\nHe seized a log and began to sound the wall, which only returned the\ndead, hard sound of a wall of solid rock. There was no hollow in it; yet\nthe dog stood in the posture of attack.\n\n\"Decidedly you must have been dreaming bad dreams,\" said the huntsman.\n\"Come, lie down, and don't worry us any more with your nonsense.\"\n\nAt that moment a noise outside reached our ears. The door opened, and the\nfat honest countenance of Tobias Offenloch with his lantern in one hand\nand his stick in the other, his three-cornered hat on his head, appeared,\nsmiling and jovial, in the opening.\n\n\"_Salut! l'honorable compagnie!_\" he cried as he entered; \"what are you\ndoing here?\"\n\n\"It was that rascal Lieverle who made all that row. Just fancy--he set\nhimself up against that wall as if he smelt a thief. What could he mean?\"\n\n\"Why _parbleu_! he heard the dot, dot of my wooden leg, to be sure,\nstumping up the tower-stairs,\" answered the jolly fellow, laughing.\n\nThen setting his lantern on the table--\n\n\"That will teach you, friend Gideon, to tie up your dogs. You are\nfoolishly weak over your dogs--very foolishly. Those beasts of yours\nwon't be satisfied till they have put us all out of doors. Just this\nminute I met Blitzen in the long gallery: he sprang at my leg--see there\nare the marks of his teeth in proof of what I say; and it is quite a new\nleg--a brute of a hound!\"\n\n\"Tie up my dogs! That's rather a new idea,\" said the huntsman. \"Dogs tied\nup are good for nothing at all; they grow too wild. Besides, was not\nLieverle tied up, after all? See his broken cord.\"\n\n\"What I tell you is not on my own account. When they come near me I\nalways hold up my stick and put my wooden leg foremost--that is my\ndiscipline. I say, dogs in their kennels, cats on the roof, and the\npeople in the castle.\"\n\nTobias sat down after thus delivering himself of his sentiments, and with\nboth elbows on the table, his eyes expanding with delight, he confided to\nus that just now he was a bachelor.\n\n\"You don't mean that!\"\n\n\"Yes, Marie Anne is sitting up with Gertrude in monseigneur's ante-room.\"\n\n\"Then you are in no hurry to go away?\"\n\n\"No, none at all. I should like to stay in your company.\"\n\n\"How unfortunate that you should have come in so late!\" remarked Sperver;\n\"all the bottles are empty.\"\n\nThe disappointment of the discomfited major-domo excited my compassion.\nThe poor man would so gladly have enjoyed his widowhood. But in spite of\nmy endeavours to repress it a long yawn extended wide my mouth.\n\n\"Well, another time,\" said he, rising. \"What is only put off is not given\nup.\"\n\nAnd he took his lantern.\n\n\"Good night, gentlemen.\"\n\n\"Stop--wait for me,\" cried Gideon. \"I can see Fritz is sleepy; we will go\ndown together.\"\n\n\"Very gladly, Sperver; on our way we will have a word with Trumpf, the\nbutler. He is downstairs with the rest, and Knapwurst is telling them\ntales.\"\n\n\"All right. Good night, Fritz.\"\n\n\"Good night, Gideon. Don't forget to send for me if the count is taken\nworse.\"\n\n\"I will do as you wish. Lieverle, come.\"\n\nThey went out, and as they were crossing the platform I could hear the\nNideck clock strike eleven. I was tired out and soon fell asleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\nDaylight was beginning to tinge with bluish grey the only window in my\ndungeon tower when I was roused out of my niche in the granite by the\nprolonged distant notes of a hunting horn.\n\nThere is nothing more sad and melancholy than the wail of this instrument\nwhen the day begins to struggle with the night--when not a sigh nor a\nsound besides comes to molest the solitary reign of silence; it is\nespecially the last long note which spreads in widening waves over the\nimmensity of the plain beneath, awaking the distant, far-off echoes\namongst the mountains, that has in it a poetic element that stirs up the\ndepths of the soul.\n\nLeaning upon my elbow in my bear-skin I lay listening to the plaintive\nsound, which suggested something of the feudal ages. The contemplation of\nmy chamber, the ancient den of the Wolf of Nideck, with its low, dark\narch, threatening almost to come down to crush the occupant; and further\non that small leaden window, just touching the ceiling, more wide than\nhigh, and deeply recessed in the wall, added to the reality of the\nimpression.\n\nI arose quickly and ran to open the window wide.\n\nThen presented itself to my astonished eyes such a wondrous spectacle as\nno mortal tongue, no pen of man, can describe--the wide prospect that the\neagle, the denizen of the high Alps, sweeps with his far reaching ken\nevery morning at the rising of the deep purple veil that overhung the\nhorizon by night mountains farther off! mountains far away! and yet again\nin the blue distance--mountains still, blending with the grey mists of\nthe morning in the shadowy horizon!--motionless billows that sink into\npeace and stillness in the blue distance of the plains of Lorraine. Such\nis a faint idea of the mighty scenery of the Vosges, boundless forests,\nsilver lakes, dazzling crests, ridges, and peaks projecting their clear\noutlines upon the steel-blue of the valleys clothed in snow. Beyond this,\ninfinite space!\n\nCould any enthusiasm of poet or skill of painter attain the sublime\nelevation of such a scene as that?\n\nI stood mute with admiration. At every moment the details stood out\nmore clearly in the advancing light of morning; hamlets, farm-houses,\nvillages, seemed to rise and peep out of every undulation of the land. A\nlittle more attention brought more and more numerous objects into view.\n\nI had leaned out of my window rapt in contemplation for more than a\nquarter of an hour when a hand was laid lightly upon my shoulder; I\nturned round startled, when the calm figure and quiet smile of Gideon\nsaluted me with--\n\n\"Guten Tag, Fritz! Good morning!\"\n\nThen he also rested his arms on the window, smoking his short pipe. He\nextended his hand and said--\n\n\"Look, Fritz, and admire! You are a son of the Black Forest, and you must\nadmire all that. Look there below; there is Roche Creuse. Do you see it?\nDon't you remember Gertrude? How far off those times seem now!\"\n\nSperver brushed away a tear. What could I say?\n\nWe sat long contemplating and meditating over this grand spectacle. From\ntime to time the old poacher, noticing me with my eyes fixed upon some\ndistant object, would explain--\n\n\"That is the Wald Horn; this is the Tiefenthal; there's the fall of the\nSteinbach; it has stopped running now; it is hanging down in great\nfringed sheets, like the curtains over the shoulder of the Harberg--a\ncold winter's cloak! Down there is a path that leads to Fribourg; in a\nfortnight's time it will be difficult to trace it.\"\n\nThus our time passed away.\n\nI could not tear myself away from so beautiful a prospect. A few birds\nof prey, with wings hollowed into a graceful curve sharp-pointed at each\nend, the fan-shaped tail spread out, were silently sweeping round the\nrock-hewn tower; herons flew unscathed above them, owing their safety\nfrom the grasp of the sharp claws and the tearing beak to the elevation\nof their flight.\n\nNot a cloud marred the beauty of the blue sky; all the snow had fallen to\nearth; once more the huntsman's horn awoke the echoes.\n\n\"That is my friend Sebalt lamenting down there,\" said Sperver. \"He knows\neverything about horses and dogs, and he sounds the hunter's horn better\nthan any man in Germany. Listen, Fritz, how soft and mellow the notes\nare! Poor Sebalt! he is pining away over monseigneur's illness; he cannot\nhunt as he used to do. His only comfort is to get up every morning at\nsunrise on to the Altenberg and play the count's favourite airs. He\nthinks he shall be able to cure him that way!\"\n\nSperver, with the good taste of a man who appreciates beautiful scenery,\nhad offered no interruption to my contemplations; but when, my eyes\ndazzled and swimming with so much light, I turned round to the darkness\nof the tower, he said to me--\n\n\"Fritz, it's all right; the count has had no fresh attack.\"\n\nThese words brought me back to a sense of the realities of life.\n\n\"Ah, I am very glad!\"\n\n\"It is all owing to you, Fritz.\"\n\n\"What do you mean? I have not prescribed yet.\"\n\n\"What signifies? You were there; that was enough.\"\n\n\"You are only joking, Gideon! What is the use of my being present if\nI don't prescribe?\"\n\n\"Why, you bring him good luck!\"\n\nI looked straight at him, but he was not even smiling!\n\n\"Yes, Fritz, you are just a messenger of good; the last two years the\nlord had another attack the next day after the first, then a third and\na fourth. You have put an end to that. What can be clearer?\"\n\n\"Well, to me it is not so very clear; on the contrary, it is very\nobscure.\"\n\n\"We are never too old to learn,\" the good man went on. \"Fritz, there are\nmessengers of evil and there are messengers of good. Now that rascal\nKnapwurst, he is a sure messenger of ill. If ever I meet him as I am\ngoing out hunting I am sure of some misadventure; my gun misses fire, or\nI sprain my ankle, or a dog gets ripped up!--all sorts of mischief come.\nSo, being quite aware of this, I always try and set off at early\ndaybreak, before that author of mischief, who sleeps like a dormouse, has\nopened his eyes; or else I slip out by a back way by the postern gate.\nDon't you see?\"\n\n\"I understand you very well, but your ideas seem to me very strange,\nGideon.\"\n\n\"You, Fritz,\" he went on, without noticing my interruption, \"you are\na most excellent lad; Heaven has covered your head with innumerable\nblessings; just one glance at your jolly countenance, your frank, clear\neyes, your good-natured smile, is enough to make any one happy. You\npositively bring good luck with you. I have always said so, and now would\nyou like to have a proof?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed I should. It would be worth while to know how much there is\nin me without my having any knowledge of it.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said he, grasping my wrist, \"look down there!\"\n\nHe pointed to a hillock at a couple of gunshots from the castle.\n\n\"Do you see there a rock half-buried in the snow, with a ragged bush by\nits side?\"\n\n\"Quite well.\"\n\n\"Do you see anything near?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Well, there is a reason for that. You have driven away the Black Plague!\nEvery year at the second attack there she was holding her feet between\nher hands. By night she lighted a fire; she warmed herself and boiled\nroots. She bore a curse with her. This morning the very first thing which\nI did was to get up here. I climbed up the beacon tower; I looked well\nall round; the old hag was nowhere to be seen. I shaded my eyes with my\nhand. I looked up and down, right and left, and everywhere; not a sign of\nthe creature anywhere. She had scented you evidently.\"\n\nAnd the good fellow, in a fit of enthusiasm, shook me warmly by the hand,\ncrying with unchecked emotion--\n\n\"Ah, Fritz, how glad I am that I brought you here! The witch _will_ be\nsold, eh?\"\n\nWell, I confess I felt a little ashamed that I had been all my life\nsuch a very well-deserving young man without knowing anything of the\ncircumstance myself.\n\n\"So, Sperver,\" I said, \"the count has spent a good night?\"\n\n\"A very good one.\"\n\n\"Then I am very well pleased. Let us go down.\"\n\nWe again traversed the high parapet, and I was now better able to examine\nthis way of access, the ramparts of which arose from a prodigious depth;\nand they were extended along the sharp narrow ridge of the rock down to\nthe very bottom of the valley. It was a long flight of jagged precipitous\nsteps descending from the wolf's den, or rather eagle's nest, down to the\ndeep valley below.\n\nGazing down I felt giddy, and recoiling in alarm to the middle of the\nplatform, I hastily descended down the path which led to the main\nbuilding.\n\nWe had already traversed several great corridors when a great open door\nstood before us. I looked in, and descried, at the top of a double\nladder, the little gnome Knapwurst, whose strange appearance had\nstruck me the night before.\n\nThe hall itself attracted my attention by its imposing aspect. It was\nthe receptacle of the archives of the house of Nideck, a high, dark,\ndusty apartment, with long Gothic windows, reaching from the angle of\nthe ceiling to within a couple of yards from the floor.\n\nThere were collected along spacious shelves, by the care of the old\nabbots, not only all the documents, title-deeds, and family genealogies\nof the house of Nideck, establishing their rights and their alliances,\nand connections with all the great historic families of Germany, but\nbesides these there were all the chronicles of the Black Forest, the\ncollected works of the old Minnesinger, and great folio volumes from the\npresses of Gutenberg and Faust, entitled to equal veneration on account\nof their remarkable history and of the enduring solidity of their\nbinding. The deep shadows of the groined vaults, their arches divided by\nmassive ribs, and descending partly down the cold grey walls, reminded\none of the gloomy cloisters of the Middle Ages. And amidst these\ncharacteristic surroundings sat an ugly dwarf on the top of his ladder,\nwith a red-edged volume upon his bony knees, his head half-buried in a\nrough fur cap, small grey eyes, wide misshapen mouth, humps on back and\nshoulders, a most uninviting object, the familiar spirit--the rat,\nas Sperver would have it--of this last refuge of all the learning\nbelonging to the princely race of Nideck.\n\nBut a truly historical importance belonged to this chamber in the long\nseries of family portraits, filling almost entirely one side of the\nancient library. All were there, men and women; from Hugh the Wolf to\nYeri-Hans, the present owner; from the first rough daub of barbarous\ntimes to the perfect work of the best modern painters.\n\nMy attention was naturally drawn in that direction.\n\nHugh I., a bald-headed figure, seemed to glare upon you like a wolf\nstealing upon you round the corner of a wood. His grey bloodshot eyes,\nhis red beard, and his large hairy ears gave him a fearful and ferocious\naspect.\n\nNext to him, like the lamb next to the wolf, was the portrait of a lady\nof youthful years, with gentle blue eyes, hands crossed on the breast\nover a book of devotions, and tresses of fair long silky hair encircling\nher sweet countenance with a glorious golden aureola. This picture struck\nme by its wonderful resemblance to Odile of Nideck.\n\nI have never seen anything more lovely and more charming than this old\npainting on wood, which was stiff enough indeed in its outline, but\ndelightfully refreshing and ingenuous.\n\nI had examined this picture attentively for some minutes when another\nfemale portrait, hanging at its side, drew my attention reluctantly away.\nHere was a woman of the true Visigoth type, with a wide low forehead,\nyellowish eyes, prominent cheek-bones, red hair, and a nose hooked like\nan eagle's beak.\n\nThat woman must have been an excellent match for Hugh, thought I, and\nI began to consider the costume, which answered perfectly to the energy\ndisplayed in the head, for the right hand rested upon a sword, and an\niron breastplate inclosed the figure.\n\nI should have some difficulty in expressing the thoughts which passed\nthrough my mind in the examination of these three portraits. My eye\npassed from the one to the other with singular curiosity.\n\nSperver, standing at the library door, had aroused the attention of\nKnapwurst with a sharp whistle, which made that worthy send a glance in\nhis direction, though it did not succeed in fetching him down from his\nelevation.\n\n\"Is it me that you are whistling to like a dog?\" said the dwarf.\n\n\"I am, you vermin! It is an honour you don't deserve.\"\n\n\"Just listen to me, Sperver,\" replied the little man with sublime scorn;\n\"you cannot spit so high as my shoe!\" which he contemptuously held out.\n\n\"Suppose I were to come up?\"\n\n\"If you come up a single step I'll squash you flat with this volume!\"\n\nGideon laughed, and replied--\n\n\"Don't get angry, friend; I don't mean to do you any harm; on the\ncontrary, I greatly respect you for your learning; but what I want to\nknow is what you are doing here so early in the morning, by lamplight?\nYou look as if you had spent the night here.\"\n\n\"So I have; I have been reading all night.\"\n\n\"Are not the days long enough for you to read in?\"\n\n\"No; I am following out an important inquiry, and I don't mean to sleep\nuntil I am satisfied.\"\n\n\"Indeed; and what may this very important question be?\"\n\n\"I have to ascertain under what circumstances Ludwig of Nideck discovered\nmy ancestor, Otto the Dwarf, in the forests of Thuringia. You know,\nSperver, that my ancestor Otto was only a cubit high--that is, a foot and\na-half. He delighted the world with his wisdom, and made an honourable\nfigure at the coronation of Duke Rudolphe. Count Ludwig had him inclosed\nin a cold roast peacock, served up in all his plumage. It was at that\ntime one of the greatest delicacies, served up garnished all round with\nsucking pigs, gilded and silvered. During the banquet Otto kept spreading\nthe peacock's tail, and all the lords, courtiers, and ladies of high\nbirth were astonished and delighted at this wonderful piece of mechanism.\nAt last he came out, sword in hand, and shouted with a loud voice--\"Long\nlive Duke Rudolphe!\" and the cry was repeated with acclamations by the\nwhole table. Bernard Herzog makes mention of this event, but he has\nneglected to inform us where this dwarf came from, whether he was of\nlofty lineage or of base extraction, which latter, however, is very\nimprobable, for the lower sort of people have not so much sense as that.\"\n\nI was astounded at so much pride in so diminutive a being, yet my\ncuriosity prevented me from showing too much of my feelings, for he alone\ncould supply me with information upon the portraits that accompanied that\nof Hugh Lupus.\n\n\"Monsieur Knapwurst,\" I began very respectfully, \"would you oblige me by\nenlightening me upon certain historic doubts?\"\n\n\"Speak, sir, without any constraint; on the subject of family history and\nchronicles I am entirely at your service. Other matters don't interest\nme.\"\n\n\"I desire to learn some particulars respecting the two portraits on each\nside of the founder of this race.\"\n\n\"Aha!\" cried Knapwurst with a glow of satisfaction lighting up his\nhideous features; \"you mean Hedwige and Huldine, the two wives of Hugh\nLupus.\"\n\nAnd laying down his volume he descended from his ladder to speak more at\nhis ease. His eyes glistened, and the delight of gratified vanity beamed\nfrom them as he displayed his vast erudition.\n\nWhen he had arrived at my side he bowed to me with ceremonious gravity.\nSperver stood behind us, very well satisfied that I was admiring the\ndwarf of Nideck. In spite of the ill luck which, in his opinion,\naccompanied the little monster's appearance, he respected and boasted\nof his superior knowledge.\n\n\"Sir,\" said Knapwurst, pointing with his yellow hand to the portraits,\n\"Hugh of Nideck, the first of his illustrious race, married, in 832,\nHedwige of Lutzelbourg, who brought to him in dowry the counties of\nGiromani and Haut Barr, the castles of Geroldseck, Teufelshorn, and\nothers. Hugh Lupus had no issue by his first wife, who died young, in the\nyear of our Lord 837. Then Hugh, having become lord and owner of the\ndowry, refused to give it up, and there were terrible battles between\nhimself and his brothers-in-law. But his second wife, Huldine, whom you\nsee there in a steel breastplate, aided him by her sage counsel. It is\nunknown whence or of what family she came, but for all that she saved\nHugh's life, who had been made prisoner by Frantz of Lutzelbourg. He was\nto have been hanged that very day, and a gibbet had already been set up\non the ramparts, when Huldine, at the head of her husband's vassals, whom\nshe had armed and inspired with her own courage, bravely broke in,\nreleased Hugh, and hung Frantz in his place. Hugh had married his wife\nin 842, and had three children by her.\"\n\n\"So,\" I resumed pensively, \"the first of these wives was called Hedwige,\nand the descendants of Nideck are not related to her?\"\n\n\"Not at all.\"\n\n\"Are you quite sure?\"\n\n\"I can show you our genealogical tree; Hedwige had no children; Huldine,\nthe second wife, had three.\"\n\n\"That is surprising to me.\"\n\n\"Why so?\"\n\n\"I thought I traced a resemblance.\"\n\n\"Oho! resemblance! Rubbish!\" cried Knapwurst with a discordant laugh.\n\"See--look at this wooden snuff-box; in it you see a portrait of my\ngreat-grandfather, Hanswurst. His nose is as long and as pointed as an\nextinguisher, and his jaws like nutcrackers. How does that affect his\nbeing the grandfather of me--of a man with finely-formed features and an\nagreeable mouth?\"\n\n\"Oh no!--of course not.\"\n\n\"Well, so it is with the Nidecks. They may some of them be like Hedwige,\nbut for all that Huldine is the head of their ancestry. See the\ngenealogical tree. Now, sir, are you satisfied?\"\n\nThen we separated--Knapwurst and I--excellent friends.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" thought I, \"there is the likeness. It is not chance. What\nis chance? There is no such thing; it is nonsense to talk of chance. It\nmust be something higher!\"\n\nI was following my friend Sperver, deep in thought, who had now resumed\nhis walk down the corridor. The portrait of Hedwige, in all its artless\nsimplicity, mingled in my mind with the face of Odile.\n\nSuddenly Gideon stopped, and, raising my eyes, I saw that we were\nstanding before the count's door.\n\n\"Come in, Fritz,\" he said, \"and I will give the dogs a feed. When the\nmaster's away the servants neglect their duty; I will come for you\nby-and-by.\"\n\nI entered, more desirous of seeing the young lady than the count her\nfather; I was blaming myself for my remissness, but there is no\ncontrolling one's interest and affections. I was much surprised to\nsee in the half-light of the alcove the reclining figure of the count\nleaning upon his elbow and observing me with profound attention. I was\nso little prepared for this examination that I stood rather dispossessed\nof self-command.\n\n\"Come nearer, monsieur le docteur,\" he said in a weak but firm voice,\nholding out his hand. \"My faithful Sperver has often mentioned your name\nto me; and I was anxious to make your acquaintance.\"\n\n\"Let us hope, my lord, that it will be continued under more favourable\ncircumstances. A little patience, and we shall avert this attack.\"\n\n\"I think not,\" he replied. \"I feel my time drawing near.\"\n\n\"You are mistaken, my lord.\"\n\n\"No; Nature grants us, as a last favour, to have a presentiment of our\napproaching end.\"\n\n\"How often I have seen such presentiments falsified!\" I said with a\nsmile.\n\nHe fixed his eyes searchingly upon me, as is usual with patients\nexpressing anxiety about their prospects. It is a difficult moment for\nthe doctor. The moral strength of his patient depends upon the expression\nof the firmness of his convictions; the eye of the sufferer penetrates\ninto the innermost soul of his consciousness; if he believes that he can\ndiscover any hint or shade of doubt, his fate is sealed; depression sets\nin; the secret springs that maintain the elasticity of the spirit give\nway, and the disorder has it all its own way.\n\nI stood my examination firmly and successfully, and the count seemed to\nregain confidence; he again pressed my hand, and resigned himself calmly\nand confidently to my treatment.\n\nNot until then did I perceive Mademoiselle Odile and an old lady, no\ndoubt her governess, seated by her bedside at the other end of the\nalcove.\n\nThey silently saluted me, and suddenly the picture in the library\nreappeared before me.\n\n\"It is she,\" I said, \"Hugh's first wife. There is the fair and noble\nbrow, there are the long lashes, and that sad, unfathomable smile. Oh,\nhow much past telling lies in a woman's smile! Seek not, then, for\nunmixed joy and pleasure! Her smile serves but to veil untold sorrows,\nanxiety for the future, even heartrending cares. The maid, the wife, the\nmother, smile and smile, even when the heart is breaking and the abyss is\nopening. O woman! this is thy part in the mortal struggle of human life!\"\n\nI was pursuing these reflections when the lord of Nideck began to speak--\n\n\"If my dear child Odile would but consult my wishes I believe my health\nwould return.\"\n\nI looked towards the young countess; she fixed her eyes on the floor, and\nseemed to be praying silently.\n\n\"Yes,\" the sick man went on, \"I should then return to life; the prospect\nof seeing myself surrounded by a young family, and of pressing\ngrandchildren to my heart, and beholding the succession to my house,\nwould revive me.\"\n\nAt the mild and gentle tone of entreaty in which this was said I felt\ndeeply moved with compassion; but the young lady made no reply.\n\nIn a minute or two the count, who kept his watchful eyes upon her, went\non--\n\n\"Odile, you refuse to make your father a happy man? I only ask for a\nfaint hope. I fix no time. I won't limit your choice. We will go to\ncourt. There you will have a hundred opportunities of marrying with\ndistinction and with honour. Who would not be proud to win my daughter's\nhand? You shall be perfectly free to decide for yourself.\"\n\nHe paused.\n\nThere is nothing more painful to a stranger than these family quarrels.\nThere are such contending interests, so many private motives, at work,\nthat mere modesty should make it our duty to place ourselves out of\nhearing of such discussions. I felt pained, and would gladly have\nretired. But the circumstances of the case forbade this.\n\n\"My dear father,\" said Odile, as if to evade any further discussion, \"you\nwill get better. Heaven will not take you from those who love you. If you\nbut knew the fervour with which I pray for you!\"\n\n\"That is not an answer,\" said the count drily. \"What objection can you\nmake to my proposal? Is it not fair and natural? Am I to be deprived of\nthe consolations vouchsafed to the neediest and most wretched? You know\nI have acted towards you openly and frankly.\"\n\n\"You have, my father.\"\n\n\"Then give me your reason for your refusal.\"\n\n\"My resolution is formed--I have consecrated myself to God.\"\n\nSo much firmness in so frail a being made me tremble. She stood like the\nsculptured Madonna in Hugh's tower, calm and immovable, however weak in\nappearance.\n\nThe eyes of the count kindled with an ominous fire. I tried to make the\nyoung countess understand by signs how gladly I would hear her give the\nleast hope, and calm his rising passion; but she seemed not to see me.\n\n\"So,\" he cried in a smothered tone, as if he were strangling--\"so you\nwill look on and see your father perish? A word would restore him to\nlife, and you refuse to speak that one word?\"\n\n\"Life is not in the hand of man, for it is God's gift; my word can be\nof no avail.\"\n\n\"Those are nothing but pious maxims,\" answered the count scornfully, \"to\nrelease you from your plain duty. But has not God said, 'Honour thy\nfather and thy mother?'\"\n\n\"I do honour you,\" she replied gently. \"But it is my duty not to marry.\"\n\nI could hear the grinding and gnashing of the man's teeth. He lay\napparently calm, but presently turned abruptly and cried--\n\n\"Leave me; the sight of you is offensive to me!\"\n\nAnd addressing me as I stood by agitated with conflicting feelings--\n\n\"Doctor,\" he cried with a savage grin, \"have you any violent malignant\npoison about you to give me--something that will destroy me like a\nthunderbolt? It would be a mercy to poison me like a dog, rather than\nlet me suffer as I am doing.\"\n\nHis features writhed convulsively, his colour became livid.\n\nOdile rose and advanced to the door.\n\n\"Stay!\" he howled furiously--\"stay till I have cursed you!\"\n\nSo far I had stood by without speaking, not venturing to interfere\nbetween Father and Daughter, but now I could refrain no longer.\n\n\"Monseigneur,\" I cried, \"for the sake of your own health, for the sake\nof mere justice and fairness, do calm yourself; your life is at stake.\"\n\n\"What matters my life? what matters the future? Is there a knife here to\nput an end to me? Let me die!\"\n\nHis excitement rose every minute. I seemed to dread lest in some frenzied\nmoment he should spring from the bed and destroy his child's life. But\nshe, calm though deadly pale, knelt at the door, which was standing open,\nand outside I could see Sperver, whose features betrayed the deepest\nanxiety. He drew near without noise, and bending towards Odile--\n\n\"Oh, mademoiselle!\" he whispered--\"mademoiselle, the count is such a\nworthy, good man. If you would but just say only, 'Perhaps--by-and-by--we\nwill see.'\"\n\nShe made no reply, and did not change her attitude.\n\nAt this moment I persuaded the Lord of Nideck to take a few drops of\nLaudanum; he sank back with a sigh, and soon his panting and irregular\nbreathing became more measured under the influence of a deep and heavy\nslumber.\n\nOdile arose, and her aged friend, who had not opened her lips, went out\nwith her. Sperver and I watched their slowly retreating figures. There\nwas a calm grandeur in the step of the young countess which seemed to\nexpress a consciousness of duty fulfilled.\n\nWhen she had disappeared down the long corridor Gideon turned towards me.\n\n\"Well, Fritz,\" he said gravely, \"what is your opinion?\"\n\nI bent my head down without answering. This girl's incredible firmness\nastonished and bewildered me.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\nSperver's indignation was mounting.\n\n\"There's the happiness and felicity of the rich! What is the good of\nbeing master of Nideck, with castles, forests, lakes, and all the best\nparts of the Black Forest, when an innocent looking damsel comes and\nsays to you in her sweet soft voice, 'Is that your will? Well, it is not\nmine. Do you say I must? Well, I say no, I won't.' Is it not awful? Would\nit not be better to be a woodcutter's son and live quietly upon the wages\nof your day's work? Come on, Fritz; let us be off. I am suffocating here;\nI want to get into the open air.\"\n\nAnd the good fellow, seizing my arm, dragged me down the corridor.\n\nIt was now about nine. The sky had been fair when we got up, but now the\nclouds had again covered the dreary earth, the north wind was raising the\nsnow in ghostly eddies against the window-panes, and I could scarcely\ndistinguish the summits of the neighbouring mountains.\n\nWe were going down the stairs which led into the hall, when, at a turn in\nthe corridor, we found ourselves face to face with Tobias Offenloch, the\nworthy major-domo, in a great state of palpitation.\n\n\"Halloo!\" he cried, closing our way with his stick right across the\npassage; \"where are you off to in such a hurry? What about our\nbreakfast?\"\n\n\"Breakfast! which breakfast do you mean?\" asked Sperver.\n\n\"What do you mean by pretending to forget what breakfast? Are not you and\nI to breakfast this very morning with Doctor Fritz?\"\n\n\"Aha! so we are! I had forgotten all about it.\"\n\nAnd Offenloch burst into a great laugh which divided his jolly face from\near to ear.\n\n\"Ha, ha! this is rather beyond a joke. And I was afraid of being too\nlate! Come, let us be moving. Kasper is upstairs waiting. I ordered\nhim to lay the breakfast in your room; I thought we should be more\ncomfortable there. Good-bye for the present, doctor.\"\n\n\"Are you not coming up with us?\" asked Sperver.\n\n\"No, I am going to tell the countess that the Baron de Zimmer-Bluderich\nbegs the honour to thank her in person before he leaves the castle.\"\n\n\"The Baron de Zimmer?\"\n\n\"Yes, that stranger who came yesterday in the middle of the night.\"\n\n\"Well, you must make haste.\"\n\n\"Yes, I shall not be long. Before you have done uncorking the bottles\nI shall be with you again.\"\n\nAnd he hobbled away as fast as he could.\n\nThe mention of breakfast had given a different turn to Sperver's\nthoughts.\n\n\"Exactly so,\" he observed, turning back; \"the best way to drown all\nyour cares is to drink a draught of good wine. I am very glad we are\ngoing to breakfast in my room. Under those great high vaults in the\nfencing-school, sitting round a small table, you feel just like\nmice nibbling a nut in a corner of a big church. Here we are, Fritz.\nJust listen to the wind whistling through the arrow-slits. In\nhalf-an-hour there will be a storm.\"\n\nHe pushed the door open; and Kasper, who was only drumming with his\nfingers upon the window-panes, seemed very glad to see us. That little\nman had flaxen hair and a snub nose. Sperver had made him his factotum;\nit was he who took to pieces and cleaned his guns, mended the\nriding-horses' harness, fed the dogs in his absence, and superintended in\nthe kitchen the preparation of his favourite dishes. On grand occasions\nhe was outrider. He now stood with a napkin over his arm, and was gravely\nuncorking the long-necked bottle of Rhenish.\n\n\"Kasper,\" said his master, as soon as he had surveyed this satisfactory\nstate of things--\"Kasper, I was very well pleased with you yesterday;\neverything was excellent; the roast kid, the chicken, and the fish. I\nlike fair-play, and when a man has done his duty I like to tell him so.\nTo-day I am quite as well satisfied. The boar's head looks excellent with\nits white-wine sauce; so does the crayfish soup. Isn't it your opinion\ntoo, Fritz?\"\n\nI assented.\n\n\"Well,\" said Sperver, \"since it is so, you shall have the honour of\nfilling our glasses. I mean to raise you step by step, for you are a very\ndeserving fellow.\"\n\nKasper looked down bashfully and blushed; he seemed to enjoy his master's\npraises.\n\nWe took our places, and I was wondering at this quondam poacher, who in\nyears gone by was content to cook his own potatoes in his cottage, now\nassuming all the airs of a great seigneur. Had he been born Lord of\nNideck he could not have put on a more noble and dignified attitude at\ntable. A single glance brought Kasper to his side, made him bring such\nand such a bottle, or bring the dish he required.\n\nWe were just going to attack the boar's head when Master Tobias\nappeared in person, followed by no less a personage than the Baron of\nZimmer-Bluderich, attended by his groom.\n\nWe rose from our seats. The young baron advanced to meet us with head\nuncovered. It was a noble-looking head, pale and haughty, with a\nsurrounding of fine dark hair. He stopped before Sperver.\n\n\"Monsieur,\" said he in that pure Saxon accent which no other dialect can\napproach, \"I am come to ask you for information as to this locality.\nMadame la Comtesse de Nideck tells me that no one knows these mountains\nso well as yourself.\"\n\n\"That is quite true, monseigneur, and I am quite at your service.\"\n\n\"Circumstances of great urgency oblige me to start in the midst of the\nstorm,\" replied the baron, pointing to the window-panes thickly covered\nwith flakes of snow. \"I must reach Wald Horn, six leagues from this\nplace!\"\n\n\"That will be a hard matter, my lord, for all the roads are blocked up\nwith snow.\"\n\n\"I am aware of that, but necessity obliges.\"\n\n\"You must have a guide, then. I will go, if you will allow me, to Sebalt\nKraft, the head huntsman at Nideck. He knows the mountains almost as well\nas I do.\"\n\n\"I am much obliged to you for your kind offers, and I am very grateful,\nbut still I cannot accept them. Your instructions will be quite\nsufficient.\"\n\nSperver bowed, then advancing to a window, he opened it wide. A furious\nblast of wind rushed in, driving the whirling snow as far as the\ncorridor, and slammed the door with a crash.\n\nI remained by my chair, leaning on its back. Kasper slunk into a corner.\nSperver and the baron, with his groom, stood at the open window.\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" said Sperver with a loud voice to make himself heard above\nthe howling winds, and with arm extended, \"you see the country mapped out\nbefore you. If the weather was fair I would take you up into the tower,\nand then we could see the whole of the Black Forest at our feet, but it\nis no use now. Here you can see the peak of the Altenberg. Farther on\nbehind that white ridge you may see the Wald Horn, beaten by a furious\nstorm. You must make straight for the Wald Horn. From the summit of the\nrock, which seems formed like a mitre, and is called Roche Fendue, you\nwill see three peaks, the Behrenkopp, the Geierstein, and the Trielfels.\nIt is by this last one at the right that you must proceed. There is a\ntorrent across the valley of the Rhethal, but it must be frozen now. In\nany case, if you can get no farther, you will find on your left, on\nfollowing the bank, a cavern half-way up the hill, called Roche Creuse.\nYou can spend the night there, and to-morrow very likely, if the wind\nfalls, you will see the Wald Horn before you. If you are lucky enough to\nmeet with a charcoal-burner, he might, perhaps, show you where there is a\nford over the stream; but I doubt whether one will be found anywhere on\nsuch a day as this. There are none from our neighbourhood. Only be\ncareful to go right round the base of the Behrenkopp, for you could not\nget down the other side. It is a precipice.\"\n\nDuring these observations I was watching Sperver, whose clear, energetic\ntones indicated the different points in the road with the greatest\nprecision, and I watched, too, the young baron, who was listening with\nthe closest attention. No obstacle seemed to alarm him. The old groom\nseemed not less bent upon the enterprise.\n\nJust as they were leaving the window a momentary light broke through the\ngrey snow-clouds--just one of those moments when the eddying wind lays\nhold of the falling clouds of snow and flings them back again like\nfloating garments of white. Then for a moment there was a glimpse of the\ndistance. The three peaks stood out behind the Altenberg. The description\nwhich Sperver had given of invisible objects became visible for a few\nmoments; then the air again was veiled in ghostly clouds of flying snow.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said the baron. \"Now I have seen the point I am to make for;\nand, thanks to your explanations, I hope to reach it.\"\n\nSperver bowed without answering. The young man and his servant, having\nsaluted us, retired slowly and gravely.\n\nGideon shut the window, and addressing Master Tobias and me, said--\n\n\"The deuce must be in the man to start off in such horrible weather as\nthis. I could hardly turn out a wolf on such a day as this. However, it\nis their business, not mine. I seem to remember that young man's face,\nand his servant's too. Now let us drink! Maitre Tobie, your health!\"\n\nI had gone to the window, and as the Baron Zimmer and his groom mounted\non horseback in the middle of the courtyard, in spite of the snow which\nwas filling the air, I saw at the left in a turret, pierced with long\nGothic windows, the pale countenance of Odile directed long and anxiously\ntowards the young man.\n\n\"Halloo, Fritz! what are you doing?\"\n\n\"I am only looking at those strangers' horses.\"\n\n\"Oh, the Wallachians! I saw them this morning in the stable. They are\nsplendid animals.\"\n\nThe horsemen galloped away at full speed, and the curtain in the\nturret-window dropped.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\nSeveral uneventful days followed. My life at Nideck was becoming dull\nand monotonous. Every morning there was the doleful bugle-call of the\nhuntsman, whose occupation was gone; then came a visit to the count;\nafter that breakfast, with Sperver's interminable speculations upon the\nBlack Plague, the incessant gossiping and chattering of Marie Lagoutte,\nMaitre Tobias, and all that pack of idle servants, who had nothing to do\nbut eat and drink, smoke, and go to sleep. The only man who had any kind\nof individual existence was Knapwurst, who sat buried up to the tip of\nhis red nose in old chronicles all the day long, careless of the cold so\nlong as there was anything left to find out in his curious researches.\n\nMy weariness of all this may easily be imagined. Ten times had Sperver\ntaken me over the stables and the kennels; the dogs were beginning to\nknow me. I knew by heart all the coarse pleasantries of the major-domo\nover his bottles and Marie Lagoutte's invariable replies. Sebalt's\nmelancholy was infecting me; I would gladly have blown a little on his\nhorn to tell the mountains of my _ennui_, and my eyes were incessantly\ndirected towards Fribourg.\n\nStill the disorder of Yeri-Hans, lord of Nideck, was taking its usual\ncourse, and this gave my only occupation any serious interest. All the\nparticulars which Sperver had made me acquainted with appeared clearly\nbefore me; sometimes the count, waking up with a start, would half rise,\nand supported on his elbow, with neck outstretched and haggard eyes,\nwould mutter, \"She is coming, she is coming!\"\n\nThen Gideon would shake his head and ascend the signal-tower, but neither\nright nor left could the Black Plague be discovered.\n\nAfter long reflection upon this strange malady I had come to the\nconclusion that the sufferer was insane. The strange influence that the\nold hag exercised over him, his alternate phases of madness and lucidity,\nall confirmed me in this view.\n\nMedical men who have given especial attention to the subject of mental\naberrations are well aware that periodical madness is of not unfrequent\noccurrence. In some cases the illness appears several times in the year,\nin others at only particular seasons of the year. I know at Fribourg an\nold lady who for thirty years past has regularly presented herself at the\ndoor of the asylum. At her own request they place her in confinement;\nthen the unhappy woman every night passes through the terrible scenes of\nthe French Revolution, of which she was a witness in her youth. She\ntrembles in the hands of the executioner; she fancies herself drenched\nwith the blood of the victims; she weeps and cries aloud incessantly. In\nthe course of a few weeks the mind returns to its wonted seat, and she is\nrestored to liberty with the full expectation that she will return again\nin a year.\n\n\"The Count of Nideck is suffering from a similar attack,\" I said;\n\"unknown chains unite his fate with that of the Black Plague. Who can\ntell?\" thought I; \"that woman once was young, perhaps beautiful!\"\n\nAnd my imagination, once launched, carried me into the interesting\nregions of romance; but I was careful to tell no one what I thought. If I\nhad opened out those conjectures to Sperver he would never have forgiven\nme for imagining that there could have been any intimacy between his\nmaster and the Black Plague; and as for Mademoiselle Odile, I dared not\nsuggest insanity to her.\n\nThe poor young lady was evidently most unhappy. Her refusal to marry had\nso embittered the count against her that he could scarcely endure to have\nher in his presence. He bitterly reproached her with her ingratitude and\ndisobedience, and expatiated upon the cruelty of ungrateful children.\nSometimes even violent curses followed his daughter's visits. Things at\nlast were so bad that I thought myself obliged to interfere. I therefore\nwaited one evening on the countess in the antechamber and entreated her\nto relinquish her personal attendance upon her father. But here arose,\ncontrary to all expectations, quite an unforeseen obstacle. In spite of\nall my entreaties she steadily insisted on watching by her father and\nnursing him as she had done hitherto.\n\n\"It is my duty,\" she repeated, \"and no arguments will shake my purpose,\"\nshe said firmly.\n\n\"Madam,\" I replied as a last effort, \"the medical profession, too, has\nits duties, and an honourable man must fulfil them even to harshness and\ncruelty; your presence is killing your father.\"\n\nI shall remember all my life the sudden change in the expression of the\nface of Odile.\n\nMy solemn words of warning seemed to cause the blood to flow back to the\nheart; her face became white as marble, and her large blue eyes, fixed\nsteadily upon mine, seemed to read into the most secret recesses of my\nsoul.\n\n\"Is that possible, sir?\" she stammered; \"upon your honour, do you declare\nthis? Tell me truly!\"\n\n\"Yes, madam, upon my honour.\"\n\nThere was a long and painful silence, only broken at last by these words\nin a low voice:--\n\n\"Let God's will be done!\"\n\nAnd with downcast eyes she withdrew.\n\nThe day after this scene, about eight in the morning, I was pacing up and\ndown in Hugh Lupus's tower, thinking of the count's illness, of which I\ncould not foretell the issue--and I was thinking too of my patients at\nFribourg, whom I might lose by too prolonged an absence--when three\ndiscreet taps upon my door turned my thoughts into another channel.\n\n\"Come in!\"\n\nThe door opened, and Marie Lagoutte stood within, dropping me a low\ncurtsey.\n\nThis old dame's visit put me out, and I was going to beg her to postpone\nher visit, when something mysterious in her countenance caught my\nattention. She had thrown over her shoulders a red-and-green shawl;\nshe was biting her lips, with her head down, and as soon as she had\nclosed the door she opened it again, and peeped out, to make sure that\nno one had followed her.\n\n\"What does she want with me?\" I thought; \"what is the meaning of all\nthese precautions?\"\n\nAnd I was quite puzzled.\n\n\"Monsieur le Docteur,\" said the worthy lady, advancing towards me, \"I beg\nyour pardon for disturbing you so early in the morning, but I have a very\nserious thing to tell you.\"\n\n\"Pray tell me all about it, then.\"\n\n\"It is the count.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; you know that I sat up with him last night.\"\n\n\"I know. Pray sit down.\"\n\nShe sat before me in a great arm-chair, and I could not help noticing the\nenergetic character of her head, which on the evening of my arrival at\nthe castle had only seemed to me grotesque.\n\n\"Doctor,\" she resumed after a short pause and with her dark eyes upon me,\n\"you know I am not timid or easily frightened. I have seen so many\ndreadful things in the course of my life that I am astonished at nothing\nnow. When you have seen Marengo, Austerlitz, and Moscow, there is nothing\nleft that can put you out.\"\n\n\"I am sure of that, ma'am.\"\n\n\"I don't want to boast; that is not my reason for telling you this; but\nit is to show you that I am not an escaped lunatic, and that you may\nbelieve me when I tell you what I say I have seen.\"\n\nThis was becoming interesting.\n\n\"Well,\" the good woman resumed, \"last night, between nine and ten, just\nas I was going to bed, Offenloch came in and said to me, 'Marie, you will\nhave to sit up with the count to-night.' At first I felt surprised.\n'What! is not mademoiselle going to sit up?' 'No, mademoiselle is poorly,\nand you will have to take her place.' Poor girl, she is ill; I knew that\nwould be the end of it, I told her so a hundred times; but it is always\nso. Young people won't believe those who are older; and then, it is her\nFather. So I took my knitting, said good night to Tobias, and went into\nmonseigneur's room. Sperver was there waiting for me, and went to bed; so\nthere I was, all alone.\"\n\nHere the good woman stopped a moment, indulged in a pinch of snuff, and\ntried to arrange her thoughts. I listened with eager attention for what\nwas coming.\n\n\"About half-past ten,\" she went on, \"I was sitting near the bed, and from\ntime to time drew the curtain to see what the count was doing; he made no\nmovement; he was sleeping as quietly as a child. It was all right until\neleven o'clock, then I began to feel tired. An old woman, sir, cannot\nhelp herself--she must drop off to sleep in spite of everything. I did\nnot think anything was going to happen, and I said to myself, 'He is sure\nto sleep till daylight.' About twelve the wind went down; the big windows\nhad been rattling, but now they were quiet. I got up to see if anything\nwas stirring outside. It was all as black as ink; so I came back to my\narm-chair. I took another look at the patient; I saw that he had not\nstirred an inch, and I took up my knitting; but in a few minutes more I\nbegan nodding, nodding, and I dropped right off to sleep. I could not\nhelp it, the arm-chair was so soft and the room was so warm, who could\nhave helped it? I had been asleep an hour, I suppose, when a sharp\ncurrent of wind woke me up. I opened my eyes, and what do you think I\nsaw? The tall middle window was wide open, the curtains were drawn, and\nthere in the opening stood the count in his white night-dress, right on\nthe window-sill.\"\n\n\"The count?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Nay, it is impossible; he cannot move!\"\n\n\"So I thought too; but that is just how I saw him. He was standing with\na torch in his hand; the night was so dark and the air so still that the\nflame stood up quite straight.\"\n\nI gazed upon Marie Anne with astonishment.\n\n\"First of all,\" she said, after a moment's silence, \"to see that long,\nthin man standing there with his bare legs, I can assure you it had such\nan effect upon me! I wanted to scream; but then I thought, 'Perhaps he is\nwalking in his sleep; if I shout he will wake up, he will jump down, and\nthen--' So I did not say a word, but I stared and stared till I saw him\nlift up his torch in the air over his head, then he lowered it, then up\nagain and down again, and he did this three times, just like a man making\nsignals; then he threw it down upon the ramparts, shut the window, drew\nthe curtains, passed before me without speaking, and got into bed\nmuttering some words I could not make out.\"\n\n\"Are you sure you saw all that, ma'am?\"\n\n\"Quite sure.\"\n\n\"Well, it is strange.\"\n\n\"I know it is; but it is true. Ah! it did astonish me at first, and then\nwhen I saw him get into bed again and cross his hands over his breast\njust as if nothing had happened, I said to myself, 'Marie Anne, you have\nhad a bad dream; it cannot be true;' and so I went to the window, and\nthere I saw the torch still burning; it had fallen into a bush near the\nthird gate, and there it was shining just like a spark of fire. There was\nno denying it.\"\n\nMarie Lagoutte looked at me a few moments without speaking.\n\n\"You may be sure, doctor, that after that I had no more sleep; I sat\nwatching and ready for anything. Every moment I fancied I could hear\nsomething behind the arm-chair. I was not afraid--it was not that--but\nI was uneasy and restless. When morning came, very early I ran and woke\nOffenloch and sent him to the count. Passing down the corridor I noticed\nthat there was no torch in the first ring, and I came down and found it\nnear the narrow path to the Schwartzwald; there it is!\"\n\nAnd the good woman took from under her apron the end of a torch, which\nshe threw upon the table.\n\nI was confounded.\n\nHow had that man, whom I had seen the night before feeble and exhausted,\nbeen able to rise, walk, lift up and close down that heavy window? What\nwas the meaning of that signal by night? I seemed to myself to witness\nthis strange, mysterious scene, and my thoughts went off at once to the\nBlack Plague. When I aroused myself from this contemplation of my own\nthoughts, I saw Marie Lagoutte rising and preparing to go.\n\n\"You have done quite right,\" I said as I took her to the door, \"to tell\nme of these things, and I am much obliged to you. Have you told any one\nelse of this adventure?\"\n\n\"No one, sir; such things are only to be told to the priest and the\ndoctor.\"\n\n\"Come, I see you are a very wise, sensible woman.\"\n\nThese words were exchanged at the door of my tower. At this moment\nSperver appeared at the end of the gallery, followed by his friend\nSebalt.\n\n\"Fritz!\" he shouted, \"I have got news to tell you.\"\n\n\"Oh, come!\" thought I, \"more news! This is a strange condition of\nthings.\"\n\nMarie Lagoutte had disappeared, and the huntsman and his friend entered\nthe tower.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\nOn the countenance of Sperver was an expression of suppressed wrath, on\nthat of his companion bitter irony. This worthy sportsman, whose woeful\nphysiognomy had struck me on my first arrival at Nideck, was as thin and\ndry as a lath. His hunting-jacket was girded tightly about him by his\nbelt, from which hung a hunting-knife with a horn handle; long leathern\ngaiters came above his knees; the horn went over his shoulder from\nright to left, the wide-expanded opening under his arm; on his head a\nwide-brimmed hat, with a heron's plume in the buckle. His profile, coming\nto a point in a reddish tuft, looked not unlike a goat's.\n\n\"Yes,\" cried Sperver, \"I have got strange things to tell you.\"\n\nHe threw himself in a chair, seizing his head between his clenched hands,\nwhile dismal Sebalt calmly drew his horn over his head and laid it on the\ntable.\n\n\"Now, Sebalt,\" cried Gideon, \"speak out.\"\n\n\"The witch is hanging about the castle.\"\n\nThis piece of intelligence would have failed to interest me before seeing\nMarie Lagoutte, but now it struck more forcibly. There certainly was some\nmysterious connection between the lord of Nideck and that old woman. I\nknew nothing of the nature of this connection, and I felt that, at\nwhatever cost, I must know it.\n\n\"Just wait a moment, friends,\" said I to Sperver and his comrade. \"I want\nto know, first of all, where does this Black Pest come from?\"\n\nSperver stared at me with astonishment.\n\n\"Come from? Who can tell that?\"\n\n\"Very well, you can't. But when does she come within sight of Nideck?\"\n\n\"As I told you, ten days before Christmas, at the same time every year.\"\n\n\"And how long does she stay?\"\n\n\"A fortnight or three weeks.\"\n\n\"Is she ever seen before? Not even on her way? Nor after?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then we shall have to catch her, seize upon her,\" I cried. \"This is\ncontrary to nature. We must find out where she comes from, what she wants\nhere, what she is.\"\n\n\"Lay hold of her!\" exclaimed Sperver; \"seize her! Do you mean it?\" and he\nshook his head. \"Fritz, your advice is good enough in its way, but it is\neasier said than done. I could very easily send a bullet after her,\nalmost at any time; but the count won't consent to that measure; and as\nfor catching in any other way than by powder and shot, why, you had\nbetter go first and catch a squirrel by the tail! Listen to Sebalt's\nstory, and you shall judge for yourself.\"\n\nThe master of the hounds, sitting on the table with his long legs\ncrossed, fixed his eyes mournfully upon me, and began his tale.\n\n\"This morning, as I was coming down from the Altenberg, I followed the\nhollow road to Nideck. The snow filled it up entirely. I was going on my\nway, thinking of nothing particular, when I noticed a foot-track; it was\ndeep down, and went across the road. The person had come down the bank\nand gone up on the other side. It was not a soft hare's foot, which\nhardly leaves an impression, it was not forked like a wild boar's track,\nit was not like a cloven hoof, such as the wolf's--it was a deep hole. I\nstopped and stooped down, and cleared away the loose snow that fell\nround, and came upon the very track of the Black Pest!\"\n\n\"Are you sure it was that?\"\n\n\"Of course I am. I know the old woman by her foot better than by her\nfigure, for I always go, sir, with my eyes on the ground. I know\neverybody by their tracks; and as for this one, a child might know it.\"\n\n\"What, then, distinguishes this foot so particularly?\"\n\n\"It is so small that you could cover it with your hand; it is finely\nshaped, the heel is rather long, the outline clean, the great toe lies\nclose to the other toes, and they are all as fine as if they were in a\nlady's slipper. It is a lovely foot. Twenty years ago I should have\nfallen in love with a foot like that. Whenever I come across it, it has\nsuch an effect upon me! No one would believe that such a foot could\nbelong to the Black Plague.\"\n\nAnd the poor fellow, joining his hands together, contemplated the stone\nfloor with doleful eyes.\n\n\"Well, Sebalt, what next?\" asked Sperver impatiently.\n\n\"Ah, yes, to be sure! Well, I recognised that track and started off in\npursuit. I was hoping to catch the creature in her lair, but I will tell\nyou the way she took me. I climbed up the bank by the roadside, only two\ngunshots from Nideck. I go along the hill, keeping the track on my right;\nit led along the side of the wood in the Rhethal. All at once it jumps\nover the ditch into the wood. I stuck to it, but, happening to look a\nlittle to my left, I saw another track which had, been following the\nBlack Plague. I stopped short: was it Sperver's? or Kasper Trumpfs? or\nwhose? I came to it, and you may fancy how astounded I was when I saw\nthat it was nobody from our place! I know every foot in the Schwartzwald\nfrom Fribourg to Nideck. That foot was like none of ours. It must have\ncome from a distance. The boot--for it was a kind of well-made, soft\ngentleman's boot, with spurs, which leave a little print behind them--the\nboot was not round at the toes, but square. The sole was thin, and bent\nwith every step, and it had no nails in it. The walk was rapid, and the\nshort steps were like those of a young man of twenty to five-and-twenty.\nI noticed the stitches in the side leather at once, and I think I never\nsaw finer.\"\n\n\"Who can this be?\" Sperver exclaimed.\n\nSebalt raised his shoulders and extended his hands, but said nothing.\n\n\"Who can have any object in following the old woman?\" I asked Sperver.\n\n\"No one on earth can tell,\" was the reply.\n\nAnd so we sat a few minutes meditating over what we had heard.\n\nAt last he went on again with his narrative:--\n\n\"I kept following the track; it went up the next ridge through the\npine-forest. When it doubled round the Koche Fendue I said to myself,\n'Ah, you accursed plague! If there was much game of your sort there would\nnot be much sport; it would be preferable to work like a nigger!' So we\nall three arrive--the two tracks and I--at the top of the Schneeberg.\nThere the wind had been blowing hard; the snow was knee-deep--but no\nmatter! I must get on! I got to the edge of the torrent of the Steinbach,\nand there I lost the track. I halted, and I saw that, after trying up and\ndown in several directions, the gentleman's boots had gone down the\nTiefenbach. That was a bad sign. I looked along the other side of the\ntorrent, but there was no appearance of a track there--none at all! The\nold hag had paddled up and down the stream to throw any one off the scent\nwho should try to follow her. Where was I to go to?--right, or left, or\nstraight on? Not knowing, I came back to Nideck.\"\n\n\"You haven't told us about her breakfast,\" said Sperver.\n\n\"No, I was forgetting. At the foot of Roche Fendue I saw there had been a\nfire; there was a black place; I laid my hand upon it, thinking it might\nbe warm, which would have proved that the Black Plague had not gone far;\nbut it was as cold as ice. Close by I saw a wire trap in the bushes. It\nseems the creature knows how to snare game. A hare had been caught in it;\nthe print of its body was still plain, lying flat in the snow. The witch\nhad lighted the fire to cook it; she had had a good breakfast, I'll be\nbound.\"\n\nAt this Sperver cried indignantly--\n\n\"Just fancy that old witch living on meat while so many honest folks in\nour villages have nothing better than potatoes to eat! That's what upsets\nme, Fritz! Ah! if I had but--\"\n\nBut his thoughts remained untold; he turned deadly pale, and all three of\nus, in a moment, stood rigid and motionless, staring with horror at each\nother's ghastly countenances.\n\nA yell--the howling cry of the wolf in the long, cold days of winter--the\ncry which none can imagine who has not heard the most fearful and\nharrowing of all bestial sounds--that fearful cry was echoing through the\ncastle not far from us! It rose up the spiral staircase, it filled the\nmassive building as if the hungry, savage beast was at our door!\n\nTravellers speak of the deep roar of the lion troubling the silence of\nthe night amidst the rocky deserts of Africa; but while the tropical\nregions, sultry and baked, resound with the vibrations of the mighty\nvoice of the savage monarch of the desert, making the air tremble with\nthe distant thunder of his awful cry, the vast snowy deserts of the North\ntoo have their characteristic cry--a strange, lamentable yell that seems\nto suit the character of the dreary winter scene. That voice of the\nNorthern desert is the howl of the wolf!\n\nThe instant after this awful sound had broken upon the silence followed\nanother formidable body of discordant sounds--the baying and yelling of\nsixty hounds--answering from the ramparts of Nideck. The whole pack gave\nvoice at the same moment--the deep bay of the bloodhound, the sharp cry\nof the pointer, the plaintive yelpings of the spaniels, and the\nmelancholy howl of the mastiffs, all mingling in confusion with the\nrattling of dog-chains, the shaking of the kennels under the struggles\nof the hounds to get loose; and, dominating over all, the long, dismal,\nprolonged note of the wolf's monotonous howl; his was the leading part\nin this horrible canine concert!\n\nSperver sprang from his seat and ran out upon the platform to see if a\nwolf had dropped into the moat. But no--the howling came from neither.\nThen turning to us he cried--\n\n\"Fritz! Sebalt!--come, come quickly!\"\n\nWe flew down the steps four at a time and rushed into the fencing-school.\nHere we heard the cry of the wolf alone, prolonged beneath the echoing\narches the distant barking and yelling of the pack became almost\ninaudible in the distance; the dogs were hoarse with rage and excitement,\ntheir chains were getting entangled together. Perhaps they were\nstrangling each other.\n\nSperver drew the keen blade of his hunting-knife. Sebalt did the same;\nthey preceded me down the gallery.\n\nThen the fearful sounds became our guide to the sick man's room. Sperver\nspoke no more; he hurried forward. Sebalt stretched his long legs. I felt\na shuddering horror creep through my whole frame--a horrible presentiment\nof something shocking and abominable came over us.\n\nAs we approached the apartments of the count we met the whole household\nafoot--the gamekeepers, the huntsmen, the kennel-keepers, the scullions\nwere all mingled and jostling each other, asking--\n\n\"What is the matter? Where are those cries coming from?\"\n\nWithout stopping we ran into the passage which led into the count's\nbedroom, where we met poor Marie Lagoutte, who alone had had the courage\nto penetrate thither before us. She was holding in her arms the young\ncountess, who had fainted, her head falling back, her hair flowing down\nbehind her; she was carrying her away as fast as she could.\n\nWe passed her so rapidly that we scarcely had time to witness this sad\nsight. But it has since returned to my memory, and the pale face of Odile\nlying on the ample shoulders of the good servant still makes a vivid\nimpression upon my memory, resembling the poor lamb presenting its throat\nto the knife without a complaint, dying with fear before the stroke\nfalls.\n\nAt last we had reached the count's chamber.\n\nThe howling came from behind his door.\n\nWe stole fearful glances at one another without attempting to account for\nthe hideous noise, or explaining the presence of such a wild guest in the\nhouse. Indeed, we had no time; our ideas were in dire and utter\nconfusion.\n\nSperver hastily pushed the door open, and, knife in hand, was darting\ninto the room; but he stood arrested on the threshold motionless as a\nstone.\n\nNever have I seen such a picture of horror as he displayed standing\nrooted there, with his eyes starting from his head, and his mouth wide\nopen and gasping for breath.\n\nI gazed over his shoulder, and the sight that met my eyes made the blood\nrun chill as snow in my veins.\n\nThe lord of Nideck, crouching on all fours upon his bed, with his arms\nbending forward, his head carried low, his eyes glaring with fierce\nfires, was uttering loud, protracted howlings!\n\nHe was the wolf!\n\nThat low receding forehead, that sharp-pointed face, that foxy-looking\nbeard, bristling off both cheeks; the long meagre figure, the sinewy\nlimbs, the face, the cry. The attitude, declared the presence of the wild\nbeast half-hidden, half-revealed under a human mask!\n\nAt times he would stop for a second and listen attentively with head\nawry, and then the crimson hangings would tremble with the quivering of\nhis limbs, like foliage shaken by the wind; then the melancholy wail\nwould open afresh.\n\nSperver, Sebalt, and I stood nailed to the floor; we held our breath,\npetrified with fear.\n\nSuddenly the count stopped. As a wild beast scents the wind, he lifted\nhis head and listened again.\n\nThere, there, far away, down among the thick fir forests, whitened with\ndense patches of snow, a cry was heard in reply--weak at first; then the\nsound rose and swelled in a long protracted howl, drowning the feebler\nefforts of the hounds: it was the she-wolf answering the wolf!\n\nSperver, turning round awe-stricken, his countenance pale as ashes,\npointed to the mountain, and murmured low--\n\n\"Listen--there's the witch!\"\n\nAnd the count still crouching motionless, but with his head now raised\nin the attitude of attention, his neck outstretched, his eyes burning,\nseemed to understand the meaning of that distant voice, lost amidst the\npasses and peaks of the Schwartzwald, and a kind of fearful joy gleamed\nin his savage features.\n\nAt this moment, Sperver, unable or unwilling to restrain himself any\nlonger, cried in a voice broken with emotion--\n\n\"Count of Nideck--what are you doing?\"\n\nThe count fell back thunderstruck. We rushed into the room to his help.\nIt was time. The third attack had commenced, and it was terrible to\nwitness!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\nThe lord of Nideck was in a dying state.\n\nWhat can science do in presence of the great mortal strife between\nDeath and Life? At the supreme hour, when the invisible wrestlers are\nwrithed together body to body and limb to limb, panting, each in turn\noverthrowing and overthrown, what avails the healing art? One can but\nwatch, and tremble, and listen!\n\nAt times the struggle seems suspended--a truce has sounded; Life has\nretired into her hold. She is resting; she is collecting the courage of\ndespair. But the relentless enemy beats at the gates; he bursts in; then\nLife springs to the rescue, and again grapples with her adversary. The\nstrife is renewed with fresh fuel added to the fire of mortal energy as\nthe fatal issue draws closer and nearer.\n\nAnd the exhausted patient, himself the field of battle, weltering in the\ncold sweat of death, the eye set and the arm powerless, can do nothing\nfor himself. His breathing, sometimes short, broken, and distressing,\nsometimes long, deep, laboured, and heavy, indicates the varying phases\nof this dreadful struggle.\n\nThe bystanders watch each other's faces, and they think, \"The day will\ncome when we in our turns shall be the field of the same strife, and\nvictorious Death will bear us away into the grave, his den, as the spider\ncarries away the fly.\" But the true life, the only life, the soul,\nspreading her immortal wings, will speed her flight to another world,\nwith the exulting cry, \"I have fought the good fight. I have finished my\ncourse. I have kept the faith!\" And Death, disappointed of its prey, will\nlook up at the emancipated being, unable to follow, and holding in its\nclutches only a cold and decaying corpse, soon to be a handful of dust.\n\"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?\" O best and\nonly consolation, the hope and belief in the final triumph of justice,\nthe certainty of immortal life through Jesus Christ the Saviour! Cruel\nindeed is he who would rob man of the chief brightness and glory of life!\n\nTowards midnight the Count of Nideck seemed almost gone; the agony of\ndeath was at hand; the broken, weakened pulse indicated the sinking of\nthe vital powers; then, it might return to a more active state; but there\nseemed no hope.\n\nMy only duty left was to stay and see this unhappy man die.\n\nI was exhausted with fatigue and anxiety; whatever art could do I had\ntried.\n\nI told Sperver to sit up, and close his master's eyes in death. The poor\nfaithful fellow was in the utmost distress; he reproached himself with\nhis involuntary cry--\"Count of Nideck--what are you doing?\" and tore his\nhair in bitter repentance.\n\nI went away alone to Hugh Lupus's tower, having had scarcely any time to\ntake food, but I did not feel the want of it.\n\nThere was a bright fire on the hearth; I threw myself dressed upon the\nbed, and sleep soon came to relieve my weight of apprehension--that heavy\nsleep broken by the consciousness that you may any minute be awoke by\ntears and lamentations.\n\nI was sleeping thus, with my face turned towards the fire, and as it\noften happens, the flame fitfully rising, and falling threw a fluttering,\nflickering light like those of ruddy flapping wings against the walls,\nand wearied still more my dropping eyelids.\n\nLost in a dreamy slumber, I was half opening my eyes to see the cause of\nthese alternate lights and shadows, but the strangest sight surprised me.\n\nClose by the hearth, hardly revealed by the feeble light of a few dying\nembers, I recognised with dismay the dark profile of the Black Plague!\n\nShe sat upon a low stool, and was evidently warming herself.\n\nAt first I thought myself deceived by my senses, which would have been\nnatural enough after the exciting scenes of the last few days; I raised\nmyself upon my elbow, gazing with my eyes starting with fear and horror.\n\nIt was she indeed! I lay horrified, for there she sat calm and immovable,\nwith her hands clasped over her skinny knees, just as I had seen her in\nthe snow, with her long scraggy neck outstretched, her hooked nose, her\ncompressed lips.\n\nHow had the Black Pest got here? How had she found her way into this high\ntower crowning the dangerous precipices? Everything that Sperver had told\nme of this mysterious being seemed to be coming true! And now the\nunaccountable behaviour of Lieverle, growling so fiercely against the\nwall, seemed clear as the daylight. I huddled myself close up into the\nalcove, hardly daring to breathe, and staring upon this motionless\nprofile just as a mouse out of its hole fixes its paralysed stare upon\nthe cat that is watching for it.\n\nThe old woman stirred no more than the rock-hewn pillars on each side of\nthe hearthstone, and her lips were mumbling inarticulate sounds.\n\nMy heart was palpitating, my fears increased momentarily during the long\nsilence, made more startling by the motionless supernatural figure that\nsat there before me.\n\nThis had lasted a quarter of an hour when, the fire catching a splinter\nof fir-wood, a flash of light broke out, the shaving twisted and flamed,\nand a few rays of light flared to the end of the room.\n\nThat luminous jet was sufficient to show me that the creature was clothed\nin an old dress of rich purple silk as stiff as cardboard, with a violet\npattern; there was a massive bracelet upon her left wrist, and a gold\narrow stuck through her thick grey hair twisted over the back of her\nhead. It was like an apparition out of the ages past.\n\nStill the Plague could have had no hostile intentions towards me, or\nshe might easily have taken advantage of my sleep to have put them in\nexecution.\n\nThat thought was beginning to give me some confidence, when suddenly she\nrose from her seat and with slow steps approached my bed, holding in her\nhand a torch which she had just lighted. I then observed that her eyes\nwere fixed and haggard.\n\nI made an effort to rise and cry aloud, but not a muscle of my body would\nobey my wishes, not a breath came to my lips; and the old woman, bending\nover me between the curtains, fixed her stony stare upon me with a\nstrange unearthly smile. I wanted to call for help, I wanted to drive her\nfrom me, but her petrifying stare seemed to fascinate and paralyse me,\njust as that of the serpent fixes the little bird motionless before it.\n\nDuring this speechless contemplation minutes seemed like hours. What was\nshe about to do? I was ready for any event.\n\nSuddenly she turned her head, went round upon her heel, listened, strode\nacross the room, and opened the door.\n\nAt last I recovered a little courage; an effort of the will brought me to\nmy feet as if I were acted on by a spring; I darted after her footsteps;\nshe with one hand was holding her torch on high, and with the other kept\nthe door open.\n\nI was about to seize her by the hair, when at the end of the long\ngallery, under the Gothic archway of the castle leading to the ramparts,\nI saw--a tall figure.\n\nIt was the Count of Nideck!\n\nThe Count of Nideck, whom I had thought a dying man, clad in a huge\nwolf-skin thrown with its upper jaw projecting grimly over his eyes like\na visor, the formidable claws hanging over each shoulder, and the tail\ndragging behind him along the flags.\n\nHe wore stout heavy shoes, a silver clasp gathered the wolf-skin round\nhis neck, and his whole aspect, but for the ice-cold deathly expression\nof his face, proclaimed the man born for command--the master!\n\nIn the presence of such an imposing personage my ideas became vague and\nconfused. Flight was no longer possible, yet I had the presence of mind\nto throw myself into the embrasure of the window.\n\nThe count entered my room with his eyes fixed on the old woman and his\nfeatures unrelaxed. They spoke to one another in hoarse whispers, so low\nthat I could not distinguish a word. But there was no mistaking their\ngestures. The woman was pointing to the bed.\n\nThey approached the fireplace on tiptoe. There in the dark shadow of the\nrecess at its side the Black Plague, with a horrible smile, unrolled a\nlarge bag.\n\nAs soon as the count saw the bag he made a bound towards the bed and\nkneeled upon it with one knee; there was a shaking of the curtains, his\nbody disappeared beneath their folds, and I could only see one leg still\nresting on the floor, and the wolf's tail undulating irregularly from\nside to side.\n\nThey seemed to be acting a murder in ghastly pantomime. No real scene,\nhowever frightful, could have agitated me more than this mute\nrepresentation of some horrible deed.\n\nThen the old woman ran to his assistance, carrying the bag with her.\nAgain the curtains shook and the shadows crossed the walls; but the most\nhorrible of all was that I fancied I saw a pool of blood creeping across\nthe floor and slowly reaching the hearth. But it was only the snow that\nhad clung to the count's boots, and was melting in the heat.\n\nI was still gazing upon this dark stream, feeling my dry tongue cleave to\nthe roof of my mouth, when there was a great movement; the old woman and\nthe count were stuffing the sheets of the bed into the sack, they were\nthrusting and stamping them in with just the same haste as a dog\nscratching at a hole, then the lord of Nideck flung this unshapely bundle\nover his shoulder and made for the door; a sheet was dragging behind him,\nand the old woman followed him torch in hand. They went across the court.\n\nMy knees were almost giving way under me; they knocked together for fear.\nI prayed for strength.\n\nIn a couple of minutes I was on their footsteps, dragged forward by a\nsudden irresistible impulse.\n\nI crossed the court at a run, and was just going to enter the door of the\ntower when I perceived a deep but narrow pit at my feet, down which went\na winding staircase, and there far below I could see the torch describing\na spiral course around the stone rail like a little star; at last it was\nlost in the distance.\n\nNow I also descended the first steps of this newly-discovered staircase,\ndirecting my course after this distant light; suddenly it vanished. The\nold woman and the count had reached the bottom of the precipice.\nSupported by the stone rail I continued my descent, safe to be able to\nmount again if I found my further progress stopped.\n\nSoon I came to the last step; I looked around me, and discovered on my\nleft hand a narrow streak of moonlight shining under a low door, through\nthe nettles and brambles; I kicked a way through these obstacles,\nclearing the snow away with my feet, and then found that I was at the\nvery foot of the keep--Hugh's donjon tower.\n\nWho would have supposed that such a hole would have led up into the\ncastle? Who had shown it to the old woman? I did not stay to satisfy\nmyself on these points.\n\nThe vast plain lay spread before me bathed in a light almost equal to\nthat of day. On the right lay extended wide the dark line of the Black\nForest with its craggy rocks, its gullies, its passes stretching away as\nfar as the sight could reach.\n\nThe night air was keen and sharp, but perfectly calm, and I felt myself\nawakened to the highest degree, almost as if my senses were volatilised\nby the still and ice-cold air.\n\nMy first examination of the horizon was for the figures of the count\nand his strange companion. I soon distinguished their tall dark forms\nstanding out sharply against the star-spangled purple heavens. I nearly\novertook them at the bottom of the ravine.\n\nThe count was moving with deliberate steps, the imaginary winding-sheet\ndragging slowly after him. There was an automatic precision in the\nmovements of both.\n\nI kept six or eight yards behind them down the hollow road to the\nAltenberg, now in the shade, now in the full light, for the moon was\nshining with astonishing brilliancy. A few clouds floated idly across the\nzenith, seeming to want to clasp her in their long arms, but she ever\neluded their grasp, and her rays, keen as a blade of steel, cut me to the\nmarrow of my bones.\n\nI could have wished to turn back, but some invisible power impelled me\nonwards to follow this funeral procession in pantomime. Even to this day\nI fancy still I can see the rough mountain path through the Black Forest,\nI can hear the crisp snow crackling under foot, and the dead leaves\nrustling in the light north wind; I can see myself following those two\nsilent beings, but I cannot understand what mysterious power drew me in\ntheir footsteps.\n\nAt last we reach the forest, and advance amongst the tall bare-branched,\nbeeches; the dark shadows of their higher boughs intersect the lower\nbranches, and fall broken upon the snow-encumbered road. Sometimes I\nfancy I can hear steps behind me; I turn sharply round, but can see no\none.\n\nWe had just reached the long rocky ridge that forms the crest of the\nAltenberg; behind it flows the torrent of the Schneeberg, but in winter\nno current is visible; scarcely does a mere thread of its blue waters\ntrickle under the thick crust of ice. Here the deep solitude is broken by\nno murmuring brooks, no warblings of birds, no thunder of the waterfall.\nIn the vast unbroken solitudes the awful silence is terrible.\n\nThe Count of Nideck and the old woman found a gap in the face of the\nrock, up which they mounted straight with marvellous celerity, whilst I\nhad to pull myself up by the help of the bushes.\n\nHardly had they reached the ridge of the crags, which came almost to a\npoint, when I was within three yards of them, and I beheld beyond a\ndreadful precipice of which I could not see the bottom. At the left hung\nin the air like a vast sheet the fall of the Schneeberg, a mass of ice.\nThat resemblance to an immense wave taking the precipice at one bound,\nbearing trees on its breast, fringed with the bushes, and winding out the\nlong ivy sprays, which exhibit in their delicate tracery the form of the\nrigid glassy billow; that mere semblance of movement amidst the stillness\nand immovableness of death, and the presence of those two speechless\ncreatures pursuing their ghastly work with automatic precision, added to\nthe terror with which I already trembled.\n\nNature herself seemed to shrink with horror.\n\nThe count had laid down his burden; the old woman and he took it up\ntogether, swung it for a moment over the edge of the precipice, then the\nlong shroud floated over the abyss, and the imaginary murderers in\nsilence bent forward to see it fall.\n\nThat long white sheet floating in the air is still present before my\neyes. It descends, it falls like a wild swan shot in the clouds,\nspreading its wide wings, the long neck thrown back, whirling down to\nearth to die.\n\nThe white burden disappeared in the dark depths of the precipice.\n\nAt last the cloud which I had long seen threatening to cover the moon's\nbright disc veiled her in its steel-blue folds, and her rays ceased to\nshine.\n\nThe old woman, holding the count by the hand and dragging him forward\nwith hurried steps, came for a moment into view.\n\nThe cloud had overshadowed the moon, and I could not move out of their\nway without danger of falling over the precipice.\n\nAfter a few minutes, during which I lay as close as I could, there was a\nrift in the cloud. I looked out again. I stood alone on the point of the\npeak with the snow up to my knees.\n\nFull of horror and apprehension, I descended from my perilous position,\nand ran to the castle in as much consternation as if I had been guilty of\nsome great crime.\n\nAs for the lord of Nideck and his companion, I lost sight of them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nI wandered around the castle of Nideck unable to find the exit from\nwhich I had commenced my melancholy journey.\n\nSo much anxiety and uneasiness were beginning to tell upon my mind; I\nstaggered on, wondering if I was not mad, unable to believe in what I had\nseen, and yet alarmed at the clearness of my own perceptions.\n\nMy mind in confusion passed in review that strange man waving his torch\noverhead in the darkness, howling like a wolf, coldly and accurately\ngoing through all the details of an imaginary murder without the omission\nof one ghastly detail or circumstance, then escaping and committing to\nthe furious torrent the secret of his crime; these things all harassed my\nmind, hurried confusedly past my eyes, and made me feel as if I were\nlabouring under a nightmare.\n\nLost in the snow, I ran to and fro panting and alarmed, and unable to\njudge which way to direct my steps.\n\nAs day drew near the cold became sharper; I shivered, I execrated Sperver\nfor having brought me from Fribourg to bear a part in this hideous\nadventure.\n\nAt last, exhausted, my beard a mass of ice, my ears nearly frostbitten, I\ndiscovered the gate and rang the bell with all my might.\n\nIt was then about four in the morning. Knapwurst made me wait a terribly\nlong time. His little lodge, cut in the rock, remained silent; I thought\nthe little humpbacked wretch would never have done dressing; for of\ncourse I supposed he would be in bed and asleep.\n\nI rang again.\n\nThis time his grotesque figure appeared abruptly, and he cried to me from\nthe door in a fury--\n\n\"Who are you?\"\n\n\"I?--Doctor Fritz.\"\n\n\"Oh, that alters the case,\" and he went back into his lodge for a\nlantern, crossed the outer court where the snow came up to his middle,\nand staring at me through the grating, he exclaimed--\n\n\"I beg your pardon, Doctor Fritz; I thought you would be asleep up there\nin Hugh Lupus's tower. Were _you_ ringing? Now that explains why Sperver\ncame to me about midnight to ask if anybody had gone out. I said no,\nwhich was quite true, for I never saw you going out.\"\n\n\"But pray, Monsieur Knapwurst, do for pity's sake let me in, and I will\ntell you all about that by-and-by.\"\n\n\"Come, come, sir, a little patience.\"\n\nAnd the hunchback, with the slowest deliberation, undid the padlock and\nslipped the bars, whilst my teeth were chattering, and I stood shivering\nfrom head to foot.\n\n\"You are very cold, doctor,\" said the diminutive man, \"and you cannot get\ninto the castle. Sperver has fastened the inside door, I don't know why;\nhe does not usually do so; the outer gate is enough. Come in here and get\nwarm. You won't find my little hole very inviting, though. It is nothing\nbut a sty, but when a man is as cold as you are he is not apt to be\nparticular.\"\n\nWithout replying to his chatter I followed him in as quickly as I could.\n\nWe went into the hut, and in spite of my complete state of numbness, I\ncould not help admiring the state of picturesque disorder in which I\nfound the place. The slate roof leaning against the rock, and resting by\nits other side on a wall not more than six feet high, showed the smoky,\nblackened rafters from end to end.\n\nThe whole edifice consisted of but one apartment, furnished with a very\nuninviting bed, which the dwarf did not often take the trouble to make,\nand two small windows with hexagonal panes, weather-stained with the\nrainbow tints of mother-of-pearl. A large square table filled up the\nmiddle, and it would be difficult to account for that massive oak slab\nbeing got in unless by supposing it to have been there before the hut was\nbuilt.\n\nOn shelves against the wall were rolls of parchment, and old books great\nand small. Wide open on the table lay a fine black-letter volume, with\nilluminations, bound in vellum, clasped and cornered with silver,\napparently a collection of old chronicles. Besides there was nothing but\ntwo leathern arm-chairs, bearing on them the unmistakable impression of\nthe misshapen figure of this learned gentleman.\n\nI need not stay to do more than mention the pens, the jar of tobacco,\nfive or six pipes lying here and there, and in a corner a small cast-iron\nstove, with its low, open door wide open, and throwing out now and then a\nvolley of bright sparks; and to complete the picture, the cat arching her\nback, and spitting threateningly at me with her armed paw uplifted.\n\nAll this scene was tinted with that deep rich amber light in which the\nold Flemish painters delighted, and of which they alone possessed the\nsecret, and never left it to the generations after them.\n\n\"So you went out last night, doctor?\" inquired my host, after we had both\ninstalled ourselves, and while I had my hands in a warm place upon the\nstove.\n\n\"Yes, pretty early,\" I answered. \"I had to look after a patient.\"\n\nThis brief explanation seemed to satisfy the little hunchback, and he\nlighted his blackened boxwood pipe, which was hanging over his chin.\n\n\"You don't smoke, doctor?\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon, I do.\"\n\n\"Well, fill any one of these pipes. I was here,\" he said, spreading his\nyellow hand over the open volume. \"I was reading the chronicles of\nHertzog when you came.\"\n\n\"Ah, that accounts for the time I had to wait! Of course you stayed to\nfinish the chapter?\" I said, smiling.\n\nHe owned it, grinning, and we both laughed together.\n\n\"But if I had known it was you,\" he said, \"I should have finished the\nchapter another time.\"\n\nThere was a short silence, during which I was observing the very peculiar\nphysiognomy of this misshapen being--those long deep wrinkles that moated\nin his wide mouth, his small eyes with the crow's feet at the outer\ncorners, that contorted nose, bulbous at its end, and especially that\nhuge double-storied forehead of his. The whole figure reminded me not a\nlittle of the received pictures of Socrates, and while warming myself and\nlistening to the crackling of the fire, I went off into contemplations on\nthe very diversified fortunes of mankind.\n\n\"Here is this dwarf,\" I thought, \"an ill-shaped, stunted caricature,\nbanished into a corner of Nideck, and living just like the cricket that\nchirps beneath the hearthstone. Here is this little Knapwurst, who in the\nmidst of excitement, grand hunts, gallant trains of horsemen coming and\ngoing, the barking of the hounds, the trampling of the horses, and the\nshouts of the hunters, is living quietly all alone, buried in his books,\nand thinking of nothing but the times long gone by, whilst joy or sorrow,\nsongs or tears, fill the world around him, while spring and summer,\nautumn and winter, come and look in through his dim windows, by turns\nbrightening, warming, and benumbing the face of nature outside. Whilst\nmen in the outer world are subject to the gentle influences of love, or\nthe sterner impulses of ambition or avarice, hoping, coveting, longing,\nand desiring, he neither hopes, nor desires, nor covets anything. As long\nas he is smoking his pipe, with his eyes feasting on a musty parchment,\nhe lives in the enjoyment of dreams, and he goes into raptures over\nthings long, long ago gone by, or which have never existed at all; it is\nall one to him. 'Hertzog says so and so, somebody else tells the tale a\ndifferent way,' and he is perfectly happy! His leathery face gets more\nand more deeply wrinkled, his broken angular back bends into sharper\nangles and corners, his pointed elbows dig beds for themselves in the oak\ntable, his skinny fingers bury themselves in his cheeks, his piggish grey\neyes get redder over manuscripts, Latin, Greek, or mediaeval. He falls\ninto raptures, he smacks his lips, he licks his chops like a cat over a\ndainty dish, and then he throws himself upon that dirty litter, with his\nknees up to his chin, and he thinks he has had a delightful day! Oh,\nProvidence of God, is a man's duty best done, are his responsibilities\nbest discharged, at the top or at the bottom of the scale of human life?\"\n\nBut the snow was melting away from my legs, the balmy warmth of the stove\nwas shedding a pleasant influence over my feelings, and I felt myself\nreviving in this mixed atmosphere of tobacco-smoke and burning pine-wood.\n\nKnapwurst gravely laid his pipe on the table, and reverently spreading\nhis hand upon the folio, said in a voice that seemed to issue from the\nbottom of his consciousness; or, if you like it better, from the bottom\nof a twenty-gallon cask--\n\n\"Doctor Fritz, here is the law and the prophets!\"\n\n\"How so? what do you mean?\"\n\n\"Parchment--old parchment--that is what I love! These old yellow, rusty,\nworm-eaten leaves are all that is left to us of the past, from the days\nof Charlemagne until this day. The oldest families disappear, the old\nparchments remain. Where would be the glory of the Hohenstauffens, the\nLeiningens, the Nidecks, and of so many other families of renown? Where\nwould be the fame of their titles, their deeds of arms, their magnificent\narmour, their expeditions to the Holy Land, their alliances, their claims\nto remote antiquity, their conquests once complete, now long ago\nannulled? Where would be all those grand claims to historic fame without\nthese parchments? Nowhere at all. Those high and mighty barons, those\ngreat dukes and princes, would be as if they had never been--they and\neverything that related to them far and near. Their strong castles,\ntheir palaces, their fortresses fall and moulder away into masses of\nruin, vague remembrancers! Of all that greatness one monument alone\nremains--the chronicles, the songs of bards and minnesingers. Parchment\nalone remains!\"\n\nHe sat silent for a moment, and then pursued his reflections.\n\n\"And in those distant times, while knights and squires rode out to war,\nand fought and conquered or fought and fell over the possession of a nook\nin a forest, or a title, or a smaller matter still, with what scorn and\ncontempt did they not look down upon the wretched little scribbler, the\nman of mere letters and jargon, half-clothed in untanned hides, his only\nweapon an inkhorn at his belt, his pennon the feather of a goosequill!\nHow they laughed at him, calling him an atom or a flea, good for nothing!\n'He does nothing, he cannot even collect our taxes, or look after our\nestates, whilst we bold riders, armed to the teeth, sword in hand and\nlance on thigh, we fight, and we are the finest fellows in the land!' So\nthey said when they saw the poor devil dragging himself on foot after\ntheir horses' heels, shivering in winter and sweating in summer, rusting\nand decaying in old age. Well, what has happened? That flea, that vermin,\nhas kept them in the memory of men longer than their castles stood, long\nafter their arms and their armour had rusted in the ground. I love those\nold parchments. I respect and revere them. Like ivy, they clothe the\nruins and keep the ancient walls from crumbling into dust and perishing\nin oblivion!\"\n\nHaving thus delivered himself, a solemn expression stole over his\nfeatures, and his own eloquence made the tears of moved affection to\nsteal down his furrowed cheeks.\n\nThe poor hunchback evidently loved those who had borne with and protected\nhis unwarlike but clever ancestors. And after all he spoke truly, and\nthere was profound good sense in his words.\n\nI was surprised, and said, \"Monsieur Knapwurst, do you know Latin?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" he answered, but without conceit, \"both Latin and Greek. I\ntaught myself. Old grammars were quite enough; there were some old books\nof the count's, thrown by as rubbish; they fell into my hands, and I\ndevoured them. A little while after the count, hearing me drop a Latin\nquotation, was quite astonished, and said, 'When did you learn Latin,\nKnapwurst?' 'I taught myself, monseigneur.' He asked me a few questions,\nto which I gave pretty good answers. '_Parbleu!_' he cried, 'Knapwurst\nknows more than I do; he shall keep my records.' So he gave me the keys\nof the archives; that was thirty years ago. Since that time I have read\nevery word. Sometimes, when the count sees me mounted upon my ladder, he\nsays, 'What are you doing now, Knapwurst?' 'I am reading the family\narchives, monseigneur.' 'Aha! is that what you enjoy?' 'Yes, very much.'\n'Come, come, I am glad to hear it, Knapwurst; but for you, who would\nknow anything about the glory of the house of Nideck?' And off he goes\nlaughing. I do just as I please.\"\n\n\"So he is a very good master, is he?\"\n\n\"Oh, Doctor Fritz, he is the kindest-hearted master! he is so frank and\nso pleasant!\" cried the dwarf, with hands clasped. \"He has but one\nfault.\"\n\n\"And what may that be?\"\n\n\"He has no ambition.\"\n\n\"How do you prove that?\"\n\n\"Why, he might have been anything he pleased. Think of a Nideck, one of\nthe very noblest families in Germany! He had but to ask to be made a\nminister or a field-marshal. Well! he desired nothing of the sort. When\nhe was no longer a young man he retired from political life. Except that\nhe was in the campaign in France at the head of a regiment he raised at\nhis own expense, he has always lived far away from noise and battle;\nplain and simple, and almost unknown, he seemed to think of nothing but\nhis hunting.\"\n\nThese details were deeply interesting to me. The conversation was of its\nown accord taking just the turn I wished it to take, and I resolved to\nget my advantage out of it.\n\n\"So the count has never had any exciting deeds in hand?\"\n\n\"None, Doctor Fritz, none whatever; and that is the pity. A noble\nexcitement is the glory of great families. It is a misfortune for a noble\nrace when a member of it is devoid of ambition; he allows his family to\nsink below its level. I could give you many examples. That which would be\nvery fortunate in a trader's family is the greatest misfortune in a\nnobleman's.\"\n\nI was astonished; for all my theories upon the count's past life were\nfalling to the earth.\n\n\"Still, Monsieur Knapwurst, the lord of Nideck has had great sorrows, had\nhe not?\"\n\n\"Such as what?\"\n\n\"The loss of his wife.\"\n\n\"Yes, you are right there; his wife was an angel; he married her for\nlove. She was a Zaan, one of the oldest and best nobility of Alsace, but\na family ruined by the Revolution. The Countess Odile was the delight of\nher husband. She died of a decline which carried her off after five\nyears' illness. Every plan was tried to save her life. They travelled in\nItaly together but she returned worse than she went, and died a few weeks\nafter their return. The count was almost broken-hearted, and for two\nyears he shut himself up and would see no one. He neglected his hounds\nand his horses. Time at last calmed his grief, but there is always a\nremainder of grief,\" said the hunchback, pointing with his finger to his\nheart; \"you understand very well, there is still a bleeding wound. Old\nwounds you know, make themselves felt in change of weather--and old\nsorrows too--in spring when the flowers bloom again, and in autumn when\nthe dead leaves cover the soil. But the count would not marry again; all\nhis love is given to his daughter.\"\n\n\"So the marriage was a happy one throughout?\"\n\n\"Happy! why it was a blessing for everybody.\"\n\nI said no more. It was plain that the count had not committed, and could\nnot have committed, a crime. I was obliged to yield to evidence. But,\nthen, what was the meaning of that scene at night, that strange\nconnection with the Black Pest, that fearful acting, that remorse in\na dream, which impelled the guilty to betray their past atrocities?\n\nI lost myself in vain conjectures.\n\nKnapwurst relighted his pipe, and handed me one, which I accepted.\n\nBy that time the icy numbness which had laid hold of me had nearly passed\naway, and I was enjoying that pleasant sense of relief which follows\ngreat fatigue when by the chimney-corner in a comfortable easy-chair,\nveiled in wreaths of tobacco-smoke, you yield to the luxury of repose,\nand listen idly to the duet between the chirping of a cricket on the\nhearth and the hissing of the burning log.\n\nSo we sat for a quarter of an hour.\n\nAt last I ventured to remark--\n\n\"But sometimes the count gets angry with his daughter?\"\n\nKnapwurst started, and fixing a sinister, almost a fierce and hostile eye\nupon me, answered--\n\n\"I know, I know!\"\n\nI watched him narrowly, thinking I might learn something now in support\nof my theory, but he simply added ironically--\n\n\"The towers of Nideck are high, and slander flies too low to reach their\nelevation!\"\n\n\"No doubt; but still it is a fact, is it not?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, so it is; but after all it is only a craze, an effect of his\ncomplaint. As soon as the crisis is past all his love for mademoiselle\ncomes back. I assure you, sir, that a lover of twenty could not be more\ndevoted, more affectionate, than he is. That young girl is his pride and\nhis joy. A dozen times have I seen him riding away to get a dress, or\nflowers, or what not, for her. He went off alone, and brought back the\narticles in triumph, blowing his horn. He would have entrusted so\ndelicate a commission to no one, not even to Sperver, whom he is so fond\nof. Mademoiselle never dares express a wish in his hearing lest he should\nstart off and fulfil it at once. The lord of Nideck is the worthiest\nmaster, the tenderest father, and the kindest and most upright of men.\nThose poachers who are for ever infesting our woods, the old Count Ludwig\nwould have strung them up without mercy; our count winks at them; he even\nturns them into gamekeepers. Look at Sperver! why, if Count Ludwig was\nalive, Sperver's bones would long ago have been rattling in chains;\ninstead of which he is head huntsman at the castle.\"\n\nAll my theories were now in a state of disorganisation. I laid my head\nbetween my hands and thought a long while.\n\nKnapwurst, supposing that I was asleep, had turned to his folio again.\n\nThe grey dawn was now peeping in, and the lamp turning pale. Indistinct\nvoices were audible in the castle.\n\nSuddenly there was a noise of hurried steps outside. I saw some one pass\nbefore the window, the door opened abruptly, and Gideon appeared at the\nthreshold.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n\nSperver's pale face and glowing eyes announced that events were on their\nway. Yet he was calm, and did not seem surprised at my presence in\nKnapwurst's room.\n\n\"Fritz,\" he said briefly, \"I am come to fetch you.\" I rose without\nanswering and followed him. Scarcely were we out of the hut when he took\nme by the arm and drew me on to the castle.\n\n\"Mademoiselle Odile wants to see you,\" he whispered.\n\n\"What! is she ill?\"\n\n\"No, she is much better, but something or other that is strange is going\non. This morning about one o'clock, thinking that the count was nearly\nbreathing his last, I went to wake the countess; with my hand on the bell\nmy heart failed me. 'Why should I break her heart?' I said to myself,\n'She will learn her misfortune only too soon; and then to wake her up in\nthe middle of the night, weak and frail as she is, after such shocks,\nmight kill her at a stroke.' I took a few minutes to consider, and then I\nresolved I would take it all on myself. I returned to the count's room. I\nlooked in--not a soul was there! Impossible! the man was in the last\nagonies of death. I ran into the corridor like a madman. No one was\nthere! Into the long gallery--no one! Then I lost my presence of mind,\nand rushing again into the young countess's room, I rang again. This time\nshe appeared, crying out--'Is my father dead?' 'No.' 'Has he\ndisappeared?' 'Yes, madam. I had gone out for a minute--when I came in\nagain--' 'And Doctor Fritz, where is he?' 'In Hugh Lupus's tower.' 'In\n_that_ tower?' She started. She threw a dressing-gown around her, took\nher lamp, and went out. I stayed behind. A quarter of an hour after she\ncame back, her feet covered with snow, and so pale and so cold! She set\nher lamp upon the chimney-piece, and looking at me fixedly, said--'Was it\nyou who put the doctor into that tower?' 'Yes, madam.' 'Unhappy man! you\nwill never know the extent of the harm you have done.' I was about to\nanswer, but she interrupted me--'No more; go and fasten every door and\nlie down. I will sit up. To-morrow morning you will find Doctor Fritz at\nKnapwurst's, and bring him to me. Make no noise, and mind, you have seen\nnothing and know nothing!'\"\n\n\"Is that all, Sperver?\" I asked.\n\nHe nodded gravely.\n\n\"And about the count?\"\n\n\"He is in again. He is better.\"\n\nWe had got to the antechamber. Gideon knocked at the door gently, then he\nopened it, announcing--\"Doctor Fritz.\"\n\nI took a pace forward, and stood in the presence of Odile. Sperver had\nretired, closing the door.\n\nA strange impression crossed my mind at the sight of the young countess\nstanding pale and still, leaning upon the back of an arm-chair, her eyes\nof feverish brightness, and robed in a long dress of rich black velvet.\nBut she stood calm and firm.\n\n\"Doctor,\" she said, motioning me to a chair, \"pray sit down; I have a\nvery serious matter to speak to you about.\"\n\nI obeyed in silence.\n\nIn her turn she sat down and seemed to be collecting her thoughts.\n\n\"Providence or an evil destiny, I know not which, has made you witness of\na mystery in which lies involved the honour of my family.\"\n\nSo she knew it all!\n\nI sat confounded and astonished.\n\n\"Madam, believe me, it was but by chance--\"\n\n\"It is useless,\" she interrupted; \"I know it all, and it is frightful!\"\n\nThen, in a heartrending appealing voice, she cried--\n\n\"My father is not a guilty man!\"\n\nI shuddered, and with hands outstretched cried--\n\n\"Madam, I know it; I know that the life of your father has been one of\nthe noblest and loveliest.\"\n\nOdile had half-risen from her seat, as if to protest, by anticipation,\nagainst any supposition that might be injurious to her father. Hearing me\nmyself taking up his defence, she sank back again, and covering her face\nwith her hands, the tears began to flow.\n\n\"God bless you, sir!\" she exclaimed. \"I should have died with the very\nthought that a breath of suspicion was harboured against him.\"\n\n\"Ah! madam, who could possibly attach any reality to the action of a\nsomnambulist?\"\n\n\"That is quite true, sir; I had had that thought myself, but\nappearances--pardon me--yet I feared--still I knew Doctor Fritz was a man\nof honour.\"\n\n\"Pray, madam, be calm.\"\n\n\"No,\" she cried, \"let me weep on. It is such a relief; for ten years I\nhave suffered in secret. Oh, how I suffered! That secret, so long shut up\nin my breast, was killing me. I should soon have died, like my dear\nmother. God has had pity upon me, and has sent you, and made you share it\nwith me. Let me tell you all, sir, do let me!\"\n\nShe could speak no more. Sobs and tears broke her voice. So it always\nis with proud and lofty natures. After having conquered grief, and\nimprisoned it, buried, and, as it were, crushed down in the secret depths\nof the mind, they seem happy, or, at any rate, indifferent to the eyes of\nthe uninformed around, and the eye of the most watchful observer might be\nmistaken; but let a sudden shock break the seal, an unexpected rending of\na portion of the veil, then, as with the crash of a thunderstorm, the\ntower in which the sufferer hid his sorrow falls in ruins to the ground.\nThe conquered foe rises more fierce than before his defeat and captivity;\nhe shakes with fury the prison doors, the frame trembles with long\nshudderings, sobs and sighs heave the breast, the tears, too long\ncontained within bounds, overflow their swollen banks, bounding and\nrushing as if after the heavy rain of a thunderstorm.\n\nSuch was Odile.\n\nAt length she lifted her beautiful head; she wiped her tear-stained\ncheeks, and with her arm on the elbow of her chair, her cheek resting\non her hand, and her eyes tenderly fixed on a picture on the wall, she\nresumed in slow and melancholy tones:--\n\n\"When I go back into the past, sir, when I return to my first\nimpressions, my mother's is the picture before me. She was a tall, pale,\nand silent woman. She was still young at the period to which I am\nreferring. She was scarcely thirty, and yet you would have thought her\nfifty. Her brow was silvered round with hair white as snow; her thin,\nhollow cheeks, her sharp, clear profile--her lips ever closed together\nwith an expression of pain--gave to her features a strange character in\nwhich pride and pain seemed to contend for the mastery. There was nothing\nleft of the elasticity of youth in that aged woman of thirty--nothing\nbut her tall, upright figure, her brilliant eyes, and her voice, which\nwas always as gentle and as sweet as a dream of childhood. She often\nwalked up and down for hours in this very room, with her head hanging\ndown, and I, an unthinking child, ran happily along by her side, never\naware that my mother was sad, never understanding the meaning of the deep\nmelancholy revealed by those furrows that traversed her fair brow. I knew\nnothing of the past, to me the present was joy and happiness, and oh! the\nfuture!--the dark, miserable future!--there was none! My only future was\nto-morrow's play!\"\n\nOdile smiled bitterly and went on:--\n\n\"Sometimes I would happen, in my noisy play, to disturb my mother in her\nsilent walk; then she would stop, look down, and, seeing me at her feet,\nwould slowly bend, kiss me with an absent smile, and then again resume\nher interrupted walk and her sad gait. Since then, sir, whenever I have\ndesired to search back in my memory for remembrances of my early days\nthat tall, pale woman has risen before me, the image of melancholy. There\nshe is,\" pointing to a picture on the wall--\"there she is!--not such as\nillness made her as my father supposes, but that fatal and terrible\nsecret. See!\"\n\nI turned round, and as my eye dwelt upon the portrait the lady pointed\nto, I shuddered.\n\nIt was a long, pale, thin face, cold and rigid as death, and only luridly\nlighted up by two dark, deep-set eyes, fixed, burning, and of a terrible\nintensity.\n\nThere was a moment's silence.\n\n\"How much that woman must have suffered!\" I said to myself with a pain\nstriking at my heart.\n\n\"I know not how my mother made that terrible discovery,\" added Odile,\n\"but she became aware of the mysterious attraction of the Black Pest and\ntheir meetings in Hugh Lupus's tower; she knew it all--all! She never\nsuspected my father--ah no!--but she perished away by slow degrees under\nthis consuming influence! and I myself am dying.\"\n\nI bowed my head into my hands and wept in silence.\n\n\"One night,\" she went on, \"one night--I was only ten--and my mother, with\nthe remains of her superhuman energy, for she was near her end that\nnight, came to me when I lay asleep. It was in winter; a stony cold hand\ncaught me by the wrist. I looked up. Before me stood a tall woman; in one\nhand she held a flaming torch, with the other she held me by the arm.\nHer robe was sprinkled with snow. There was a convulsive movement in all\nher limbs and her eyes were fired with a gloomy light through the long\nlocks of white hair which hung in disorder round her face. It was my\nmother; and she said, 'Odile, my child, get up and dress! You must know\nit all!' Then taking me to Hugh Lupus's tower she showed me the open\nsubterranean passage. 'Your father will come out that way,' she said,\npointing to the tower; 'he will come out with the she-wolf; don't be\nfrightened, he won't see you.' And presently my father, bearing his\nfunereal burden, came out with the old woman. My mother took me in her\narms and followed; she showed me the dismal scene on the Altenberg of\nwhich you know. 'Look, my child,' she said; 'you must for I--am going to\ndie soon. You will have to keep that secret. You  alone are to sit up\nwith your father,' she said impressively--'you alone. The honour of your\nfamily depends upon you!' And so we returned. A fortnight after my mother\ndied, leaving me her will to accomplish and her example to follow. I have\nscrupulously obeyed her injunctions as a sacred command, but oh, at what\na sacrifice! You have seen it all. I have been obliged to disobey my\nfather and to rend his heart. If I had married I should have brought a\nstranger into the house and betrayed the secret of our race. I resisted.\nNo one in this castle knows of the somnambulism of my father, and but for\nyesterday's crisis, which broke down my strength completely and prevented\nme from sitting up with my father, I should still have been its sole\ndepositary. God has decreed otherwise, and has placed the honour and\nreputation of my family in your keeping. I might demand of you, sir, a\nsolemn promise never to reveal what you have seen to-night. I should\nhave a right to do so.\"\n\n\"Madam,\" I said, rising, \"I am ready.\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" she replied with much dignity, \"I will not put such an affront\nupon you. Oaths fail to bind base men, and honour alone is a sufficient\nguarantee for the upright. You will keep that secret, sir, I know you\nwill keep it, because it is your duty to do so. But I expect more than\nthis of you, much more, and this is why I consider myself obliged to tell\nyou all!\"\n\nShe rose slowly from her seat.\n\n\"Doctor Fritz,\" she resumed in a voice which made every nerve within me\nquiver with deep emotion, \"my strength is unequal to my burden; I bend\nbeneath it. I need a helper, a friend. Will you be that friend?\"\n\n\"Madam,\" I replied, rising from my seat, \"I gratefully accept your offer\nof friendship. I cannot tell you how proud I am of your confidence; but\nstill, allow me to unite with it one condition.\"\n\n\"Pray speak, sir.\"\n\n\"I mean that I will accept that title of friend with all the duties and\nobligations which it shall impose upon me.\"\n\n\"What duties do you mean?\"\n\n\"There is a mystery overhanging your family; that mystery must be\ndiscovered and solved at any cost. That Black Pest must be apprehended.\nWe must find out where she comes from, what she is, and what she wants!\"\n\n\"Oh, but that is impossible!\" she said with a movement of despair.\n\n\"Who can tell that, madam? Perhaps Divine Providence may have had a\ndesign connected with me in sending Sperver to fetch me here.\"\n\n\"You are right, sir. God never acts without consummate wisdom. Do\nwhatever you think right. I give my approval in advance.\"\n\nI raised to my lips the hand which she tremblingly placed in mine, and\nwent out full of admiration for this frail and feeble woman, who was,\nnevertheless, so strong in the time of trial. Is anything grander than\nduty nobly accomplished?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n\nAn hour after the conversation with Odile, Sperver and I were riding\nhard, and leaving Nideck rapidly behind us.\n\nThe huntsman, bending forward over his horse's neck, encouraged him with\nvoice and action.\n\nHe rode so fast that his tall Mecklemburger, her mane flying, tail\noutstretched, and legs extended wide, seemed almost motionless, so\nswiftly did she cleave the air. As for my little Ardenne pony, I think he\nwas running right away with his rider. Lieverle accompanied us, flying\nalongside of us like an arrow from the bow. A whirlwind seemed to sweep\nus in our headlong way.\n\nThe towers of Nideck were far away, and Sperver was keeping ahead as\nusual when I shouted--\n\n\"Halloo, comrade, pull up! Halt! Before we go any farther let us know\nwhat we are about.\"\n\nHe faced round.\n\n\"Only just tell me, Fritz, is it right or is it left?\"\n\n\"No; that won't do. It is of the first importance that you should know\nthe object of our journey. In short, we are going to catch the hag.\"\n\nA flush of pleasure brightened up the long sallow face of the old\npoacher, and his eyes sparkled.\n\n\"Ha, ha!\" he cried, \"I knew we should come to that at last!\"\n\nAnd he slipped his rifle round from his shoulder into his hand.\n\nThis significant action roused me.\n\n\"Wait, Sperver; we are not going to kill the Black Pest, but to take her\nalive!\"\n\n\"Alive?\"\n\n\"No doubt, and it will spare you a good deal of remorse perhaps if I\ndeclare to you that the life of this old woman is bound up with that of\nyour master. The ball that hits her hits your lord.\"\n\nSperver gazed at me in astonishment.\n\n\"Is this really true, Fritz?\"\n\n\"Positively true.\"\n\nThere was a long silence; our mounts, Fox and Rappel, tossed their heads\nat each other as if in the act of saluting one another, scraping up the\nsnow with their hoofs in congratulation upon so pleasant an expedition.\nLieverle opened wide his red mouth, gaping with impatience, extending and\nbending his long meagre body like a snake, and Sperver sat motionless,\nhis hand still upon his gun.\n\n\"Well, let us try and catch her alive. We will put on gloves if we have\nto touch her, but it is not so easy as you think, Fritz.\"\n\nAnd pointing out with extended hand the panorama of mountains which lay\nunrolled about us like a vast amphitheatre, he added--\n\n\"Look! there's the Altenberg, the Schneeberg, the Oxenhorn, the Rhethal,\nthe Behrenkopf, and if we only got up a little higher we should see fifty\nmore mountain-tops far away, right into the Palatinate. There are rocks\nand ravines, passes and valleys, torrents and waterfalls, forests, and\nmore mountains; here beeches, there firs, then oaks, and the old woman\nhas got all that for her camping-ground. She tramps everywhere, and lives\nin a hole wherever she pleases. She has a sure foot, a keen eye, and can\nscent you a couple of miles off. How are you going to catch her, then?\"\n\n\"If it was an easy matter where would be the merit? I should not then\nhave chosen you to take a part in it.\"\n\n\"That is all very fine, Fritz. If we only had one end of her trail, who\nknows but with courage and perseverance--\"\n\n\"As for her trail, don't trouble about that; that's my business.\"\n\n\"Yours?\"\n\n\"Yes, mine.\"\n\n\"What do you know about following up a trail?\"\n\n\"Why should not I?\"\n\n\"Oh, if you are so sure of it, and you know more about it than I do, of\ncourse march on, and I'll follow!\"\n\nIt was easy to see that the old hunter was vexed that I should presume to\ntrespass upon his special province; therefore, only laughing inwardly, I\nrequired no repetition of the request to lead on, and I turned sharply to\nthe left, sure of coming across the old woman's trail, who, after having\nleft the count at the postern gate, must have crossed the plain to reach\nthe mountain. Sperver rode behind me now, whistling rather\ncontemptuously, and I could hear him now and then grumbling--\n\n\"What is the use of looking for the track of the she-wolf in the plain?\nOf course she went along the forest side just as usual. But it seems she\nhas altered her habits, and now walks about with her hands in her\npockets, like a respectable Fribourg tradesman out for a walk.\"\n\nI turned a deaf ear to his hints, but in a moment I heard him utter an\nexclamation of surprise; then, fixing a keen eye upon me, he said--\n\n\"Fritz, you know more than you choose to tell.\"\n\n\"How so, Gideon?\"\n\n\"The track that I should have been a week finding, you have got it at\nonce. Come, that's not all right!\"\n\n\"Where do you see it, then?\"\n\n\"Oh, don't pretend to be looking at your feet.\"\n\nAnd pointing out to me at some distance a scarcely perceptible white\nstreak in the snow--\n\n\"There she is!\"\n\nImmediately he galloped up to it; I followed in a couple of minutes; we\nhad dismounted, and were examining the track of the Black Pest.\n\n\"I should like to know,\" cried Sperver, \"how that track came here?\"\n\n\"Don't let that trouble you,\" I replied.\n\n\"You are right, Fritz; don't mind what I say; sometimes I do speak rather\nat random. What we want now is to know where that track will lead us to.\"\n\nAnd now the huntsman knelt on the ground.\n\nI was all ears; he was closely examining.\n\n\"It is a fresh track,\" he pronounced, \"last night's. It is a strange\nthing, Fritz, during the count's last attack that old witch was hanging\nabout the castle.\"\n\nThen examining with greater care--\n\n\"She passed here between three and four o'clock this morning.\"\n\n\"How can you tell that?\"\n\n\"It is quite a fresh track; there is sleet all round it. Last night,\nabout twelve, I came out to shut the doors; there was sleet falling then,\nthere is none upon the footsteps, therefore she has passed since.\"\n\n\"That is true enough, Sperver, but it may have been made much later; for\ninstance, at eight or nine.\"\n\n\"No, look, there is frost upon it! The fog that freezes on the snow only\ncomes at daybreak. The creature passed here after the sleet and before\nthe fog--that is, about three or four this morning.\"\n\nI was astonished at Sperver's exactitude.\n\nHe rose from his knee, clapping his hands together to get rid of the\nsnow, and looking at me thoughtfully, as if speaking to himself, said--\n\n\"It is twelve, is it not, Fritz?\"\n\n\"A quarter to twelve.\"\n\n\"Very well; then the old woman has got seven hours' start of us. We must\nfollow upon her trail step by step; on horseback we can do it in half the\ntime, and, if she is still going, about seven or eight to-night we have\ngot her, Fritz. Now then, we're off.\"\n\nAnd we started afresh upon the track. It led us straight to the\nmountains.\n\nGalloping away, Sperver said--\n\n\"If good luck only would have it that she had rested an hour or two in a\nhole in a rock, we might be up with her before the daylight is gone.\"\n\n\"Let us hope so, Gideon.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't think of it. The old she-wolf is always moving; she never\ntires; she tramps along all the hollows in the Black Forest. We must not\nflatter ourselves with vain hopes. If, perhaps, she has stopped on her\njourney, so much the better for us; and if she still keeps going, we\nwon't let that discourage us. Come on at a gallop.\"\n\nIt is a very strange feeling to be hunting down a fellow-creature; for,\nafter all, that unhappy woman was of our own kind and nature; endowed\nlike ourselves with an immortal soul to be saved, she felt, and thought,\nand reflected like ourselves. It is true that a strange perversion\nof human nature had brought her near to the nature of the wolf, and that\nsome great mystery overshadowed her being. No doubt a wandering life had\nobliterated the moral sense in her, and even almost effaced the human\ncharacter; but still nothing in the world can give one man a right to\nexercise over another the dominion of the man over the brute.\n\nAnd yet a burning ardour hurried us on in pursuit; my blood was at fever\nheat; I was determined to stand at no obstacle in laying hold of this\nextraordinary being. A wolf-hunt or a boar-hunt would not have excited me\nnear so much.\n\nThe snow was flying in our rear; sometimes splinters of ice, bitten off\nby the horse-shoes, like shavings of iron from machinery, whizzed past\nour ears.\n\nSperver, sometimes with his nose in the air and his red moustache\nfloating in the wind, sometimes with his grey eyes intently following\nthe track, reminded me of those famous Cossacks that I had seen pass\nthrough Germany when I was a boy; and his tall, lanky horse, muscular and\nfull-maned, its body as slender as a greyhound's, completed the illusion.\n\nLieverle, in a high state of enthusiasm and excitement, took bounds\nsometimes as high as our horses' backs, and I could not but tremble at\nthe thought that when we came up at last with the Pest he might tear her\nin pieces before we could prevent him.\n\nBut the old woman gave us all the trouble she could; on every hill she\ndoubled, at every hillock there was a false track.\n\n\"After all, it is easy here,\" cried Sperver, \"to what it will be in the\nwood. We shall have to keep our eyes open there! Do you see the accursed\nbeast? Here she has confused the track! There she has been amusing\nherself sweeping the trail, and then from that height which is exposed to\nthe wind she has slipped down to the stream, and has crept along through\nthe cresses to get to the underwood. But for those two footsteps she\nwould have sold us completely.\"\n\nWe had just reached the edge of a pine-forest. In woods of this\ndescription the snow never reaches the ground except in the open spaces\nbetween the trees, the dense foliage intercepting it in its fall. This\nwas a difficult part of our enterprise. Sperver dismounted to see our way\nbetter, and placed me on his left so as not to be hindered by my shadow.\n\nHere were large spaces covered with dead leaves and the needles and cones\nof the fir-trees, which retain no footprint. It was, therefore, only in\nthe open patches where the snow had fallen on the ground that Sperver\nfound the track again.\n\nIt took us an hour to get through this thicket. The old poacher bit his\nmoustache with excitement and vexation, and his long nose visibly bent\ninto a hook. When I was only opening my mouth to speak, he would\nimpatiently say--\n\n\"Don't speak--it bothers me!\"\n\nAt last we descended a valley to the left and Gideon pointing to the\ntrack of the she-wolf outside the edge of the brushwood, triumphantly\nremarked--\n\n\"There is no feint in this sortie, for once. We may follow this track\nconfidently.\"\n\n\"Why so?\"\n\n\"Because the Pest has a habit every time she doubles of going three paces\nto the right; then she retraces her steps four, five, or six in the other\ndirection, and jumps away into a clear place. But when she thinks she has\nsufficiently disguised her trail she breaks out without troubling herself\nto make any feints. There now! What did I say? Now she is burrowing\nbeneath the brushwood like a wild boar, and it won't be so difficult to\nfollow her up.\"\n\n\"Well, let us put the track between us and smoke a pipe.\"\n\nWe halted, and the honest fellow, whose countenance was beginning to\nbrighten up, looking up at me with enthusiasm, cried--\n\n\"Fritz, if we have luck this will be one of the finest days in my life.\nIf we catch the old hag I will strap her across my horse behind me like a\nbundle of old rags. There is only one thing troubles me.\"\n\n\"And what is that?\"\n\n\"That I forgot my bugle. I should have liked to have sounded the return\non getting near the castle! Ha, ha, ha!\"\n\nHe lighted his stump of a pipe and we galloped off again.\n\nThe track of the she-wolf now passed on to the heights of the forest by\nso steep an ascent that several times we had to dismount and lead our\nhorses by the bridle.\n\n\"There she is, turning to the right,\" said Sperver. \"In this direction\nthe mountains are craggy; perhaps one of us will have to lead both horses\nwhile the other climbs to look after the trail. But don't you think the\nlight is going?\"\n\nThe landscape now was assuming an aspect of grandeur and magnificence.\nVast grey rocks, sparkling with long icicles, raised here and there their\nsharp peaks like breakers amidst a snowy sea.\n\nThere is nothing more sadly impressive than the aspect of winter in a\nmountainous region. The jagged crests of the precipices, the deep, dark\nravines, the woods sparkling with boar-frost like diamonds, all form a\npicture of desertion, desolation, and unspeakable melancholy. The silence\nis so profound that you hear a dead leaf rustling on the snow, or the\nneedle of the fir dropping to the ground. Such a silence is oppressive as\nthe tomb; it urges on the mind the idea of man's nothingness in the\nvastness of creation.\n\nHow frail a being is man! Two winters together, without a summer between,\nwould sweep him off the earth!\n\nAt times we felt it a necessity to be saying something if only to show\nthat we were keeping up our spirits.\n\n\"Ah, we are getting on! How fearfully cold! Lieverle, what is the matter?\nwhat have you found now?\"\n\nUnfortunately Fox and Rappel were beginning to tire; they sank deeper in\nthe snow and no longer neighed joyfully.\n\nAnd added to this the endless mazes of the Black Forest wearied us too.\nThe old woman affected this solitary region greatly; here she had trotted\nround a deserted charcoal-burner's hut; farther on she had torn out the\nroots that projected from a moss-grown rock; there she had sat at the\nfoot of a tree, and that very recently--not more than two hours since,\nfor the track was quite fresh--and our hope and our ardour rose together.\nBut the daylight was slowly fading away!\n\nVery strangely, ever since our departure from Nideck we had met neither\nwood-cutters, nor charcoal-burners, nor timber-carriers. At this season\nthe silence and solitude of the Black Forest is as deep as that of the\nNorth-American steppes.\n\nAt five o'clock it was almost dark. Sperver halted and said--\n\n\"Fritz, my lad, we have started a couple of hours too late. The she-wolf\nhas had too long a start. In ten minutes it will be as dark as a dungeon.\nThe best way would be to reach Roche Creuse, which is twenty minutes'\nride from here, light a good fire, and eat our provisions and empty our\nflasks. When the moon is up we will follow the trail again, and unless\nthe old hag is the foul fiend himself, ten to one we shall find her dead\nand stiff with cold against the foot of a tree, for nothing can live\nafter such a tremendous tramp in weather like this. Sebalt is the best\nwalker in the Black Forest, and he would not have stood it. Come, Fritz,\nwhat is your opinion?\"\n\n\"I am not so mad as to think differently. Besides, I am perishing with\nhunger!\"\n\n\"Well, let us start again.\"\n\nHe took the lead and passed into a close and narrow glen between two\nprecipitous faces of rock. The fir-trees met over our heads; under our\nfeet ran a mere thread of the stream, and from time to time some ray from\nabove was dimly reflected in the depths below and glinted with a dull\nleaden light.\n\nThe darkness was now such that I thought it prudent to drop my bridle on\nRappel's neck. The steps of our horses on the slippery gravel awoke\nstrange discordant sounds like the screaming of monkeys at play. The\nechoes from rock to rock caught up and repeated every sound, and in the\ndistance a tiny space of deep blue widened as we advanced; it was the\nissue from the glen.\n\n\"Fritz,\" said Sperver, \"we are in the bed of the Tunkelbach. This is the\nwildest spot in the Black Forest. The end is a pit called La Marmite du\nGrand Gueulard, the muckle-mouthed giant's kettle. In the spring, when\nthe snow is melting, the Tunkelbach hurls all its waters into it, a depth\nof two hundred feet. There is an awful uproar; the waters dash down and\nthen splash up again and fall in spray on all the hills around. Sometimes\nit even fills the Roche Creuse, but just now it must be as dry as a\npowder-flask.\"\n\nWhilst I was listening to Gideon's explanations I was at the same time\nmeditating upon this dark and fearful glen, and I reflected that the\ninstinct which attracts the brutes into such retreats as these, far from\nthe light of heaven, away from everything bright and cheerful, must\npartake of the nature of remorse. Those animals which love the open\nsunshine--the goat aloft upon a high conspicuous peak, the horse flying\nacross the wide plain, the dog capering round his master, the bird bathed\nin sunlight--all breathe joy and happiness; they bask, and sing, and\nrejoice in dancing and delight. The kid nibbling the tender grass under\nthe shade of the great trees is as poetic an object as the shelter that\nit loves; the fierce boar is as rough as the tangled brakes through which\nhe loves to run his huge bristly back; the eagle is as proud and lofty as\nthe sky-piercing crags on which he perches as his home; the lion is as\nmajestic as the arching vaults of the caves where he makes his den; but\nthe wolf, the fox, and the ferret seek the darkness that conforms to\ntheir ugly deeds; fear and remorse dog their steps.\n\nI was still dreamily pursuing these thoughts, and I was beginning to feel\nthe keen air moving upon my face, for we were approaching the outlet of\nthe gorge, when all at once a red light struck the rock a hundred feet\nabove us, purpling the dark green of the fir-trees and lighting up the\nwreaths of snow.\n\n\"Ha!\" cried Sperver, \"we have got her at last!\"\n\nMy heart leaped; we stood, closely pressed, the one against the other.\n\nThe dog growled low and deep.\n\n\"Cannot she escape?\" I asked in a whisper.\n\n\"No; she is caught like a rat in a trap. There is no way out of La\nMarmite du Grand Gueulard but this, and everywhere all round the rocks\nare two hundred feet high. Now, vile hag, I hold you!\"\n\nHe alighted in the ice-cold stream, handing me his bridle. I caught in\nthe silence the click of the lock of his gun, and that slight noise threw\nme into a tremor of apprehension.\n\n\"Sperver, what are you about?\"\n\n\"Don't be alarmed; it is only to frighten her.\"\n\n\"Very well, then, but no blood. Remember what I told you--the ball which\nstrikes the Pest slays the count!\"\n\n\"Don't trouble yourself,\" was the answer.\n\nHe went away without further parley. I could hear the splash of his feet\nin the water; then I saw his tall figure emerge at the opening of the\ndark glen, black against a purple background. He stood five minutes\nmotionless. Attentive, bending forward, I looked and listened, still\nmoving onward. As he returned I was but a few yards from him.\n\n\"Hark!\" he whispered mysteriously. \"Look there!\"\n\nAt the end of the hollow, scooped out perpendicularly like a quarry in\nthe mountain side, I saw a bright fire unrolling its golden spires\nbeneath the vault of a cave, and before the fire sat a man with his hands\nclasped about his knees, whom I recognised by his dress as the Baron de\nZimmer-Bluderich.\n\nHe sat motionless, his forehead resting between his hands. Behind him lay\na dark gaunt form extended on the ground. Farther on, his horse, half\nlost in the shade, reared his neck, gazed on us with eyes fixed, ears\nerect, and nostrils distended.\n\nI stood rooted to the ground.\n\nHow did the Baron de Zimmer happen to be in that lonely wilderness at\nsuch a time? What did he want here? Had he lost his way?\n\nThe most contradictory conjectures were passing in confusion through my\nexcited brain, and I could not tell what conclusion to arrive at, when\nthe baron's horse began to neigh, and the master raised his head.\n\n\"Well, Donner, what is the matter now?\" said he.\n\nThen he, too, directed his gaze our way, straining his eyes through the\ndarkness.\n\nThat pale face, with its strongly-marked features, thin lips, and thick\nblack eyebrows meeting together, and forming a deep hollow on the brow in\nthe form of a long vertical wrinkle, would have struck me with admiration\nat any other time; while now an inexplicable anxiety laid hold of me, and\nI was filled with vague apprehensions.\n\nSuddenly the young man exclaimed--\n\n\"Who goes there?\"\n\n\"I, monseigneur,\" answered Sperver, coming forward--\"Sperver, chief\nhuntsman to the lord of Nideck.\"\n\nA flash shot from the baron's quick eye; not a muscle of his countenance\nquailed. He rose to his feet, gathering his pelisse over his shoulders. I\ndrew towards me the horses and the dog, and this animal suddenly began\nhowling fearfully.\n\nIs not every one, more or less, subject to superstitious fears? At these\ndismal sounds I trembled, and a cold shudder crept through my whole body.\n\nSperver and the baron stood at a distance of fifty yards from each other;\nthe first immovable in the midst of the deep glen, his gun unslung from\nhis shoulder, the other erect upon the level platform outside of the\ncave, carrying his head high, fixing on us a haughty eye and a proud look\nof superiority.\n\n\"What do you want here?\" he asked aggressively.\n\n\"We are looking for a woman,\" replied the old poacher--\"a woman who comes\nevery year prowling about Nideck, and our orders are to take her.\"\n\n\"Has she stolen anything?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Has she committed murder?\"\n\n\"No, monseigneur.\"\n\n\"Then what do you want with her? What right have you to pursue her?\"\n\n\"And you--what right have you over her?\" answered Sperver with an\nironical smile. \"See, there she is. I can see her at the bottom of the\ncave. What right have you to meddle with our affairs? Don't you know that\nwe are here in the domains of Nideck, and that we administer justice and\nexecute our own decrees?\"\n\nThe young man changed colour, and said coldly--\n\n\"I have no account to render to you.\"\n\n\"Beware,\" replied Sperver. \"I am come with proposals of peace and\nconciliation. I am here on behalf of the lord Yeri-Hans. I am in the\nexecution of my duty, and you are putting yourself in the wrong.\"\n\n\"Your duty!\" cried the young man bitterly. \"If you talk about your duty\nyou will oblige me to do mine!\"\n\n\"Well, do it!\" cried the huntsman, whose features were becoming disturbed\nwith anger.\n\n\"No,\" replied the baron, \"I am not responsible to you, and you shall not\ncome here!\"\n\n\"That's what we shall soon see!\" said Sperver, drawing nearer to the\ncave.\n\nThe young man drew his hunting-knife. Perceiving this menacing action, I\nwas about to dart between them, but happily the hound which I was holding\nby his collar slipped from me with a violent shock and threw me on the\nground. I thought the baron would be lost, but at that instant a wild\nshriek rose from the dark bottom of the cavern, and as I rose to my feet\nI saw the old woman standing erect before the fire, her tattered garments\nhanging loosely about her, her grey and tangled locks floating wildly in\nthe wind; she flung her bony arms in the air and uttered prolonged\npiercing howls like the cry of agony of the hungry wolf in the long cold\nnights of winter when famine is gnawing his entrails.\n\nNever in my life have I seen a more fearful apparition. Sperver,\nmotionless, his eyes riveted on the fearful object before him, and his\nmouth open with astonishment, stood as if rooted to the earth. But the\npowerful dog, surprised himself at this unexpected sight, stood still for\na moment; then with a bend of his bristling back in preparation for a\nmighty leap, he made a rush with a deep, impatient growl which made me\ntremble. The platform before the cave was about eight or nine feet from\nthe level where we stood, or he would have reached it at a single bound.\nI can yet hear him clearing a way through the snowy brambles, the baron\nflinging himself before the woman with a piercing cry, \"My mother!\" then\nthe dog taking another spring, and Sperver, quick as lightning, raising\nhis gun, and bringing down the poor animal dead at the young man's feet.\n\nThis was but the work of a second. The gulf had been illuminated with a\nmomentary flash, and the wild echoes were vibrating with the explosion\nfrom rock to rock, till it died in the far distance. Then silence again\nsettled on the gloomy scene, as darkness after the lightning.\n\nWhen the smoke of the explosion had cleared away I saw Lieverle lying\noutstretched at the foot of the rock, and the woman fainting in the arms\nof the young man. Sperver, pale with concentrated rage and excitement,\nand eyeing the young baron darkly, dropped the butt of his gun to the\nground, his features discomposed, and his eyes half-hid in his gloomy\nfrown.\n\n\"Seigneur de Bluderich,\" he cried, with his hand extended, \"I have killed\nmy best friend to save the life of that unhappy woman, your mother! Thank\nGod that her life is bound up with that of the Count of Nideck! Take her\naway! take her hence, and never let her return here again; if you do I\ncannot answer for what old Sperver may be driven to do!\"\n\nThen, with a glance at the poor dog--\n\n\"Oh! Lieverle, Lieverle!\" he cried, \"was it to end thus? Come, Fritz, let\nus go. I cannot stay here. I might do something that I should have to\nrepent of!\"\n\nAnd, laying hold of Fox by the mane, he was going to throw himself into\nthe saddle, but suddenly his feelings of distress overcame all restraint,\nand bowing his head upon his horse's neck, he burst into sobs and tears,\nand wept like a child.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\n\nSperver had gone, bearing the body of poor Lieverle in his cloak. I had\ndeclined to follow; my sense of duty kept me by this unhappy woman, and I\ncould not leave her without violence to my own feelings.\n\nBesides, I must confess I was curious to see a little more closely\nthis strange mysterious being, and therefore as soon as Sperver had\ndisappeared in the darkness of the glen I began to climb up to reach the\ncavern.\n\nThere I beheld a strange sight.\n\nExtended upon a large cloak of white fur lay the aged woman in a long and\nragged robe of purple, her fingers clutching her breast, a golden arrow\nthrough her grey hair.\n\nNever shall I forget the figure of this strange woman; her vulture-like\nfeatures distorted with the last agonies of death, her eyes set, her\ngasping mouth, were fearful to look upon. Such might have been the\nterrible Queen Fredegonde.\n\nThe baron, on his knees at her side, was trying to restore her to\nanimation; but I saw at a glance that the wretched creature was dying,\nand it was not without a profound sense of pity that I took her by the\narm.\n\n\"Leave madame alone--don't touch her,\" cried the young man with\nirritation.\n\n\"I am a surgeon, monseigneur.\"\n\nHe looked in silence at me for a moment, then rising, said--\n\n\"Pardon me, sir; pray forgive my hasty language.\"\n\nHe trembled with excitement, scarcely yet subdued, and presently he went\non--\n\n\"What is your opinion, sir?\"\n\n\"It is over--she is dead!\"\n\nThen, without speaking another word, he sat upon a large stone, with his\nforehead resting upon his hand and his elbow on his knee, his eyes\nmotionless, as still as a statue.\n\nI sat near the fire, watching the flames rising to the vaulted roof of\nthe cave, and casting lurid reflections upon the rigid features of the\ncorpse.\n\nWe had sat there an hour as motionless as statues, each deep in thought,\nwhen, suddenly lifting his head, the baron said--\n\n\"Sir, all this utterly confounds me. Here is my mother--for twenty-six\nyears I thought I knew her--and now an abyss of horrible mysteries opens\nbefore me. You are a doctor; tell me, did you ever know anything so\ndreadful?\"\n\n\"Monseigneur,\" I replied, \"the Count of Nideck is afflicted with a\ncomplaint strikingly similar to that from which your mother appears to\nhave suffered. If you feel enough confidence in me to communicate to me\nthe facts which you have yourself observed, I will gladly tell you what I\nknow myself; for perhaps this exchange of our experiences might supply me\nwith the means to save my patient.\"\n\n\"Willingly, sir,\" he replied, and without any further prelude he informed\nme that the Baroness de Bluderich, a member of one of the noblest\nfamilies in Saxony, took, every year towards autumn, a journey into\nItaly, with no attendant besides an old man-servant, who possessed her\nentire confidence; that that man, being at the point of death, had\ndesired a private interview with the son of his old master, and that at\nthat last hour, prompted, no doubt, by the pangs of remorse, he had told\nthe young man that his mother's visit to Italy was only a pretence to\nenable her to make, you observed, a certain excursion into the Black\nForest, the object of which was unknown to himself, but which must have\nhad something fearful in its character, since the baroness returned\nalways in a state of physical prostration, ragged, half dead, and that\nweeks of rest alone could restore her after the hideous labours of those\nfew days.\n\nThis was the purport of the old servant's disclosures to the young baron,\nwho believed that in so doing he was only fulfilling his duty.\n\nThe son, anxious at any sacrifice to know the truth of this account, had,\nthat very year, ascertained it, first by following his mother to Baden,\nand then by penetrating on her track into the gorges of the Black Forest.\nThe footsteps which Sebalt had tracked in the woods were his.\n\nWhen the baron had thus imparted his knowledge to me, I thought I ought\nnot to conceal from him the mysterious influence which the appearance of\nthe old woman in the neighbourhood of the castle exercised over the\ncount, nor the other circumstances of this unaccountable series of\nevents.\n\nWe were both amazed at the extraordinary coincidence between the facts\nnarrated, the mysterious attraction which these beings unconsciously\nexercised the one over the other, the tragic drama which they performed\nin union, the familiarity which the old woman had shown with the castle,\nand its most secret passages, without any previous examination of them;\nthe costume which she had discovered in which to carry out this secret\nact, and which could only have been rummaged out of some mysterious\nretreat revealed to her by the strange instinct of insanity. Finally,\nwe were agreed that there are unknown, unfathomed depths in our being,\nand that the mystery of death is not the only secret which God has veiled\nfrom our eyes, although it may seem to us the most important.\n\nBut the darkness of night was beginning to yield to the pale tints of\nearly dawn. A bat was sounding the departure of the hours of darkness\nwith a singular note resembling the gurgling of liquid from a narrow\nbottle-neck. A neighing of horses was heard far up the defile; then, with\nthe first rays of dawn, we distinguished a sledge driven by the baron's\nservant; its bottom was littered with straw; on this the body was laid.\n\nI mounted my horse, who seemed not sorry to use his limbs again, which\nhad been numbed by standing upon ice and snow the whole night through. I\nrode after the sledge to the exit from the defile, when, after a grave\nsalutation--the usual token of courtesy between the nobility and the\npeople--they drove off in the direction of Hirschland and I rode towards\nthe towers of Nideck.\n\nAt nine I was in the presence of Mademoiselle Odile, to whom I gave a\nfaithful narrative of all that had taken place.\n\nThen repairing to the count's apartments, I found him in a very\nsatisfactory state of improvement. He felt very weak, as was to be\nexpected after the terrible shocks of such crises as he had gone through,\nbut had returned to the full possession of his clear faculties, and\nthe fever had left him the evening before. There was, therefore, every\nprospect of a speedy cure.\n\nA few days later, seeing the old lord in a state of convalescence, I\nexpressed a desire to return to Fribourg, but he entreated me so\nearnestly to stay altogether at Nideck, and offered me terms so\nhonourable and advantageous, that I felt myself unable to refuse\ncompliance with his wishes.\n\nI shall long remember the first boar-hunt in which I had the honour to\njoin with the count, and especially the magnificent return home in a\ntorchlight procession after having sat in the saddle for twelve hours\ntogether.\n\nI had just had supper, and was going up into Hugh Lupus's tower\ncompletely knocked up, when, passing Sperver's room, whose door was half\nopen, shouts and cries of joy reached my ears. I stopped, when the most\njovial spectacle burst upon me. Around the massive oaken table beamed\ntwenty square rosy faces, bright and ruddy with health and fun.\n\nThe hob and nobbing of the glasses gave out an incessant tinkling and\nclattering. There was sitting Sperver with his bossy forehead, his\nmoustaches bedewed with Rhenish wine, his eyes sparkling, and his grey\nhair rather disordered; at his right was Marie Lagoutte, on his left\nKnapwurst. He was raising aloft the ancient silver-gilt and chased goblet\ndimmed with age, and on his manly chest glittered the silver plate of\nhis shoulder-belt, for, according to his custom on a hunting day, he was\nstill wearing the uniform of his office.\n\nThe colour of Marie Lagoutte's cheeks, rather redder even than usual,\ntold of an evening of jollity, and her broad cap-frills seemed as if they\nwere wanting to fly all abroad; she sat laughing, now with one, then with\nanother.\n\nKnapwurst, squatting in his arm-chair, with his head on a level with\nSperver's elbow, looked like a big pumpkin. Then came Tobias Offenloch,\nso red that you would have thought he had bathed his face in the red\nwine, leaning back with his wig upon the chair-back and his wooden leg\nextended under the table. Farther on loomed the melancholy long face of\nSebalt, who was peeping with a sickly smile into the bottom of his\nwine-glass.\n\nBesides these worthies there were present the waiting-people, men and\nwomen servants, comprising all that little community which springs up\naround the board of the great people of the land and belongs to them as\nthe ivy, and the moss, and the wild convolvulus belong to the monarch of\nthe forests.\n\nUpon the groaning board lay a vast ham, displaying its concentric circles\nof pink and white. Then among the gaily-patterned plates and dishes came\nthe long-necked bottles containing the produce of the vineyards that\nborder the broad and flowing Rhine--long German pipes with little silver\nchains, and long shining blades of steel.\n\nThe light of the lamp shed over the whole scene its amber-coloured hue\nand left in the shade the old grey and time-stained walls, where hung in\nample numbers the brazen convolutions of the hunting-horns and bugles.\n\nWhat an original picture! The vaulted roof was ringing with the joyous\nshouts of laughter.\n\nSperver, as I have already told, was lifting high the full bumper and\nsinging the song of Black Hatto, the Burgrave,\n\n\"I am king on these mountains of mine,\"\n\nwhile the rosy dew of Affenthal hung trembling from his long moustaches.\nAs soon as he caught sight of me he stopped, and holding out his hand--\n\n\"Fritz,\" said he, \"we only wanted you. It is a long time since I felt so\ncomfortable as I do to-night. You are welcome, old boy!\"\n\nAs I gazed upon him with surprise--for since the death of Lieverle I had\nnever seen him smile--he added more seriously--\n\n\"We are celebrating the return of monseigneur to his health, and\nKnapwurst is telling us stories.\"\n\nAll the guests turned my way, and I was saluted with kindly welcomes on\nall sides.\n\nI was dragged in by Sebalt, seated near Marie Lagoutte, and found a large\nglass of Bohemian wine in my hand before I could quite understand the\nmeaning of it all.\n\nThe old hall was echoing with merry peals of laughter, and Sperver,\nthrowing his arm round my neck, holding his cup high, and with an attempt\nat gravity which showed plainly that the wine was up in his head, he\nshouted--\n\n\"Here is my son! He and I--I and he--until death! Here's the health of\nDoctor Fritz!\"\n\nKnapwurst, standing as high as he was able upon the seat of his arm-chair,\nnot unlike a turnip half divided in two, leaned towards me and held me\nout his glass. Marie Lagoutte shook out the long streamers of her cap,\nand Sebalt, upright before his chair, as gaunt and lean as the shade of\nthe wild jaeger amongst the heather, repeated, \"Your health, Doctor\nFritz!\" whilst the flakes of silvery foam ran down his cup and floated\ngently down upon the stone-flagged floor.\n\nThen there was a moment's silence. Every guest drank. Then, with a single\nclash, every glass was set vigorously down upon the table.\n\n\"Bravo!\" cried Sperver.\n\nThen turning to me--\n\n\"Fritz, we have already drunk to the health of the count and of\nMademoiselle Odile; you will do the same.\"\n\nTwice had I to drain the cup before the vigilant eyes of the whole table.\nThen I too began to look grave. Could it have been drunken gravity? A\nluminous radiance seemed shed on every object; faces stood out brightly\nfrom the darkness, and looked more nearly upon me; in truth, there were\nyouthful faces and aged, pretty and ugly, but all alike beamed upon me\nkindly, and lovingly, and tenderly; but it was the youngest, at the other\nend of the table, whose bright eyes attracted me, and we exchanged long\nand wistful glances, full of affection and sympathy!\n\nSperver kept on humming and laughing. Suddenly putting his hand upon the\ndwarf's misshapen back, he cried--\n\n\"Silence! Here is Knapwurst, our historian and chronicler! He is\npreparing to speak. This hump holds all the history of the house of\nNideck from the beginning of time!\"\n\nThe little hunchback, not at all indignant at so ambiguous a compliment,\ndirected his benevolent eyes upon the face of the huntsman, and replied--\n\n\"You, Sperver, you are one of the _reiters_ whose story I have been\ntelling you. You have the arm, and the courage, and the whiskers of a\n_reiter_ of old! If that window opened wide, and a _reiter_ was to hold\nout his hand at the end of his long arm to you, what would you say to\nhim?\"\n\n\"I would say, 'You are welcome, comrade; sit down and drink. You will\nfind the wine just as good and the girls just as pretty as they were in\nthe days of old Hugh Lupus.' Look!\"\n\nAnd he pointed with his glass at the jolly young faces that brightened\nthe farther end of the table.\n\nCertainly the damsels of Nideck were lovely. Some were blushing with\npleasure to hear their own praises; others half-veiled their rosy cheeks\nwith their long drooping eyelashes, while one or two seemed rather to\nprefer to display their, sweet blue eyes by raising them to the smoky\nceiling. I wondered at my own insensibility that I had never before\nnoticed these fair roses blooming in the towers of the ancient manor.\n\n\"Silence!\" cried Sperver for the second time. \"Our friend Knapwurst is\ngoing to tell us again the legend he related to us just now.\"\n\n\"Won't you have another instead?\" asked the hunchback.\n\n\"No. I like this best.\"\n\n\"I know better ones than that.\"\n\n\"Knapwurst,\" insisted the huntsman, raising his finger impressively, \"I\nhave reasons for wishing to hear the same again and no other. Cut it\nshorter if you like. There is a great deal in it. Now, Fritz, listen!\"\n\nThe dwarf, rather under the influence of the sparkling wine he had taken,\nrested his elbows on the table, and with his cheeks clutched in his bony\nfingers, and his eyes starting from his head with his concentrated\nefforts to speak with becoming seriousness, he cried as if he were\npublishing a proclamation--\n\n\"Bernard Hertzog relates that the burgrave Hugh, surnamed Lupus, or the\nWolf, when he was old, used to wear a cowl, which was a kind of knitted\ncap that covered in the crest of the knight's helmet when engaged in\nfighting. When the helmet tired him he would take it off and put on the\nknitted cowl, and its long cape fell around his shoulders.\n\n\"Up to his eighty-second year Hugh still wore his armour, though he could\nhardly breathe in it.\n\n\"Then he sent for Otto of Burlach, his chaplain, his eldest son Hugh, his\nsecond son Berthold, and his daughter the red-haired Bertha, wife of a\nSaxon chief named Bluderich, and said to them--\n\n\"'Your mother the she-wolf has bequeathed you her claws; her blood flows,\nmingled with mine, in your veins. In you the wolf's blood will flow from\ngeneration to generation; it shall weep and howl among the snows of the\nBlack Forest. Some will say, \"Hark! The wind howls!\" others, \"No, it is\nthe owl hooting!\" But not so; it is your blood, mine and the blood of the\nshe-wolf who drove me to murder Hedwige, my wife before God and the\nChurch. She died under my bloody hands! Cursed be the she-wolf! for it is\nwritten, \"I will visit the sins of the fathers upon the children.\" The\ncrime of the father shall be visited upon the children until justice\nshall have been satisfied!'\n\n\"Then old Hugh the Wolf died.\n\n\"From that dreary day the north wind has howled across the wilds, and the\nowl has hooted in the dark, and travellers by night know not that it is\nthe blood of the she-wolf weeping for the day of vengeance that will\ncome, whose blood will be renewed from generation to generation--so says\nHertzog--until the day when the first wife of Hugh, Hedwige the Fair,\nshall reappear at Nideck under the form of an angel to comfort and to\nforgive!\"\n\nThen Sperver, rising from his seat, took a lamp and demanded of Knapwurst\nthe keys of the library, and beckoned to me to follow him.\n\nWe rapidly traversed the long dark gallery, then the armoury, and soon\nthe archive-chamber appeared at the end of the great corridor.\n\nAll noises had died away in the distance. The place seemed quite\ndeserted.\n\nOnce or twice I turned round, and could then see with a creeping feeling\nof dread our two long fantastic shadows in ghostly fashion writhing in\nstrange distortions upon the high tapestry.\n\nSperver quickly opened the old oak door, and with torch uplifted, his\nhair all bristling in disorder, and excited features, walked in the\nfirst. Standing before the portrait of Hedwige, whose likeness to the\nyoung countess had struck me at our first visit to the library, he\naddressed me in these solemn words:--\n\n\"Here is she who was to return to comfort and pity me! She has returned!\nAt this moment she is downstairs with the old count. Look well, Fritz; do\nyou recognise her? Is it not Odile?\"\n\nThen turning to the picture of Hugh's second wife--\n\n\"There,\" he said, \"is Huldine, the she-wolf. For a thousand years she has\nwept in the deep gorges amongst the pine forests of the Schwartzwald; she\nwas the cause of the death of poor Lieverle; but henceforward the lords\nof Nideck may rest securely, for justice is done, and the good angel of\nthis lordly house has returned!\"\n\n\n\n\nMYRTLE.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nJust at the end of the village of Dosenheim,  in Alsace, about fifty\nyards from the gravelly road that leads into the wood, is a pretty\ncottage surrounded with an orchard, the flat roof loaded with\nboulder-stones, the gable-end looking down the valley.\n\nFlights of pigeons wheel around it, hens are scratching and picking up\nwhat they can under the fences, the cock takes his stand majestically on\nthe low garden wall, and sounds the _reveillee_, or the retreat, for the\nechoes of Falberg to repeat; an outside staircase, with its wooden\nbanisters, the linen of the little household hanging over it, leads to\nthe first story, and a vine climbs up the front, and spreads its leafy\nbranches from side to side.\n\nIf you will only go up these steps you will see at the end of the narrow\nentry the kitchen, with its dresser and its pewter plates and dishes, its\nsoup-tureens puffing out like balloons; open the door to the right and\nyou are in the parlour with its dark oak furniture, a ceiling crossed by\nbrown smoke-stained rafters, and its old Nuremberg clock click-clacking\nmonotonously.\n\nHere sits a woman of five-and-thirty, spinning and dreaming, her waist\nencircled with a long black taffety bodice, and her head covered with a\nvelvet headdress, with long ribbons.\n\nA man in broad-skirted velveteen coat, with breeches of the same, and\nwith a fine open brow, looking calm and thoughtful, is dandling on his\nknee a fine stout boy, whistling the call to \"boot and saddle.\"\n\nThere lies the quiet village at the end of the valley, framed, as you\nsit, in the little cottage window; the river is leaping over the mill-dam\nand crossing the winding street; the old houses, with their deep and\ngloomy eaves, their barns, their gabled windows, their nets drying in the\nsun; the young girls, kneeling by the river-side on the stones, washing\nlinen; the cattle lazily lounging down to drink, and gravely lowing\namidst the willows; the young herdsmen cracking their whips; the mountain\nsummit, jagged like a saw by the pointed fir-tree tops--all these rural\nobjects lie reflected in the flowing blue stream, only broken by the\nfleets of ducks sailing down or the occasional passage of an old tree\nrooted up on the mountain-side.\n\nLooking quietly on these things, you are impressed with a sense of the\nease and comfort of which they speak, and you are moved with gratitude to\nthe Giver of all good.\n\nWell, my dear friends and neighbours, such was the cottage of the Bremers\nin 1820, such were Bremer himself, his wife Catherine, and their son,\nlittle Fritz.\n\nTo my own mind they come back exactly as I have described them to you.\n\nChristian Bremer had served in the chasseurs of the Imperial Guard. After\n1815 he had married Catherine, his old sweetheart, grown a little older,\nbut quite fresh and fair, and full of grace. With his own little\nproperty, his house, and his four or five acres of vineyard, and\nCatherine's added to it, Bremer had become one of the most substantial\nbourgeois of Dosenheim; he might have been mayor, or adjoint, or\nmunicipal councillor, but these honours had no attractions for him; and\nwhat pleased him best was, after work was over, to take down his old gun,\nwhistle for Friedland, and take him a turn in the woods.\n\nNow it fell out one day that this worthy man, coming home after a day's\nshooting, brought in his bag a little gipsy girl two or three years old,\nas lively as a squirrel, and as brown as a hazel-nut. He had found her in\nthe bundle of an unhappy gipsy woman who had died of fatigue or hunger,\nor both, at the foot of a tree.\n\nYou may well imagine what an outcry Catherine raised against this new\nuninvited member of her family. But as Bremer was master in his own\nhouse, he simply announced to his wife that the child should be\nchristened by the name of Susanna Frederica Myrtle, and that she should\nbe brought up with little Fritz.\n\nAs a matter of course, all the women in the place, old and young, came\nto pass their observations upon the little gipsy, whose serious and\nthoughtful expression of countenance surprised them.\n\n\"This is not a child like others,\" said they; \"she is a heathen--quite a\nheathen! You may see by her eyes that she understands every word! She is\nlistening now! Mind what I say, Maitre Christian! Gipsies have claws at\nthe ends of their fingers. If you will rear young ferrets and weasels you\nmust not expect your poultry to be safe. They will have the run of all\nthe farm-yard!\"\n\n\"Go and mind your own business!\" shouted Bremer. \"I have seen Russians\nand Spaniards, I have seen Italians, and Germans, and Jews; some were\nbrown, and some were black, some white, and others red; some had long\nnoses, and others had turned-down noses, but I found good fellows amongst\nthem all.\"\n\n\"Very likely,\" said the ladies, \"but those people lived in houses, and\ngipsies live in the open air.\"\n\nHe vouchsafed no reply to this argument, but with all possible politeness\nhe put them out by the shoulders.\n\n\"Go away,\" he cried; \"I don't want your advice. It is time to air the\nrooms, and then I have to go and attend to the stables.\"\n\nBut, after all, the rejected counsels were not so bad, as the event\nunhappily showed a dozen or fourteen years afterwards.\n\nFritz was always delighted to feed the cattle, and take the horses to the\npond, and follow his father and learn to plough and sow, to reap and mow,\nto tie up the sheaves and bring them home. But Myrtle had no wish to milk\nthe cows, churn the butter, shell peas, or peel potatoes.\n\nWhen the maidens of Dosenheim, going out to wash clothes in the morning\nat the river, called her the _heathen_, she mirrored herself complacently\nin the fountain, and when she had admired her own long dark tresses, her\nviolet lips, her white teeth, her necklace of red berries, she would\nsmile and murmur to herself--\n\n\"Ah! they only call me a heathen because I am prettier than they are,\"\nand she would dip the tip of her little foot in the fountain and laugh.\n\nBut Catherine could not approve of such conduct, and said--\n\n\"Myrtle is not the least good to us. She won't do a single thing that is\nuseful. It is no use for me to preach, and advise, and scold, she does\neverything the wrong way. The other day, when we were stowing away apples\nin the closet, she took bites out of the best to see if they were ripe!\nShe has no pleasure but in gobbling up the best of everything.\"\n\nBremer himself could not help admitting that there was a very heathenish\nspirit in her when he heard his wife crying from morning till night,\n\"Myrtle, Myrtle! where are you now? Ah, naughty, bad girl! she has run\naway into the woods again to gather blackberries.\" But still he laughed\nto himself, and pitied poor Catherine, whom he compared to a hen with a\nbrood of ducklings.\n\nEvery year after harvest-time Fritz and Myrtle spent whole days far away\nfrom the farm, pasturing the cattle, singing, and whistling, and baking\npotatoes under the ashes, and coming down the rocky hill in the evening\nblowing the shepherd's horn.\n\nThese were some of Myrtle's happiest days. Seated before the burning\nhemp-stalks, with her pretty brown face between her hands, she lost\nherself in endless reveries.\n\nThe long strings of wild ducks and geese which traverse, about the end of\nautumn, the boundless heavens spread from the mountains on the east to\nthe western hills, seemed to have a depressing effect upon her mind. She\nused to follow them with longing eyes, straining them as if to overtake\nthe wild birds in the immeasurable distance; and suddenly she would rise,\nspread out her arms, and cry--\n\n\"I must go! I must go! I can't stay!\"\n\nThen she would weep with her head bowed down, and Fritz, seeing her in\ntears, would cry too, asking--\n\n\"Why do you cry, Myrtle? Has anybody hurt you? Is it any of the boys in\nthe village?--Kasper, Wilhelm, Heinrich? Only tell me, and I will knock\nhim down at once! Do tell!\"\n\n\"No; it is not that.\"\n\n\"Well, why are you crying?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"Do you want to run as far as the Falberg?\"\n\n\"No; that is not far enough.\"\n\n\"Where do you want to go?\"\n\n\"Down there! down there! ever so far! where the birds are going.\"\n\nThis made Fritz open his eyes and his mouth very wide.\n\nOne day in September, when they were idling along by the woods, about\nnoon, the heat was so great and the air so still that the smoke of their\nlittle fire, instead of rising straight into the air, fell like water and\ncrept among the briars. The grasshopper had ceased its dull monotonous\nchirp, not the buzzing of a fly was to be heard, nor the warbling of a\nbird. The oxen and the cows, with sleepy eyes half-closed, their knees\nbent under them, were resting together under a spreading oak in the\nmeadow, now and then lowing in a slow, protracted way as if in idle\nprotest against such hot weather.\n\nFritz had begun by plaiting the strands of his whip, but he soon lay down\nin the long grass with his hat over his eyes, and Friedland came to lie\nnear him, gaping from ear to ear.\n\nMyrtle alone suffered no inconvenience from the overwhelming heat;\nsitting on the ground near the fire, with her arms wreathed around her\nknees, full in the sun, her large dark eyes slowly surveyed the dark\narches formed by the branches of the forest.\n\nTime passed on slowly. The distant village clock had struck twelve, then\none, and two, and the young gipsy never stirred. In the woods and jagged\nmountain-tops, the crags, the forests, descending into the valleys, she\nheard some mysterious call. They spoke to her in a language not unknown\nto her.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said to herself, \"yes; I have seen all that before--long\nago--a long time ago.\"\n\nThen with a quick, sharp glance at Fritz, who was in a deep sleep, she\nrose to her feet and began to fly. Her light footsteps scarcely bent the\ngrass beneath her; she ran on and on, up the hill; Friedland turned his\nhead round with a careless glance, then stretched out once more his\nlanguid limbs, and composed himself to sleep.\n\nMyrtle disappeared in the midst of the brambles which border the common\nwood. At one bound she cleared the muddy ditch where a single frog was\ncroaking amongst the rushes, and twenty minutes after she reached the top\nof the Roche Creuse, whence you may have a wide prospect of Alsace and\nthe blue summits of the Vosges.\n\nThen she turned to see if anybody was following her. She could still\ndistinguish Fritz asleep in the green meadow with his hat over his eyes,\nand Friedland and the sleeping cattle under their tree.\n\nFarther on she could see the village, the river, the roof of the\nfarm-house, with its flights of pigeons eddying round; the long, crooked\nstreet and red-petticoated women walking leisurely up and down; the\nlittle ivy-covered church where the good _cure_ Niclausse had baptised\nher into the Christian faith and afterwards confirmed her.\n\nAnd when she had sufficiently contemplated these objects, turning her\nface the other way towards the mountain, she was filled with delight to\nmark how the densely-crowded firs covered the hill-sides, up to their\nhighest ridge, close as the grass of the fields.\n\nAt the sight of all this grandeur the young gipsy felt her heart beating\nand expanding with unknown delight, and again running on she darted\nthrough a rift between the rocks, lined with mosses and ferns, to reach\nthe beaten track through the woods.\n\nHer whole soul--that wild, untrained soul of hers--was rushing with her\nand impelling her onwards, kindling her countenance with a new ardour.\nWith her hands she clung to the ivy, with her naked feet she clung to the\nprojections and the crevices to push on her way.\n\nSoon she was on the other slope, running, tripping, leaping, sometimes\nstopping short to gaze upon surrounding objects--a large tree, a ravine,\na lonely sheet of water, or a pond full of flowers and sweet-smelling\nwater-plants.\n\nAlthough she could not remember ever having seen those copses, those\nclearings, those heaths, at every turn in the path she would say to\nherself, \"There, I knew it was so! I knew that tree would be there! I\nwas sure of that rock! And there's the waterfall just below!\" Although\na thousand strange remembrances passed with momentary flashes, like\nsudden visions, through her mind, she could not understand it all and\ncould explain nothing. She had not yet been able to say to herself, \"What\nFritz and the rest of them want to make them happy is the village, and\nthe meadow, and the farm-house, and the fruit-trees, and the orchard, and\nthe milk-cows, and the laying hens; plenty in the cellar, plenty in the\ngranary, and a nice warm fire on the hearth in winter. But what have I to\ndo with all these things? Wasn't I born a heathen, quite a heathen? I was\nborn in the woods, just as the squirrel was born in an oak, just as a\nhawk was hatched on the crag and the thrush in the fir-tree!\"\n\nIt is true she had never thought of these things, but she was guided by\ninstinct; and this mysterious force drew her unconsciously about sunset\nto the bare heaths of the Kohle Platz, where the gangs of gipsies that\nwander between Alsace and Lorraine are accustomed to stay the night, and\nhang up their kettles among the dry heath.\n\nHere Myrtle sat down at the foot of an old oak-tree, tired, footsore, and\nragged; and here she long sat motionless, gazing into vacant space,\nlistening to the rustling of the wind amongst the tall fir-trees, happy,\nand feeling herself quite alone in the wide solitude.\n\nNight came. The stars broke out by thousands in the purple depths of the\nautumn sky. The moon rose and silvered with soft light the white stems of\nthe birch-trees, which hung in graceful groups along the mountain sides.\n\nThe young gipsy was beginning to yield to sleep when cries in the\ndistance roused her into an impulse to fly.\n\nHark! She knows the voices! They are those of Bremer, Fritz, and all the\npeople of the farm searching for her!\n\nThen, without a moment's hesitation, Myrtle flew, light as a roe, farther\ninto the forest, stopping only at long intervals to listen attentively\nand anxiously.\n\nThe cries died away in the distance, and soon the only sound she could\nhear was the loud beating of her own heart, and she went on her way at a\nless rapid pace.\n\nVery late, when the moon's rays became less brilliant, unable to stand\nout against her fatigue any longer, she sank down on the heath and fell\nfast asleep.\n\nShe was four leagues from Dosenheim, near the source of the Zinzel.\nBremer was not likely to come so far to look for her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nIt was broad daylight when Myrtle awoke amidst the deep solitudes of the\nSchlossberg, beneath an old fir-tree overgrown with moss and lichen. A\nthrush was whistling overhead; another was answering in the distance far\ndown the valley. The morning breeze was fanning the rustling foliage; but\nthe air, already warm, was loaded with the sweet perfumes of the\nground-ivy, the honeysuckle, the woodruff, and the sweetbriars.\n\nThe young gipsy opened her eyes with astonishment remembering, with\nsurprise and delight, that the voice of Catherine would no more trouble\nher, calling, \"Myrtle! Myrtle! where are you, you idle child?\" she\nsmiled, and listened to what gave her pleasure, the note of the thrush\nsinging among the trees.\n\nNear at hand a spring was bubbling out of a cleft; the girl had but to\nlook round to see the living stream running, sparkling and clear, amidst\nthe long grass. From the rock high overhead hung an arbutus loaded with\nits gorgeous freight of scarlet berries.\n\nThough Myrtle was thirsty she felt too idle to move amongst all this\nbeauty and all this harmony, and she dropped her pretty brown face,\nsmiling and admiring the daylight through her long dark lashes.\n\n\"This is how I am always going to be,\" she said. \"How can I help it? I am\nan idle girl. I was made so.\"\n\nDreaming in this lazy way, the picture rose up in her mind of the\nfarm-yard with the proud cock strutting among his hens, and then she\nremembered the eggs, how they used to find them in the straw in some\ncorner of the barn.\n\n\"If I had a couple of hard-boiled eggs,\" she thought, \"just like those\nFritz had yesterday in his bag, with a crust of bread and a little salt,\nI should like it very well. But what signifies? When you can't get eggs\nyou have blackberries and whinberries.\"\n\nA scent of whinberries made her little nostrils dilate with expectation.\n\n\"There are some here,\" she said; \"I can smell them.\"\n\nShe was right. The wood was full of them.\n\nIn another minute, not hearing the thrush, she raised herself on her\nelbow and noticed the bird picking at the arbutus-berries.\n\nThen she went to the brook and took a little clear water in her hollow\nhand, and observed that there was plenty of watercress.\n\nThen she remembered what she had never taken the trouble to think of\nbefore, some words of the _cure_, Niclausse about the birds of the air\nthat God provided for, and the lilies of the field that were more\nbeautiful than the glory of Solomon, and she remembered the lesson about\nnot being anxious for food and clothing, and thought that that would just\nsuit her, for she did not think of any of the teaching of the same great\nTeacher about industry, and frugality, and living honestly, and so she\ncame to the satisfying conclusion that the true heathens were Catherine\nand all her people, who were so foolish and wicked as to plough, and sow,\nand reap, while she was the good Christian, because she was as idle as\nthe day was long.\n\nShe was still dwelling on these satisfactory deductions when there was a\nsudden rustling among the dead leaves and a noise of footsteps.\n\nShe was going to run away when a gipsy lad of eighteen or twenty appeared\nbefore her--a tall, lithe, dark fellow with thick woolly hair, shining\nblack eyes, and thick parted lips.\n\nHis eyes glittered as he cried--\n\n\"Almani!\"\n\n\"Almani!\" replied Myrtle, moved with much interest.\n\n\"Ha, ha!\" cried the lad, \"what gang do you go with?\"\n\n\"I don't know--I am looking for it.\"\n\nAnd without any concealment she told him how Bremer had found her and\nbrought her up, and how she had escaped yesterday from his house.\n\nThe young gipsy grinned, and showed a long double row of white teeth.\n\n\"I am going to Hazlach,\" he cried. \"To-morrow there's a _fete_ there; our\nband will all be there--Pfiffer Karl, Melchior, Blue-Titmouse, Fritz the\nclarionet, Coucou-Peter, and Magpie. The women are going fortune-telling,\nand we play the music. If you like, you may go with me.\"\n\n\"I will,\" said Myrtle, looking down.\n\nThen he kissed her, laid his bag upon her back, and grasping his stick in\nboth his hands, he cried--\n\n\"Now you are my wife! You will carry the bag for me, and I will keep you.\nForward!\"\n\nAnd now Myrtle, lazy as she had always been at the farm, started off with\nall possible willingness.\n\nHe followed her, singing, and tumbling over on his hands and feet to\nexpress his joy!\n\nFrom that day Myrtle has never been heard of.\n\nFritz almost died of grief when he found that she did not return; but a\nfew years later he found comfort in marrying Gredel Dich, the miller's\ndaughter, a fine, stout, active girl, who made him an excellent wife; and\nCatherine, his mother, was quite pleased, for Gredel Dich was quite an\nheiress!\n\nOnly Bremer could not be comforted; he was as fond of Myrtle as if she\nhad been his own child, and he drooped visibly from day to day.\n\nOne winter's day when he had got up, and was looking out of the window,\nhe saw a ragged but pretty gipsy girl passing through the village covered\nwith snow, and with a heavy bag upon her shoulders, and sat down again\nwith a deep sigh.\n\n\"What is the matter, Bremer?\" asked his wife.\n\nThere was no answer. She came close. His eyes were closing. There he lay\ndead.\n\n\n\n\nUNCLE CHRISTIAN'S INHERITANCE\n\n\n\n\nWhen my excellent uncle Christian Haas, burgomaster of Lauterbach, died,\nI had a good situation as maitre de chapelle, or precentor, under the\nGrand Duke Yeri Peter, with a salary of fifteen hundred florins,\nnotwithstanding which I was a poor man still.\n\nUncle Christian knew exactly how I was situated, and yet had never sent\nme a kreutzer. So when I learned that he had left me owner of two hundred\nacres of rich land in orchards and vineyards, a good bit of woodland, and\nhis large house at Lauterbach, I could not help shedding tears of\ngratitude.\n\n\"My dear uncle,\" I cried, \"now I can appreciate the depth of your wisdom,\nand I thank you most sincerely for your judicious illiberality. Where\nwould now the money be, supposing you had sent me anything? In the hands\nof the Philistines, no doubt; whereas by your prudent delays you have\nsaved the country, like another Fabius Cunctator--\n\n\"'Qui cunctando restituit rem--'\n\nI honour your memory, Uncle Christian! I do indeed!\"\n\nHaving delivered myself of these deep feelings, and many more which I\ncannot enter into now, I got on horseback and rode off to Lauterbach.\n\nStrange, is it not, how the Spirit of Avarice, hitherto quite a stranger\nto me, came to make my acquaintance?\n\n\"Caspar!\" he whispered, \"now you are a rich man! Hitherto vain shadows\nhave filled your mind. A man must be a fool to follow glory. There is\nnothing solid but acres, and buildings, and crown-pieces, put out in\nsafe mortgages. Fling aside all your vain delusions! Enlarge your\nboundaries, round off your estate, heap up money, and then you will be\nhonoured and respected! You will be a burgomaster as your uncle was\nbefore you, and the country folks, when they see you coming a mile off,\nwill pull off their hats, and say--'Here is Monsieur Caspar Haas, the\nrichest man and the biggest _herr_ in the country.'\"\n\nThese notions kept passing and repassing in my mind like the figures in a\nmagic-lantern, with grave and measured step. The whole thing seemed to me\nperfectly reasonable.\n\nIt was the middle of July. The lark was warbling in the sky. The crops\nwere waving in the plain, the gentle breezes carried on them the soft cry\nof the quail and the partridge amongst the standing wheat; the foliage\nwas glancing in the sunshine, and the Lauter ran its course beneath the\nwillows; but what was all that to me, the great burgomaster? I puffed up\nmy cheeks and rounded off my figure in anticipation of the portly\nappearance I was to present, and repeated to myself those delightful\nobservations--\n\n\"This is Monsieur Caspar Haas; he is a very rich man! He is the first\n_herr_ in the country! Get on, Blitz!\"\n\nAnd the nag trotted forward.\n\nI was anxious to try on my uncle's three-cornered hat and scarlet\nwaistcoat. \"If they fit me,\" I said, \"what is the use of buying?\"\n\nAbout four in the afternoon the village of Lauterbach appeared at the end\nof the valley, and very proud I felt as I surveyed the tall and handsome\nhouse of the late Christian Haas, my future abode, the centre of my\nproperty, real and speculative. I admired its situation by the long dusty\nroad, its vast roof of grey shingle, the sheds and barns covering with\ntheir broad expanse the wagons, the carts, and the crops; behind, the\npoultry-yard, then the little garden, the orchard, the vineyards up the\nhill, the green meadows farther off.\n\nI chuckled with delight over all these comforts and luxuries.\n\nAs I went down the principal street the old women with nose and chin\nnearly meeting at the extremity, the bare-pated children with ragged\nhair, the men in their otter-skin caps, and silver-chained pipes in their\nmouths, all gaze upon me, and respectfully salute me--\n\n\"Good day, Monsieur Caspar! How do you do, Monsieur Haas?\"\n\nAnd all the small windows were filled with wondering faces. I am at home\nnow; I seem as if I had always been a great landowner at Lauterbach, and\na notable. My kapellmeister's life seems a dream, a thing of the past, my\nenthusiastic fondness for music a youthful folly! How money does modify\nmen's views of things!\n\nAnd now I draw bridle before the house of the village notary, Monsieur\nBecker. He has my title-deeds under his care, and is to hand them over to\nme. I fasten my horse to the ring at the door, I run up the steps, and\nthe ancient scribe, with his bald head very respectfully uncovered, and\nhis long spare figure clad in a green dressing-gown with full skirts,\nadvances alone to receive me.\n\n\"Monsieur Caspar Haas, I have the honour to salute you.\"\n\n\"Your servant, Monsieur Becker.\"\n\n\"Pray walk in, Monsieur Haas.\"\n\n\"After you, sir, after you.\"\n\nWe cross the vestibule, and I find at the end of a small, neat, and\nwell-aired room a table nicely and comfortably laid, and sitting by it\na young maiden rosy and fresh-coloured, the very picture of modesty and\npropriety.\n\nThe venerable notary announced me--\n\n\"Monsieur Caspar Haas!\"\n\nI bowed.\n\n\"My daughter Lothe!\" added the good man.\n\nAnd whilst I felt in myself a reviving taste for the beautiful, and was\nadmiring Mademoiselle Lothe's pretty little chubby nose, the rosy lips,\nand the large blue eyes, her dainty little figure, and her dimpled hands,\nMaitre Becker invited me to sit down at the table, informing me that he\nhad been expecting me, and that before entering on matters of business it\nwould be well to take a little refreshment, a glass of Bordeaux, etc., an\ninvitation of which I fully recognised the propriety, and which I\naccepted very willingly.\n\nAnd so we sit down. We talk first of the beautiful country. And I form\nopinions about the old gentleman, and wonder what a notary is likely to\nmake at Lauterbach!\n\n\"Mademoiselle, will you take a wing?\"\n\n\"Monsieur, you are very kind; thank you, I will.\"\n\nLothe looks down bashfully. I fill her glass, in which she dips her rosy\nlips. Papa is in good spirits; he tells me about hunting and fishing.\n\n\"Of course Monsieur Haas will live as we do in the country. We have\nexcellent rabbit-warrens. The rivers abound in trout. The shooting in the\nforests is let out. People mostly spend their evenings at the inn.\nMonsieur the inspector of woods and forests is a delightful young man.\nThe _juge-de-paix_ is a capital whist-player,\" and so on, and so on.\n\nI listen, and think all this quiet life must be delightful. Mademoiselle\nLothe pleases me a good deal. She does not talk much, but she smiles and\nlooks so agreeable! How loving and amiable she must be!\n\nAt last the coffee came, then the kirschwasser. Mademoiselle Lothe\nretires, and the old lawyer gradually passes to business. He explains to\nme the nature of my uncle's property, and I listen attentively. There was\nno part of the will in dispute; there were no legacies, no mortgages.\nEverything is clear and straightforward. Happy Caspar! Happy man!\n\nThen we went into the office to look over the deeds. The close air of\nthis place of dry, hard business, those long rows of boxes, the files of\nbills--all these together put weak notions of love out of my head. I sat\ndown in an arm-chair while Monsieur Becker, collecting his thoughts, puts\nhis horn spectacles in their place upon his long, sharp nose.\n\n\"These deeds relate to your meadow-land at Eichmatt. There, Monsieur\nHaas, you have a hundred acres of excellent land, the finest and\nbest-watered in the commune; two and even three crops a year are got off\nthat land. It brings in four thousand francs a year. Here are the deeds\nbelonging to your vine-growing land at Sonnenthal, thirty-five acres in\nall. One year with another you may get from this two hundred hectolitres\n(4,400 gals.) of light wine, sold on the ground at twelve or fifteen\nfrancs the hectolitre. Good years make up for the bad. This, Monsieur\nHaas, is your title to the forest of Romelstein, containing fifty or\nsixty hectares (a hectare is 2-1/2 acres) of excellent timber. This is\nyour property at Hacmatt; this your pasture-land at Tiefenthal. This is\nyour farm at Grueneswald, and here is the deed belonging to your house at\nLauterbach; it is the largest house in the place, and was built in the\nsixteenth century.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Monsieur Becker! but is that saying much in its favour?\"\n\n\"Certainly, certainly. It was built by Jean Burckhardt, Count of Barth,\nfor a hunting-box. Many generations have lived in it since then, but it\nhas never been neglected, and it is now in excellent repair.\"\n\nI thanked Monsieur Becker for the information he had given me, and having\nsecured all my title-deeds in a large portfolio which he was good enough\nto lend me, I took my leave, more full than ever of my vast importance!\n\nArriving before my house, I enjoyed introducing the key into the lock of\nthe door, and bringing down my foot firmly and proudly on the first step.\n\n\"This is all mine!\" I cried enthusiastically.\n\nI enter the hall--\"Mine!\" I open the wardrobes--\"Mine!\" Mine--all that\nlinen piled up to the top! I pace majestically up the broad staircase,\nrepeating like a fool, \"This is mine, and that is mine! Here I am, owner\nof all this! No more uneasiness about the future! Not an anxious thought\nfor the morrow! Now I am going to make a figure in the world!--not on the\nweak ground of merit--not for anything that fashion can alter. I am a\ngreat man because I hold really and effectually that which the world\ncovets.\n\n\"Ye poets and artists! what are you in comparison with the rich\nproprietor who has everything he wants, and who feeds your inspiration\nwith the crumbs that fall from his table? What are you but ornamental\nportions of his feasts and banquets, just to fill up a weary interval?\nYou are no more than the sparrow that warbles in his hedges, or the\nstatue that figures in his garden-walk. It is by him and for him that you\nexist. What need has he to envy you the incense of pride and vanity--he\nwho possesses the only solid good this world has to offer?\"\n\nAt that moment of inflated conceit if the poor Kapellmeister Haas had\nappeared before me I might very likely have turned and looked at him over\nmy shoulder and asked, \"What fool is that? What business has he with me?\"\n\nI threw a window open; evening was closing in. The setting sun gilded my\norchards and my vines as far as I could see. On the declivity of the hill\na few white patches indicated the cemetery.\n\nI turned round. A great Gothic hall, with rich mouldings decorating the\nceiling, pleased my taste exceedingly. This was the Seigneur Burckhardt's\nhunting-saloon.\n\nAn old spinet stood between two windows; I ran my fingers absently over\nthe keys, and the loose strings jingled with the disagreeable squeaking\nof a toothless old woman trying to sing like a young damsel.\n\nAt the end of this long apartment was an arched alcove closed in by deep\nred curtains, and containing a lofty four-post bedstead with a kind of\ngrand baldacchino covering it in. The sight of this reminded me that I\nhad been six hours on horseback, and undressing with a self-satisfied\nsmirk on my face all the time--\n\n\"It is the first time,\" I said, \"that I shall sleep in a bed of my own.\"\n\nAnd laying myself comfortably down, with my eyes dreamily wandering over\nthe distant plains on which the shadows of evening were settling down, I\nfelt my eyelids gently yielding to the sweet influence of sleep. Not a\nleaf was stirring; the village noises ceased one by one, the last golden\nrays of the sun had disappeared, and I dropped into the unconsciousness\nof welcome sleep.\n\nDark night fell on the face of the earth, and then the moon was rising in\nall her splendour, when I awoke, I cannot tell why. The wandering scents\nof summer air reached me through the open window, fragrant with the sweet\nperfume of the new-mown hay. I gazed with surprise, then I made an effort\nto rise and open the window, but some obstacle prevented me. To my\nastonishment, though my head was perfectly free to move in any direction,\nmy body was buried in a deep sleep like a lump of lead. Not a single\nmuscle obeyed my repeated efforts to raise my body; I was conscious of my\narms lying extended near me, and my legs being stretched out straight and\nimmovable; but my head was swaying helplessly to and fro. My breathing,\ndeep and regular--the breathing of my body went on all the same, and\nfrightened me dreadfully. My head, exhausted with its vain efforts to\nobtain obedience from the limbs, fell back in despair, and I said, \"What!\nIs it paralysis?\"\n\nMy eyes closed. I was reflecting with a feeling of horror upon this\nstrange phenomenon, and my ears were listening intently to the agitated\nbeating of my heart, over whose hurried flow of blood the mind had no\npower.\n\n\"What, what is this?\" I thought presently. \"Do my own body and limbs\nrefuse to obey my will? Cannot Caspar Haas, the undisputed lord of so\nmany rich vineyards and fat pastures, move this wretched clod of earth\nwhich most certainly belongs to him? Oh, what does it all mean?\"\n\nAs I was thus wondering and meditating I heard a slight noise. The door\nof my alcove opened, and a man clothed in some stiff material resembling\nfelt, such as is worn by the monks in the chapel of St. Werburgh at\nMayence, with a broad-brimmed hat and feather pushed off from the left\near, his hands buried up to the elbows in gauntlets of strong untanned\nleather, entered the room. This gentleman's huge jack-boots came over the\nknees, and were folded down again. A heavy chain of gold, with\ndecorations suspended to it, hung from his shoulders. His tanned and\nangular countenance, his sallow complexion, his hollow eyes, bore an\nexpression of bitterness and melancholy.\n\nThis dismal personage traversed the hall with a hard and sounding step as\nmeasured as the ticking of a clock, and placing his skinny hand upon the\nhilt of an immense long rapier, and stamping with his heel on the floor,\nhe uttered in a horribly disagreeable creaking voice resembling the\ngrating of an engine these words, which dropped in a dry mechanical\nfashion from his ashy lips:--\n\n\"This is mine--mine--Hans Burckhardt, Count of Barth!\"\n\nI felt a creeping sensation coming all over me.\n\nAt the same instant the door opposite flew open wide, and the Count of\nBarth disappeared in the next apartment; and I could hear his hard, dry\nautomatic tread upon the stairs descending the steps, one by one, for\na long time; there seemed no end to it, until at last the awful sounds\ndied in the remote distance as if they had descended into the bowels of\nthe earth.\n\nBut as I was still listening, and hearing nothing further, all in a\nmoment the vast hall filled as if by magic with a numerous company; the\nspinet began to jingle; there was music and singing of love, and\npleasure, and wine.\n\nI gazed and saw by the bluish-grey moonlight ladies in the bloom of youth\nnegligently floating over the floor, and chiefly about the old spinet;\nelegant cavaliers attired, as in the olden time, in innumerable dangling\nribbons, and the very perfection of lace collars and ruffles, seated\ncross-legged upon gold-fringed stools, affectedly inclining sidelong,\nshaking their perfumed locks, making little bows, studying all kinds of\ngraceful attitudes, and paying their court to the ladies, all so\nelegantly, and with such an air of gallantry, that it reminded me of the\nold mezzotint engravings of the graceful school of Lorraine in the\nsixteenth century.\n\nAnd the stiff little fingers of an ancient dowager, with a parrot bill,\nwere rattling the keys of the old spinet; bursts of thin laughter set\ndiscordant echoes flying, and ended in little squeaks with such a sharp\ndiscordant rattle of constrained laughter as made my hair stand on end.\n\nAll this silly little world--all this quintessence of fashion and\nelegance, long out of date, all exhaled the acrid odour of rose-water and\nessence of mignonette turned into vinegar.\n\nI made new and superhuman exertions to get rid of this disagreeable\nnightmare, but it was all in vain. But at that instant a lady of the\nhighest fashion cried aloud--\n\n\"Lords, you are at home here in all this domain--\"\n\nBut she was cut short in her compliments; a silence like death fell on\nthe whole assembly. They faded away. I looked, and the whole picture had\nvanished from my sight.\n\nThen the sound of a trumpet fell on my listening ears. Horses were pawing\nthe ground outside, dogs were barking, while the moon, calm, clear,\ninviting to meditation, still poured her soft light into my alcove.\n\nThe door opened as if by a blast of wind, and fifty huntsmen, followed by\na company of young ladies attired as they were two centuries ago, in long\ntrains, defiled with majestic pace out of one chamber into the other.\nFour serving-men passed amongst them, bearing on their brawny shoulders\non a stout litter of oak boughs the bloody carcass of a monstrous wild\nboar, with dim and faded eye, and with the foam yet lying white on his\nformidable tusks and grisly jaws.\n\nThen I heard the flourishes of the brazen trumpets redoubled in loudness\nand energy; but silence fell, and the pomp and dignity, passed away with\na sigh like the last moans of a storm in the woods; then--nothing at\nall--nothing to hear--nothing to see!\n\nAs I lay dreaming over this strange vision, and my eyes wandering vaguely\nover the empty space in the silent darkness, I observed with astonishment\nthe blank space becoming silently occupied by one of the old Protestant\nfamilies of former days, calm, solemn, and dignified in their bearing and\nconversation.\n\nThere sat the white-haired patriarch with the big Bible upon his knees;\nthe aged mother, tall and pale, spinning the flax grown by themselves,\nsitting as straight and immovable as her own distaff, her ruff up to her\nears, her long waist compressed in a stiff black bodice; then there sat\nthe fat and rosy children, with serious countenances and thoughtful blue\neyes, leaning in silence with their elbows on the table; the dog lay\nstretched by the great hearth apparently listening to the reading; the\nold clock stood in the corner ticking seconds; farther on in the shadow\nwere girls' faces and young men, talking seriously to them about Jacob\nand Rachel by way of love-making.\n\nAnd this good family seemed penetrated with the truth of the sacred\nstory; the old man in broken accents was reading aloud the edifying\nhistory of the settlement of the children of Israel in the Land of\nCanaan--\n\n\"This is the Land of Promise--the land promised to Abraham and Isaac and\nJacob your fathers--that you may be multiplied in it as the stars of\nheaven for multitude, and as the sand which is upon the seashore. And\nnone shall disturb you, for ye are the chosen people.\"\n\nThe moon, which had veiled her light for a few minutes, reappeared, and\nhearing no more sounds of voices, I looked round, and her clear cold rays\nfell in the great empty hall. Not a figure, not a shade, was left. The\nmoonlight poured its silver flood upon the floor, and in the distance the\nforms of a few trees stood out against the dark purple sky.\n\nBut now suddenly the high walls appeared lined with books, the old spinet\ngave way to the _secretaire_ of some man of learning, whose full-bottomed\nwig was peering above the back of a red-leather arm-chair. I could hear\nthe quill coursing over the paper. The learned man, buried in thought,\nnever moved; the silence was oppressive.\n\nBut fancy my astonishment when, slowly turning, the great scholar faced\nme, and I recognised the portrait of the famous lawyer Gregorius, marked\nNo. 253 in the portrait-gallery at Darmstadt.\n\nHow on earth had this personage walked out of his grave?\n\nI was asking myself this question when, in a hollow sepulchral voice, he\npronounced these words:--\n\n\"_Dominorum, ex jure Quintio, est jus utendi et abutendi quatenus\nnaturalis ratio patitur_.\"\n\nAs this sapient precept dropped oracularly from his lips, a word at a\ntime, his figure faded and turned pale. With the last word he had passed\nout of existence.\n\nWhat more shall I tell you, my dear friends? For hours, twenty\ngenerations came defiling past me in Hans Burckhardt's ancient\nmansion--Christians and Jews, nobles and commoners, fools and wise men\nof high art, and men of mere prose. Every one proclaimed his indefeasible\nright to the property; every one firmly believed himself sole lord and\nmaster of all he surveyed. Alas! Death breathed upon one after another,\nand they were all carried out, each as his turn came!\n\nI was beginning to be familiar with this strange phantasmagoria. Each\ntime that any of these honest folks turned round and declared to me,\n\"This is mine!\" I laughed and said, \"Wait a bit, my fine fellow!--you\nwill melt away just like the rest!\"\n\nAt last I began to feel tired of it, when far away--very far--the cock\ncrowed, announcing the dawn of day. His piercing call began to rouse the\nsleeper. The leaves rustled with the morning air; a slight shiver shook\nmy frame; I felt my limbs gradually regaining their freedom, and, resting\nupon my elbow, I gazed with rapture upon the silent wide-spread land. But\nwhat I saw presently did not tend to exalt my spirits.\n\nAlong the little winding path to the cemetery were moving, in solemn\nprocession, all the ghosts that had visited me in the night. Step by step\nthey approached the decaying moss-grown door of the sacred inclosure;\nthat silent, mournful march of spectres under the dim grey light of early\nmorning was a gaunt and fearful sight.\n\nAnd as I lay, more dead than alive, with gaping mouth and my face wet\nwith cold perspiration, the head of the dismal line melted and\ndisappeared among the weeping willows.\n\nThere were not many spectres, left, and I was beginning to feel a little\nmore composed, when the very last, my uncle Christian himself, turned\nround to me under the mossy gate and beckoned me to follow! A distant\nfaint ironical voice said--\n\n\"Caspar! Caspar! come! Six feet of this ground belong to you!\"\n\nThen he too disappeared.\n\nA streak of crimson and purple stretched across the eastern sky announced\nthe coming day.\n\nI need not tell you that I did not accept my uncle Christian's\ninvitation, though I am quite aware that a similar call will one day\narrive from One who must be obeyed. The remembrance of my brief abode at\nBurckhardt's fort has wonderfully brought down the great opinion I had\nonce formed of my own importance, for the vision of that night taught me\nthat though orchards and meadows may not pass away their owners do, and\nthis fact compels to serious reflection upon the nature of our duties and\nresponsibilities.\n\nI therefore wisely resolved not to risk the loss of manly energy and of\nthe best prizes of life by tarrying at that Capua, but to betake myself,\nwithout further loss of time, to the pursuit of music as a science, and\nI hope to produce next year, at the Royal Theatre of Berlin, an opera\nwhich, I hope, will disarm all criticism at once.\n\nI have come to the final conclusion that glory and renown, which\nspeculative people speak of as if they were mere smoke, is, after all,\nthe most enduring good. Life and a noble reputation do not depart\ntogether; on the contrary, death confirms well-deserved glory and adds\nto it a brighter lustre.\n\nSuppose, for instance, that Homer returned to life, no one would dispute\nwith him his claim to be the author of the _Iliad_, and each would vie\nwith the rest to do honour to the father of epic poetry. But if\nperadventure some rich landowner of that day came back to assert a claim\nto the fields, the woods, the pastures of which he used to be so proud,\nten to one he would be received like a thief and perhaps die a miserable\ndeath.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BEAR-BAITING.\n\n\n\n\n\"If any one thing distresses my dear aunt,\" said Caspar, \"more than my\nfondness for Sebaldus Dick's tavern, it is that there is an artist in the\nfamily!\n\n\"Dame Catherine would have been glad to see me an advocate, a priest, or\na councillor. If I had become a councillor, like Monsieur Andreas Van\nBerghem; if I had snuffled out long and weary sentences, caressing my\nlace bands with dainty finger-tips, with what esteem and veneration would\nnot that worthy woman have regarded monsieur her nephew! She would have\ngreeted Monsieur le Conseiller Caspar with profound respect; she would\nhave set before me her best preserves, she would have poured out for me,\nin the midst of her circle of gossips, just a drop of Muscadel of the\nyear XI. with--\n\n\"Pray take this, monsieur le conseiller; I have but two bottles left!\"\n\nAnything that monsieur my nephew Caspar, conseiller at the court of\njustice, could do would certainly have been perfectly right and suitable,\nand quite perfect in its way.\n\nAlas for the vanity of human wishes! the poor woman's ambition was never\nto be gratified. Her nephew is plain Caspar--Caspar Diderich; he has no\ntitle, no wand of office, no big wig--he is just an artist! and Dame\nCatherine has running in her head the old proverb, \"Beggarly as an\nartist,\" which distresses her more than she can tell.\n\nAt first I used to try to make her understand that a true artist is\nworthy of great respect, that his works sometimes endure for ages, and\nare admired by many successive generations, and that, in point of fact,\na good artist is quite as good as a councillor. Unhappily, I failed to\nconvince her; she merely shrugged her shoulders, clasped her hands in\ndespair, and vouchsafed no answer.\n\nI would have done anything to convert my aunt Catherine to my\nviews--anything; but I would rather die than sacrifice art and an\nartist's life, music, painting, and Sebaldus's tavern!\n\nSebaldus's tavern is delightful. It is the corner house between the\nnarrow Rue des Hallebardes and the little square De la Cigogne. As soon\nas you are through the archway you find within a spacious square court,\nwith old carved wooden galleries all round it, and a wooden staircase to\nreach it; everywhere are scattered in disorder small windows of last\ncentury with leaden sashes, skylights, and air-holes; old wooden posts\nare nearly yielding under the weight of a roof that threatens to sink in.\nThe barn, the rows of casks piled up in a corner, the cellar door at the\nleft, a pigeon-cote forming the point of the gable end; then, again,\nbeneath the galleries, other darkened windows in the same style, where\nyou can see swillers and topers in three-cornered hats, distinguished by\nnoses red, purple, or crimson; little women of Hundsruck, in velvet caps\nwith long fluttering ribbons, some grave, some laughing, others queer and\ngrotesque-looking; the hay-loft high up under the roof; stables,\npigsties, cowsheds, all in picturesque confusion attract and confound\nyour attention. It is a strange sight!\n\nFor fifty years not a hammer has been lifted against this venerable ruin.\nYou would think it was left for the special accommodation of rats! And\nwhen the glowing autumn sun, red as fire, showers golden rain upon the\ndecaying walls and timbers; when, as daylight fades into evening, the\nangular projections stand out more boldly, and the shadows deepen; when\nall the tavern rings with songs, and shouts, and roars of laughter; when\nfat Sebaldus, in leathern apron, runs to and from the cellar with the big\njug in his hand; when his wife Gredel throws up the kitchen window, and\nwith her long knife, well hacked along the edge, cleans the fish, or cuts\nthe necks of hens, ducks, or geese which struggle and gurgle in their own\nblood; when pretty Fridoline, with her rosy little mouth and her long\nfair hair, leans out of her window to tend the honeysuckle, and over her\nhead the neighbour's tabby cat is gently swaying her tail and watching,\nwith her cunning green eyes, the swallow circling in the deepening\npurple--I do assure you that a man must be utterly devoid of taste for\nthe picturesque not to stop and contemplate in ecstasy and listen to the\nmurmuring sounds, or the louder din, or the falling whispers, and observe\nwith an artist's eye the trembling lights, the flying shadows, and\nwhisper to himself, \"Is not this beautiful?\"\n\nBut you should see Maitre Sebaldus's tavern on a great occasion, when all\nthe jovial folks of Bergzabern crowd into the immense public room--some\nday when a cock-fight is going on, or a dog-fight, or a magic-lantern.\n\nLast autumn, on a Saturday--and it was Michaelmas Day--we were all\nsitting round the oaken table, between one and two o'clock in the\nafternoon; old Doctor Melchior, Eisenloffel the blacksmith, and his old\nwife, old Berbel Rasimus, Johannes the capuchin monk, Borves Fritz the\nclarionet-player at the Pied de Boeuf, and half a hundred more, laughing,\nsinging, drinking, playing at _youker_, draining jugs and glasses, eating\npuddings and _andouilles_.\n\nMother Gredel was coming and going; the pretty maid-servants, Heinrichen\nand Lotte, were flying up and down the kitchen stairs like squirrels, and\noutside, under the broad archway, was the booming, and banging, and\njingling of the big drum and the cymbals, while the exciting proclamation\nwas being made: \"Ho! ho! hi! Great battle to come off! The Asturian bear,\nBeppo, and Baptist, the Savoyard bear, against all dogs that may come.\nBoom! boom! Walk in, ladies! Walk in, gentlemen! Here's the buffalo from\nCalabria, and the onagra of the desert! Walk in, walk in! Don't be\nfrightened! All walk in!\"\n\nAnd they did come in, in crowds.\n\nSebaldus, barring the passage with his burly form, as Horatius guarded\nthe bridge in the brave days of old, shouted to all--\n\n\"Your five kreutzers, friends and neighbours! Five kreutzers for\nadmittance! Pay, or I'll throttle you!\"\n\nIt was an awful confusion; people climbed over each other's backs to get\nin faster, until Bridget Kera lost a stocking and Anna Seiler half her\npetticoat.\n\nAbout two, the bear-leader, a tall, rough-looking fellow, with red ragged\nhair and beard, and mounting a high sugar-loafed hat, pushed the door\najar, and cried, looking in--\n\n\"Just going to begin the fight!\"\n\nIn an instant all the tables were emptied, many an untasted glass being\nleft upon it. I ran to the hay-loft, climbed up the ladder four steps at a\ntime, and drew it up after me. There, seated all alone upon a bundle of\nhay, just inside the little skylight, I had a capital view.\n\nWhat a throng! The old galleries were bending under their weight, the\nroofs were visibly swaying. I shuddered to think of what might happen.\nIt seemed inevitable that they would all come down together like grapes\nin the wine-press, heaped up in a sea of heads.\n\nThey were hanging in clusters on the wooden pillars; yet higher in the\ngutters along the roof; yet higher about the pigeon-cote; higher still\nover the skylights in the roof of the _mairie_; yet higher in the spire\nof St. Christopher's; and all this multitude were howling and shouting--\n\n\"The bears! the bears!\"\n\nWhen I had sufficiently admired and wondered at the immense crowd,\nlooking down I saw in the middle of the court a poor, wretched,\ndepressed-looking donkey, lean and ragged, his sleepy eyes half-closed,\nhis ears hanging down. This dreadful object was to open the sports.\n\n\"What fools some people are!\" I thought.\n\nMinutes were passing away, the tumult increased, impatience was waxing\ninto anger, when the great red scoundrel, with his immense sugar-loaf\nhat, advanced carelessly into the middle of the open space, and cried\nsolemnly, with his fist upon his hips--\n\n\"The onagra of the desert against any dog in the town!\"\n\nThere was a silence of astonishment. Daniel, the butcher, with staring\neyes and gaping mouth, asks--\n\n\"Where is the onagra?\"\n\n\"There she stands!\"\n\n\"That! why, it's an ass!\"\n\n\"It's an onagra.\"\n\n\"Well, let us see what it is,\" cried the butcher, laughing.\n\nHe whistled his dog to come, and, pointing to the ass, cried--\n\n\"Foux, catch him!\"\n\nBut, strange to say, as soon as the ass saw the dog running to the\nattack, he turned nimbly round, and launched out with the whole length\nof his leg--so well aimed a kick that the dog fell back as if struck by\nlightning, with his jaw fractured!\n\nLoud laughter rang all round, while the poor dog fled with a piteous yell\nof pain.\n\nThe bear-leader smiled at the butcher, and asked--\n\n\"Well, what's your opinion? Is my onagra an ass?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Daniel, rather ashamed, \"it is an onagra.\"\n\n\"All right! all right! any more dogs coming to fight my desert-born,\ndesert-bred onagra? Come on, the onagra is ready!\"\n\nBut no one came forward; and the bear-leader shouted in vain in his\nshrill tones--\n\n\"Gentlemen! ladies! are you all afraid? afraid of the onagra? The dogs of\nyour town ought to be ashamed of themselves. Come on! courage, gentlemen!\ncourage, ladies!\"\n\nBut no one was inclined to risk his dog's life or limbs against so\ndangerous an animal, and the cries for the bears were beginning again.\n\n\"The bears! the bears! bring out the bears!\"\n\nAfter waiting a quarter of an hour the fellow saw that his onagra was not\nlikely to get any more customers, so, putting the beast up in the stable,\nhe approached the pigsty, opened it, and drew out by his chain Baptiste,\nthe Savoy bear, an old brute with a brown mangy-looking coat, as sulky\nand ashamed as a sweep coming down a chimney. For all he was not handsome\nthe shouts of applause rang out, and the fighting dogs themselves, shut\ninto the tavern porch, smelling a wild beast, set up a tragic howl that\nmade your hair stand on end. The miserable bear was led quietly enough to\na stake firmly driven in the ground, to which he was chained, all the\ntime slowly surveying the excited crowd with a melancholy eye.\n\n\"Poor old traveller!\" I cried to myself, \"would anybody have told you ten\nyears ago, when grave, terrible, and solitary you were traversing from\nside to side the high glaciers in Switzerland, in the gloomy glens of the\nUnterwald, and your deep growls made the old oaks tremble in every\nleaf--who could have told you that the day would come when, sad and\nresigned, with an iron collar round your throat, you would be tied to a\npost and devoured by dogs to amuse a mob at Bergzabern? Alas! _Sic\ntransit gloria mundi_!\"\n\nAs these meditations were occupying my thoughts, noticing that everybody\nwas bending forward to see, I did like the rest, and I soon saw the\npossibility of warm work.\n\nA pair of boar-hounds, belonging to old Heinrich, were being led to\nthe other end of the court. Struggling in the chain, these ferocious\ncreatures were foaming with rage. One was of the large Danish breed,\nwhite, with large black spots, supple of limb, with muscles like steel\nsprings, jaws opening wide like an alligator's; the other a huge hound\nfrom the Tannewald, never disabled in one leg according to law, ribs\nbarely covered, the backbone hard and knotted like a bamboo cane. They\ndid not bark, but they were straining against the chain with all their\nmight, and there stood old Heinrich with his grey broad head flung back,\nhis ruddy moustache bristling, his thin razorbacked nose hooked over his\nlips, and his long leather-gaitered legs firmly planted against the\nstones in his strenuous efforts to restrain with both hands the eager\nappetite of his dogs for the fight, while he opposed to their attempts to\nbound forward the whole weight of his body.\n\n\"Back! back!\" he shouted to the bear-leader, and the ruffian ran back to\nthe shelter of a faggot-stack.\n\nThen every face bending over the galleries grew red and hot with the\nexcitement of the horrid fray, and starting eyes glanced from every nook\nand corner.\n\nThe bear sat on his haunches gathered together ready for action, his huge\npaws uplifted. I could see how he quivered in his rough skin, and his\nmuzzle seemed to annoy him terribly. All at once the chain was slipped;\nat a single leap the hounds cleared the intervening space, and their\nsharp fangs were in a moment fixed in both poor Baptiste's ears, whose\nheavy paws and long sharp claws hugged each bitter enemy around the neck,\nslowly digging into their straining bodies till the blood spurted out in\nstreams. But he, too, was bleeding, for his ears were suffering cruel\nlacerations; the dogs held on, and his tawny eyes were raised to the sky\nwith a pitiable look of appeal. Not a cry, not a sigh or a groan escaped\nfrom a single combatant; the three animals formed a group as motionless\nas if they had been carved in wood.\n\nI could feel the perspiration running down my face.\n\nThis went on for five minutes.\n\nAt length the Tannenthaler seemed to be relaxing slightly; the bear\nweighed more heavily on him with his heavy paw, his eye kindling with a\ngleam of hope; then there was another brief pause. There was a horrid\ngroan, a cracking; the hound's backbone was broken, and he fell back upon\nthe stones, his jaws reeking with blood.\n\nThen Baptiste, with a tremor of delight, threw both paws round the Dane,\nwho had not yet let go his hold, but his teeth were slipping from the\ntorn and bloody ear. Suddenly he shook himself and sprang backward; the\nbear made a rush at his flying foe, but the chain held him back. The dog\nfled, red with blood, and only stopped when he had got safe behind his\nmaster, who gave him a favourable reception, while casting a glance at\nhis other dog, which lay motionless.\n\nAnd here Baptiste placed his mighty paw upon the victim of his fury and\nhis valour; carrying his head high, he snuffed the carnage with distended\nnostrils and panting sides; the veteran warrior was himself again.\nFrantic applause rose from the galleries to the church spire. The bear\nseemed to understand. I have never seen a more proud and resolute\nbearing.\n\nAfter this fight all the spectators were taking breath; the capuchin\nfriar Johannes, seated upon the banister facing the field of battle,\nshook his stick, smiling with satisfaction in his long brown beard.\nPeople wanted a little relief; pinches of snuff were offered and\naccepted, and the voice of Doctor Melchior, discussing and explaining the\ndifferent phases of the conflict, was heard over the noise of many\ntalkers. But he had no time to finish his speech, for in a moment the\nbarn-door flew open, and more than five-and-twenty dogs, great and small,\nthe very vagrants and scum of the town, offered up as a sacrifice to do\nhonour to the occasion, wallowed in a heap into the yard, howling and\nyelling, barking, snapping, and snarling; then, as if second thoughts had\nrather modified their ideas about valour, they all retreated into a safe\ncorner of the yard, the farthest from the bear, where they contented\nthemselves with angry protests, making short runs at the enemy and quick\nretreats, making a very sorry pretence of war.\n\n\"Oh, those cowardly curs! the miserable little brutes!\" cried the\nvalorous occupants in the gallery.\n\nAnd the much wiser and discreeter dogs looked up in answer, and seemed to\nsay--\n\n\"Go yourselves!\"\n\nStill the bear was standing well on the defensive when, to the general\nastonishment, Heinrich reappeared, holding his Danish hound by the chain.\n\nI have since been informed that he had wagered fifty florins with Joseph\nKilian, the gamekeeper, that the boar-hound would renew the attack. He\nadvanced slowly, patting the dog with his hand, and saying persuasively--\n\n\"Good dog, Blitz! good dog!\"\n\nAnd the noble animal, in spite of his bleeding wounds, rushed in; then\nthe whole pack of mongrels, curs, puppies, lurchers, and turnspits ran in\ntoo in a long string, till poor Baptiste was covered with the vile rabble\nrout; he did what he could, he rolled over and over as far as his chain\nwould let him, growling and grunting, crushing one, sending another away\nwith a bite, struggling furiously. The brave Dane still showed the\ngreatest intrepidity; he had caught the bear between the ears, and rolled\nover with him, his fore-legs in the air, whilst the rest were biting,\nsome his legs, and some his torn and bleeding ears. There seemed no end\nto this plague of dogs.\n\n\"Enough! enough!\" was the cry in every direction.\n\nYet still some were not satisfied, and kept crying on the dogs.\n\nHeinrich at that moment darted across the yard like a flash of lightning;\nhe seized his clog by the ear, and pulling it away with all his strength,\ncried--\n\n\"Blitz, Blitz, let go!\"\n\nBut this was of no use. At last the man succeeded in making him loose his\nhold by a tremendous cut with his whip across his body, and, dragging the\nanimal away, they both disappeared under the archway.\n\nThe mongrels had not waited for this event to give up the battle; four or\nfive only still hung upon Bruin's side; the rest, scared, limping,\nyelping, were trying to find a way out. Suddenly one of those heroes, a\ncur belonging to Rasimus, caught sight of the kitchen window, and, fired\nby a noble enthusiasm for his safety, he crashed through glass and all.\nAll the rest of the yelling crew, struck by the ingenuity of this plan,\nfollowed in the same road without a moment's hesitation. Plates and\ndishes, glasses and bottles, saucepans and kettles were all heard making\na fearful clatter, while Mother Gredel rent the air with her piercing\ncries of \"Help, help!\"\n\nThis was the best joke of the day. Roars of laughter hailed the\npropitious escape of the dogs, even at the cost of so much good crockery.\nThey laughed till the tears came into their eyes, and rolled down their\nred faces, and they panted for breath.\n\nIn a quarter of an hour there came a lull; then people began to think it\nwas time for the terrible bear from Asturias to make his appearance.\n\n\"The Asturian bear! the Spanish bear!\" was the cry.\n\nThe bear-leader made signs to the people to be quiet, as he had something\nto say to them. It was impossible! The cries and the uproar redoubled.\n\n\"The bear of Asturias! the bear of Asturias!\"\n\nThen the fellow muttered a few unintelligible words, unfastened the brown\nbear, and took it back into its den; then with every appearance of\nprecaution he loosened the door of the pigsty and took the end of a chain\nwhich was lying on the ground. A formidable growling was heard inside.\nThe man quickly passed the chain through a ring in the wall and fled,\ncrying--\n\n\"Now, you there, let the dogs go!\"\n\nImmediately a black bear, low, and almost stunted in its stature, with a\nlow forehead, ears wide apart, eyes red as fire, and glowing with a\nfierce sullen passion, hurled himself out into the open, and finding the\nchain fast in the wall, howled furiously. Evidently this was a bear of\nthe most deplorably low moral character! Moreover, he had been roused to\nmadness by the noise of the preceding combats, and his master had good\nreason for not trusting himself much to him.\n\n\"Let go the dogs!\" cried the bear-leader, putting his head out of the\ngranary skylight; \"let them loose!\"\n\nThen he added--\n\n\"If you are not satisfied this time it won't be my fault. There will be a\nbattle now!\"\n\nAt that moment Ludwig Karl's big mastiff and Fischer de Heischland's pair\nof wolf-hounds, with tails low, hair straight and smooth, heads advanced\nand ears erect, came into the court together.\n\nThe heavy-headed mastiff calmly yawned as he stretched his sinewy legs\nand caved in his long back. But after a long and leisurely yawn he slowly\nturned round, and catching sight of the bear he stood immovable as if\nstupefied. The bear, too, fixed his vicious glowing eyes upon him with\nears expanded and his huge claws indenting the ground under them.\n\nThe wolf-hounds drew up as reserves in the rear of the mastiff.\n\nThen such silence fell upon all that excited multitude that a dead leaf\nmight have been heard rustling to the ground; but there followed a deep,\nlow, fierce growl, like a coming thunderstorm, which sent a shudder\nthrough the crowd.\n\nSuddenly the mastiff sprang forward, the two others followed, and then\nfor several seconds nothing was seen but a confused mass rolling round\nthe chain, then blood and entrails mingled flowing over the stones, then\nthe bear rising on his haunches hugging the mastiff between his terrible\nclaws, swaying to and fro his heavy head, for a moment and gaping wide\nwith his crimson jaws, for the muzzle was gone; in the struggle it had\nfallen off!\n\nThen a low but rising cry of fear passed over the crowd in the galleries.\nNo applause now, only a well-grounded alarm! The mastiff was in the\nagonies of death, with a rattling in his throat; the wolf-hounds lay torn\nand dead on the bloodstained earth; in the stables all round the court\nlong agitated roaring and bellowing betrayed the terror of the cattle,\nwhose kicking and plunging made the walls shake; but the bear never\nstirred: he seemed to be enjoying the universal alarm.\n\nBut lo! in this predicament was heard a slight but unmistakable cracking\nlike timber giving way, then more cracks; the old rotten galleries were\nbeginning to yield under the heavy pressure of the crowd; and there was\nin this noise, just heard in the midst of the dead silence of suspense,\nsomething so dreadful that I, in my place of safety, felt a cold shiver\npass over me. Taking a rapid survey of the galleries before me, I saw\nevery face changed in colour, pale with a bluish, ashy paleness; some\nopen-mouthed, others with bristling hair, listening intently, holding\ntheir breath. The capuchin friar Johannes seated on the banister had\nturned from crimson to a greenish hue, and the big red nose of Doctor\nMelchior had turned from red to sallow the first time for twenty years;\nthe poor little women trembled without stirring from their places,\nknowing that the least agitation would bring down the whole place.\n\nI could have wished to fly too. I fancied I could see the thick oaken\npillars of the gallery bowing to the ground. I cannot tell whether this\nwas illusion or not, but in a moment the principal beam gave a loud crack\nand became depressed by three inches at the least. Then, my friends, it\nwas horrible to behold--the deep silence of a minute before was succeeded\nby tumult, cries, screams, and ravings. That mass of human beings heaped\nup in the galleries, one above another, were some clutching the walls,\nthe pillars, the banisters; others were fighting with fury, and even\nbiting, to get away faster, and from the midst of this frightful\nconfusion arose the plaintive voices of the suffering women. I shudder at\nthe remembrance. Oh, may I never see such a sight as this again!\n\nBut, most terrible circumstance of all, the bear was chained close by the\nstaircase that leads up to the galleries!\n\nIf I were to live a thousand years never should I forget the horror of\nFriar Johannes, who had cleared a way for himself with his long staff,\nand was placing his foot on the last step when he discovered, just before\nthe bottom of the staircase, Beppo seated calmly on his tail, his chain\ntightened, his eye expressive of joy, ready to snap him up first!\n\nNone can tell the muscular power which Maitre Johannes was obliged to put\nforth to stem the force that was driving him in from behind. Convulsively\ngrasping the banister with both hands, his broad shoulders formed a\nmighty buttress against the pressing flood. Like Atlas, I do believe he\nwould have borne the earth upon his back to save his precious skin.\n\nIn the midst of this confusion and tumult, and when there seemed no\nway to avert the threatening catastrophe, suddenly the door of the\ncattle-shed opened violently, and the redoubtable Horni, Maitre\nSebaldus's magnificent bull, rushed into the arena, his massive dewlap\nshaking loosely like an apron, his tail extended straight, his mouth and\nnostrils white with fleecy foam.\n\nIt was an inspiration of the master's. He had resolved to risk his bull\nto save human life. At the same moment the fat, round, rosy face of our\nlandlord appeared through the skylight of the stable, crying to the crowd\nnot to be alarmed, for that he would open the inner door which abuts into\nthe old synagogue, and let out the crowd by the Jews' street, which was\ndone in two or three minutes, to the immense relief and comfort of the\npublic.\n\nBut now listen to the end of my story.\n\nScarcely had the bear caught sight of the bull when he made an ugly rush\nupon this new adversary with so terrible a shock that the chain burst.\nThe bull retired, facing his foe, to a corner of the court near the\npigeon-cote, and there, head well down between his short legs and horns\npresented, he awaited the shock of war.\n\nThe bear made several feints, slipping along by the wall from right\nto left; but the bull, with his forehead almost touching the ground,\nfollowed the enemy's movements with marvellous coolness.\n\nIn five minutes the galleries had been cleared; the noise of the crowd\ntaking refuge down the Jews' street was becoming more remote, and this\nmanoeuvring of the two huge brutes seemed as if they were meditating\na drawn battle, when suddenly the bull, losing patience, threw himself\nupon the bear with the whole momentum of his monstrous bulk. The unhappy\nbrute, pressed so closely, took refuge under the wood-shed, but the head\nand horns of his foe pursued him thither, and there no doubt he nailed\nhis adversary to the wall, for although I could only see the bull's\nhind-quarters, I could hear a dreadful shriek, followed by a crunching of\nbones, and presently a pool of blood was flowing over the pavement.\n\nI could only see the bull's hind-quarters and his tail waving aloft like\na battle-flag. You would have thought he wanted to bring the walls down\nby the furious and violent pounding of his hind-feet. That silent scene\nin shadow was fearful. I did not wait to see the end. I came carefully\ndown my ladder, and slipped out of the court like a thief. You may\nimagine with what pleasure I inhaled the pure open air; and passing\nthrough the crowd collected round the door where the bear-leader was\ntearing his hair in his wild despair, I ran off to my aunt's house.\n\nI was just going round under the arcades when I was stopped by my old\ndrawing-master, Conrad Schmidt.\n\n\"Caspar!\" he cried, \"where are you going in such a hurry?\"\n\n\"I am going to paint the great bear-fight!\" I answered enthusiastically.\n\n\"Another tavern scene, I suppose,\" he remarked with a shrug.\n\n\"Why not, Master Conrad? Is not a tavern scene as good as one in the\nforum?\"\n\nI would have said a good deal, but we were standing at his door.\n\n\"Good night, Maitre Conrad,\" I cried, pressing his hand. \"Don't bear a\ngrudge against me for not going to study in Italy.\"\n\n\"Grudge! No,\" replied the old master, smiling. \"You know that privately\nI am of your opinion. If I tell you now and then to go to Italy, it is to\nsatisfy Dame Catherine. But follow out your own idea, Caspar. Men who\nonly follow other men's ideas never do any good.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE SCAPEGOAT.\n\nNote\n\nThis story, allowing for the exercise of fancy in its construction, is\nonly too faithful a picture of German student life and habits, with its\nignorance or disregard of the Christianity taught us in the Gospel, its\nonly half-concealed leaning towards the ancient systems of religion\nproperly known as heathen, and its careless indifference to human life.\nThe translator has ventured to deviate slightly from the original in one\nor two places in order to avoid giving an unnecessary shock to the\nsusceptibilities of readers trained and educated in principles widely\ndiffering from these.--_Transl_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SCAPEGOAT.\n\n\nDoesn't everybody at Tubingen know the lamentable history of the quarrel\nbetween the Seigneur Kaspar Evig and the young Jew Elias Hirsch? Kaspar\nEvig was courting Mademoiselle Eva Salomon, the daughter of the old\npicture-dealer in the Rue de Jericho. One day he found my friend Elias\nIn the broker's shop, and, on what pretext I know not, he boxed his ears\nsoundly three or four times.\n\nElias Hirsch, who had begun his medical studies only about five months\nbefore, was called upon by a council of the students to challenge the\nSeigneur Kaspar to fight, a step which he took with the greatest\nrepugnance, for it was quite to be expected that a seigneur should be\na perfect swordsman.\n\nFor all that Elias put himself well on the defensive, and, watching his\nopportunity, inserted his finely-pointed sword so neatly between the ribs\nof the above-mentioned seigneur as considerably to affect his breathing,\nthe consequence of which was that he was dead in ten minutes.\n\nThe Rector Diemer, being informed of this transaction by credible\nwitnesses, listened coldly and remarked briefly--\n\n\"I understand you, gentlemen. He is dead, is he? Very well, then; bury\nhim.\"\n\nElias was carried about in triumph, like another Mattathias; but, far\nfrom accepting the proffered glory, he drooped under a profound\nmelancholy.\n\nHe lost flesh, he sighed, he groaned; his nose, already a pretty long\none, seemed to gain in prominence what it lost in solidity, and often in\nthe evening, as he was passing down the Rue des Trois Fontaines, he might\nbe heard murmuring--\n\n\"Kaspar Evig, forgive me; I did not mean to take your life. Oh, unhappy\nEva! what have you done? By your thoughtless flirting you made two brave\nmen quarrel, and now the shade of the Seigneur Kaspar pursues me\neverywhere, even in my sleep. Oh, Eva! wretched Eva! why did you behave\nso?\"\n\nSo poor Elias moaned in his misery; and he was the more to be pitied\nbecause the sons of Israel are not bloodthirsty, and they know it is\nwritten in their law, \"Whosoever sheddeth man's blood by man shall his\nblood be shed.\"\n\nNow one fine day in July, while I was drinking at the Faucon, in walks\nElias Hirsch, just as miserable as ever, with hollow cheeks, hair hanging\nin disorder about his face, and downcast eyes. He laid his hand upon my\nshoulder, and said--\n\n\"Dear Christian, will you do me a pleasure?\"\n\n\"Of course I will, Elias; only say what.\"\n\n\"Let us go for a walk together in the country; I want to consult you\nabout my grief. You know many things human and divine; perhaps you can\npoint me out a remedy for so much trouble of mind. I can trust in you,\nChristian, entirely.\"\n\nAs I had already had five or six pints of beer and two or three glasses\nof schnapps, there was nothing more to detain me, and I consented to go\nwith him. Besides, I felt flattered with his confidence in my wisdom.\n\nSo we came through the town, and in twenty minutes we were walking along\nthe little violet-bordered path which winds up to the ancient ruins of\nTriefels.\n\nThen, feeling alone, passing between hedges balmy with honeysuckle and\nmusical with the song of birds, and slowly climbing up to the lofty pines\nwhich crown the Rothalp, Elias breathed more freely; he raised his eyes\nand cried--\n\n\"In all your theological studies, Christian, have you met with a way in\nwhich great crimes may be expiated? I know that you have studied this\nquestion a good deal. Tell me. Whatever you recommend to put to flight\nthe avenging shade of Kaspar Evig, I will do it.\"\n\nHirsch's question made me thoughtful. We walked together, with heads\nbowed down in thought, in deep silence. He watched me, I could see, out\nof the corner of his eye, whilst I was endeavouring to collect my\nthoughts upon this delicate question, but at last I made answer--\n\n\"Now, if we were inhabitants of India, Elias, I should tell you to go\nand bathe in the Ganges, for the waters of that river wash away the\npollutions of both body and soul--so, at least, the people of that\ncountry think; and they kill, and burn, and steal without fear under\nthe protection of that marvellous river. It is a great comfort for\nscoundrels! It is a matter of great regret that we have no such river!\nIf we were living in the days of Jason, I should prescribe to you the\nsalt-cakes of Queen Circe, which had the remarkable property of whitening\nblackened consciences and saving people the trouble of repenting.\nFinally, if you had the happiness to belong to our holy religion,\nI would order you to have masses said, and to give up your goods to the\nChurch. But in your state as to locality, time, and belief, I know of\nonly one way to relieve you.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" cried Hirsch, already kindling with hope.\n\nWe had now reached the Rothalp, and were standing in a lonely place\ncalled the Holderloch. It is a deep dark gorge, encircled with gloomy\nfirs; a level rock crowns the abyss, whence fall the dark waters of the\nMarg with roaring deep and loud.\n\nOur path had brought us there. I sat down upon the mossy turf to breathe\nthe moist air which rises from the gulf, and at that very moment I espied\nbelow me a magnificent goat, reaching up to crop the wild cresses that\ngrow on the edge of the cliff.\n\nLet it be remembered that the rocks of the Holderloch rise in the form of\nsuccessive terraces, each terrace ten feet high perhaps, but not more\nthan a foot wide, and upon these little narrow ledges grow a thousand\nsweet-smelling plants--thyme and honeysuckle, ivy and convolvulus, and\nthe wild vine, perpetually bedewed with the spray from the falling\ntorrent, and falling over in the loveliest clusters of bloom and foliage.\n\nNow my goat--an animal with a broad brow, garnished with heavy knotted\ncurling horns, with eyes gleaming like a pair of gold buttons, a reddish\nbeard, exhibiting a proud, defiant bearing under those festoons of\nverdure, and a countenance as bold as that of a prowling satyr--my goat\nwas making a progress upwards towards the very highest of these narrow\nledges, and was enjoying a sweet repast of dainty herbs.\n\n\"Elias!\" I cried, \"I feel an inspiration! Just as I was thinking of a\nscapegoat, there is one! I see it! Look!--behold! There he is! Is not\nyour course plain now? Lay your crime upon that goat, and then forget all\nabout it.\"\n\nElias looked at me in stupid ignorance.\n\n\"I should like to do that, Christian, but how am I to lay my remorse upon\nthat goat?\"\n\n\"Nothing can be plainer. What did the Romans do to get rid of their\ncriminals, polluted with every crime? Why they flung them off the\nTarpeian rock, to be sure. Well, having laid your imprecations upon that\ngoat, fling him down the Holderloch, and there will be an end of it all.\"\n\n\"But\"--replied Elias.\n\n\"I know your objections beforehand,\" I replied. \"You are going to say\nthat you see no connection between Kaspar Evig, whose shade follows you,\nand that goat. But beware! be careful! Where was the connection between\nthe waters of the Ganges, Circe's salt-cakes, and the scapegoat with the\ncrimes to be expiated? None at all. Well, for all that, the expiation\nwas held to be good; therefore lay your curses and imprecations upon that\ngoat, and throw him over! I order you to do that! I feel it my duty to\nsee this thing done. I can see a connection between that goat and your\nfault, but I cannot explain it because the light of my vast information\ndazzles me just now!\"\n\nElias did not move a step. I even thought I detected a smile upon his\ncountenance, which irritated me.\n\n\"How!\" said I; \"here am I pointing out to you an infallible method to\nget rid of the just punishment of your crime, and you doubt--you\nhesitate--you even smile!\"\n\n\"No,\" said he, \"but I am not accustomed to walk on the edges of\nprecipices, and I am afraid I should fall into the Holderloch along\nwith the goat.\"\n\n\"Ah, you are a coward! I can see it all. You have just once displayed a\nlittle courage to get exemption for the rest of your days. Well, sir, if\nyou refuse to carry out my advice, I will do it myself.\"\n\nAnd I rose.\n\n\"Christian! Christian!\" cried my friend, \"don't trust yourself too far.\nYour foot is not steady--just now.\"\n\n\"My foot not steady! Do you dare to insinuate that I am drunk because\nI have just had ten or a dozen glasses of beer and three glasses of\nschnapps this morning? Away with you! Back! back, son of Belial!\"\n\nAnd advancing a few feet above the goat, with my head raised and hands\nextended, I cried solemnly--\n\n\"Azazel! goat destined for misery and expiation, I lay upon your hairy\nback the remorse of my friend Elias Hirsch, and I send you down to the\nspirits of darkness!\"\n\nThen, passing round the ledge on which we stood, I descended to the next\nbelow to catch the goat and throw him over.\n\nA sacred rage and fury seemed to possess me. I took no notice of the\nabyss. I stepped along the edge of the precipice like a cat.\n\nThe goat, perceiving my approach, eyed me suspiciously, and stepped back\na little way.\n\n\"Ha!\" I cried, \"you may flee from me, but you shall not escape from me,\naccursed beast! I have got you!\"\n\n\"Oh, Christian, Christian!\" Elias kept repeating in a heartrending voice,\n\"do come back. You are risking your life!\"\n\n\"Silence, unbeliever!\" I cried. \"You are unworthy of the great sacrifice\nwhich I am making for your happiness! But your friend Christian never\ndraws back. Azazel must perish!\"\n\nA little farther on the ledge narrowed and ended in a point.\n\nThe goat, having a second time examined me with a curious eye, drew back\na little farther, but not without some hesitation.\n\n\"Aha!\" I exclaimed, \"you are beginning to understand what is going to\nhappen. Yes, let me get you into that corner, and your doom is sealed!\"\n\nAnd undoubtedly, when he had got to the spot where the ledge came to\nan end, Azazel seemed puzzled to know what to do next. I edged up to\nhim closer and closer, full of a noble excitement, and laughing in\nanticipation at the coming descent and the splash in the torrent below.\n\nI now beheld him at four paces from me, and I was grasping tightly a root\nof holly that was growing out of a rock to launch out a kick at the\ndevoted beast.\n\n\"Look, Elias, see the accursed!\" I cried.\n\nWhen, all in a moment, I felt in my stomach a most awful blow, a butt\nwhich would have sent _me_ into the Holderloch had I not kept hold of\nthat blessed root of holly. The fact was that that miserable goat, seeing\nhimself driven into a corner, had himself commenced the attack.\n\nOh, what was my astonishment! Before I knew where I was or what had\nhappened, there was the brute standing up again on his hind-legs, and his\nhorns digging into my stomach and my sides with a hollow sound.\n\nWhat a position to be in! It is impossible to be more astounded than I\nwas at that moment! It was the world upside down. It was a bad dream--a\nnightmare! The precipice with all its jagged peaks seemed to dance around\nme, and so did the trees and sky above. At the same moment I heard\npiercing cries from Elias of \"Help! help!\" while Azazel's horns were\nploughing up my sides.\n\nThen I lost all presence of mind. The goat with his long beard and his\nhard, sharp horns pounding me, now in my chest, now in my stomach, and\nthen in my shaking limbs, produced a most diabolical effect upon me. My\nhold on the root slowly relaxed, and I let go. But happily something kept\nme from falling, something which I could not understand at first. But it\nwas the shepherd Yeri, of the Holderloch, who from the next platform\nabove had caught me by the coat-collar with his crook.\n\nThanks to his assistance, instead of falling down into the chasm I lay\nfull length along the ledge, and that awful goat walked over my body to\nget away about his business.\n\n\"Come, take firm hold of my crook,\" cried the shepherd to Elias; \"now I\nwill go down for him. Don't let go!\"\n\n\"You may rely upon me,\" answered Elias.\n\nI heard all that as if it were a nightmare. I had almost lost\nconsciousness.\n\nWhen I opened my eyes I saw standing before me that gigantic shepherd,\nwith his grey eyes sunk underneath his bushy eyebrows, his yellow beard,\na sheepskin thrown over his shoulders, and I thought I had awoke in the\nage of Oedipus, which made me wonder a good deal.\n\n\"Well,\" cried the shepherd, in a harsh guttural, \"this will teach you not\nto curse my goat any more!\"\n\nThen I saw Azazel rubbing himself comfortably against his master's\ncolossal legs, and looking slily, and I thought ironically, at me; and\nthen I saw Elias standing behind me, and making the greatest efforts\nnot to laugh.\n\nMy scattered senses were beginning to return. I sat myself down with pain\nand difficulty, for Azazel had bruised me all over, and I felt fearfully\nstiff and sore.\n\n\"Was it you who saved me?\" I asked the shepherd.\n\n\"Yes, my boy, it was.\"\n\n\"Well, you are a good fellow, and I am much obliged to you. I withdraw\nthe curse I laid upon your goat. Here, take this.\"\n\nI handed him my purse with sixteen florins in it.\n\n\"Thank you, sir,\" said he, \"and now you can begin again if you like on\neven ground. Down there it was not fair; the goat had all the advantage.\"\n\n\"Thank you very much! But I have had quite enough. Shake hands, old\nfellow; I'll never forget you. Let us go now.\"\n\nMy comrade and I, arm-in-arm, then descended the hill.\n\nThe shepherd, leaning on his crook, watched us till we disappeared. The\ngoat had resumed his walk and his supper on the very edge of the crags.\nThe sky was lovely, the air balmy with a thousand sweet mountain perfumes\ncarried on it with the distant sounds of the shepherd's horn and the\nbooming of the torrent.\n\nWe returned to Tubingen with our hearts full.\n\nSince that time my friend Elias has found some comfort for slaying the\nSeigneur Kaspar, but in an original fashion.\n\nScarcely had he taken his doctor's degree when he married Mademoiselle\nEva Salomon, with the hope of having a numerous family to make up for the\nloss of that individual who had met with an untimely end at his hand.\n\nFour years ago I was at his wedding as best man, and already there are\ntwo fat babies making the pretty little house in Crispin street to\nrejoice.\n\nThis was a promising commencement!\n\nDon't let me be misunderstood. I don't pretend to say that the method\nI prescribed for making expiation for taking away a life is better than\nthat taught in our holy religion, which, according to the Catholic\nChurch, consists in masses and in giving away your goods to the Church.\nBut I do think it better than the Hindoo practice, and I think the theory\nof the famous scapegoat is not to be compared with that which is taught\nus by pure religion.\n\n\n\n\nA NIGHT IN THE WOODS.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nMy worthy uncle, Bernard Hertzog, the historian and antiquary, surmounted\nwith his grand three-cornered hat and wig, and with a long iron-shod\nmountain-pole firmly grasped in his hand, was coming down one evening by\nthe Luppersberg, hailing every turn in the landscape with enthusiastic\nexclamations.\n\nYears had never quenched in him the love of knowledge. At sixty he was\nstill at work upon his _History of Alsacian Antiquities_, and never\nallowed himself to write a complete account of a ruined and defaced\nmonument, or any relic of former days, until he had examined it a hundred\ntimes from every point of view.\n\n\"No man,\" said he, \"who has had the happy privilege of being born in the\nVosges, between Haut Bar, Nideck, and Geierstein has any business to\nthink of travelling. Where are there nobler forests, older fir and beech\ntrees, more lovely smiling valleys, wilder rocks? Where is the country\nwith richer possessions in memorable story? Here, in olden times, used\nthe high and powerful lords of Lutzelstein, Dagsberg, Leiningen, and\nFenetrange, to fight clad in mail from head to foot. Here the eldest son\nof the Church and the rulers of the Holy Roman Empire exchanged blows in\nthe Middle Ages with swords two yards long. What are our wars compared\nwith those terrible battles where warriors fought hand to hand, where\nthey hammered upon each other's skulls with huge battle-axes, and drove\nthe dagger between the bars of the closed visor? Were not those heroic\nfeats of arms? was not that a courage worthy to be chronicled to all\nposterity? But our young people want to see new things; they are not\nsatisfied with their own native land: they must wander through Germany,\nmake tours in France. Worse still, they abandon science and its noble\nfields for trade, arts, industry, as if there had not been in the former\nglorious days much more curious industrial arts and pursuits than in our\nown day! Witness the Hanseatic League, the maritime enterprise of Venice,\nGenoa, and the Levant, Flemish manufactures, Florentine art, the triumphs\nin art of Rome and Antwerp! No! all that is laid aside; people now-a-days\npride themselves upon their ignorance of those glorious days; above all,\nthey neglect our dear old Alsace. Now, candidly, Theodore, don't all\nthose tourists remind you of husbands leaving their fair sweet lawful\nwives to run after ugly coquettes?\"\n\nAnd Bernard Hertzog shook his learned head, his eyes rounded with wonder\nand excitement, just as if he had been standing before the ruins of\nBabylon.\n\nHis partiality to the usages and customs of old times accounted for his\nhaving, for forty years past, worn the full-skirted plush coat, the\nvelvet breeches, the black silk stockings, and the silver shoe-buckles of\nour grandfathers. He would have thought himself disgraced had he put on\ntrousers; and to cut off his pigtail would have been a profane deed.\n\nSo the worthy chronicler was going to Haslach on the 3rd of July, 1835,\nto examine with his own eyes a little bronze Mercury recently unearthed\nin the old cloister of the Augustins.\n\nHe trotted on with a tolerably elastic stop under a burning sun.\nMountains succeeded mountains, valleys sank into other valleys, the\nfootpath went up, then went down again, turned, now to the right, now to\nthe left, until Maitre Hertzog began to wonder how it was that he had not\ncaught sight of the village spire an hour ago.\n\nThe fact was that after leaving Saverne he had inclined to the right, and\nwas now penetrating into the Dagsberg woods with juvenile energy. At the\nrate he was going, in five or six hours he would have reached Phramond,\neight leagues from his destination. But night was coming on apace, and\nthe path was now becoming fainter, and under the tall trees only an\nindistinct track appeared.\n\nThe approach of night among the mountains is a melancholy sight; the\nshadows lengthen in the valleys, the sun withdraws, one by one, his rays\nfrom the darkening foliage, the silence deepens every minute. You look\nbehind you; the groups and clumps of trees assume colossal proportions;\na blackbird at the summit of a tree bids farewell to the parting day,\nthen silence covers all like a funeral pall. You can only hear now the\nlast year's dead leaves crisping under foot, and far, far, away a\nwaterfall filling the valley with its monotonous hum. Bernard Hertzog\nbegan to pant a little; his clothes adhered to his skin with the running\nperspiration. His legs were beginning to give hints of surrendering.\n\n\"Confound that foolish Mercury!\" he cried. \"At this moment I ought to\nhave been quiet at home in my own arm-chair, and Berbel, according to her\npraiseworthy custom, ought to be bringing me up upon a tray a cup of\nsmoking hot coffee, while I am winding up my chapter upon the ancient\narmoury at Nideck. Instead of which, here I am floundering in holes,\nstumbling everywhere, and suppose I lost my way altogether and then broke\nmy neck! There!--I said so! Was that a tree I knocked against? A hundred\nthousand bans and maledictions fall upon Mercury and Haas, the architect,\nwho sent for me to look at it! and the scoundrels, too, who dug it up!\nI'll lay any wager that the boasted Mercury is nothing but some defaced\nand corroded bit of stone, without either nose or legs--some shapeless\ndeformity like that little Hesus last year at Marienthal. Oh, you\narchitects! you architects!--you are always finding antiquities\neverywhere. Luckily I had not my spectacles on, or I should have smashed\nthem against that tree; but now I shall be obliged to find a bed\nsomewhere among the bushes. What a road this is!--nothing but ruts, and\nholes, and pits, and loose rocks and boulders!\"\n\nIn one of those moments when the good man, getting exhausted, was\nstopping for breath, he thought he could hear the grating of a saw far\ndown the valley. What was his joy when he became certain that it was\nthat!\n\n\"Heaven be praised!\" he cried, plucking up his spirits; \"now to push on\nwith halting steps. Now I shall get a little rest. What a lesson this\nwill be for me! Providence had compassion upon my rheumatism. What an\nold fool to go and expose myself to have to lie out in the woods at my\ntime of life, to ruin my health and undermine my constitution! I shall\nremember this! Never shall I forget this warning!\"\n\nIn a quarter of an hour the noise of falling water became more distinct;\nthen a faint light broke through the trees. Maitre Bernard then found\nhimself at the top of the wood; he observed below the heath a stream\nrunning down the winding valley as far as he could see, and just before\nhim the saw-mill, with its long dark posts and beams crossing and\nrecrossing in the gloom like a huge spider.\n\nHe crossed the high-arched bridge over the rushing dam, and looked\nthrough the little window into the woodman's hut.\n\nIt was a low, dark shed leaning against a hollow in the rock. At the\nfarther end of the natural cavity was a small pile of smouldering\nsawdust. In the front the boarded roof, weighted with heavy stones,\ndescended to within three feet of the ground; in a corner at the right,\na kind of box, full of dried heather; a few logs of oak, an axe, a\nmassive bench, and other implements of toil, were lost in the shade.\nA resinous odour of pine-wood impregnated the air, and the ruddy smoke\neddied through a fissure in the rock.\n\nWhilst the good man was observing these objects, the woodman, coming out\nfrom the mill, saw him, and cried--\n\n\"Halloo!--who is that?\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon; pray pardon me,\" said my worthy uncle, rather\nstartled. \"I am a traveller who has lost his way.\"\n\n\"Hey!\" cried the other man; \"good guide us! Is not that Maitre Bernard,\nof Saverne? You are very welcome indeed, Maitre Bernard. Don't you know\nme?\"\n\n\"No, indeed! How should I in this dark night?\"\n\n\"_Parbleu!_--of course not! But I am Christian; I bring you your\ncontraband snuff every fortnight. But come in, come in! We will soon get\na light.\"\n\nThey passed stooping under the little low door, and the woodman, having\nlighted a pine-torch, stuck it into a split iron rod to serve as a\ncandlestick, and a bright light, clear and white as moonshine, filled the\nhut, lighting up every corner of it.\n\nChristian, standing in shirt-sleeves, his broad chest uncovered, and\nwith a pair of canvas trousers hitched up about his hips, looked a\ngood-natured fellow enough; his tawny beard came down in a point to his\nwaist; his huge bull head was covered with bristling brown hair; his\nsmall grey eyes inspired confidence.\n\n\"Take a seat, master,\" he said, rolling a log of wood before the fire.\n\"Are you hungry?\"\n\n\"Why, you know, my lad, your mountain air does excite one's appetite.\"\n\n\"Very well; you are just in time. I have got some very good potatoes\nquite at your service.\"\n\nAt the mention of potatoes Uncle Bernard could not help grimacing; he\nremembered, with the longing of affection, old Berbel's good suppers, and\nhad a difficulty in coming down to the humble realities before him.\n\nChristian seemed to take no notice; he took five or six potatoes out of\na sack, and put them into the embers, taking care to cover them entirely;\nthen, sitting down on the hearthstone, he lighted his pipe.\n\n\"But just tell me, master, how is it that you are here to-night, at six\nleagues' distance from Saverne, in the gorge of Nideck?\"\n\n\"The gorge of Nideck!\" cried my uncle Bernard, springing from his seat in\ngreat surprise.\n\n\"To be sure! You may see the ruins from here, about two gunshots\ndistant.\"\n\nMaster Bernard looked out, and really did recognise the ruins of Nideck,\njust as he had described them in the twenty-fourth chapter of his\n_History of Alsacian Antiquities_, with their high towers crumbling away\nat the foot, and dominating over the abyss into which the torrent falls.\n\n\"But I thought I was near Haslach!\" he cried with amazement.\n\nThe woodcutter burst out laughing.\n\n\"Haslach!--you are two leagues away from it! I see how it is. You went\nwrong at the old oak-tree. You took the right instead of the left path.\nWhen you are in the woods you must look well about you. A few yards wrong\nat starting come to leagues at the end!\"\n\nBernard Hertzog at this discovery was in consternation.\n\n\"Six leagues from Saverne,\" he murmured, \"and all mountains!--and if I\nhave to go two more to-morrow, that will be eight!\"\n\n\"Oh, don't mind that! I will guide you to the road down the valley. And\ndon't forget. You are very fortunate.\"\n\n\"Fortunate? You are joking with me, Christian.\"\n\n\"Yes, you are lucky. You might have had to spend the night in the woods.\nThere is a thunderstorm coming on from Schneeberg; if that had overtaken\nyou you might have had some reason to complain, with the rain at your\nback and thunder and lightning all round. But now you shall sleep in a\ngood bed,\" pointing to the box in the corner; \"you will sleep there like\na log, and to-morrow, when the sun is up, we will start; you will be\nrested, and you will get there in very good time.\"\n\n\"You are very kind, Christian,\" said Uncle Bernard with tears in his\neyes. \"Give me a potato, and then I will go to bed. I am more tired than\nanything else. I am not hungry. One hot potato will be quite enough for\nme.\"\n\n\"Here is a couple as mealy as chestnuts. Taste that, master; take a small\nglass of kirschwasser, and then lie down. I have to set to work again. I\nhave got to saw fifteen more planks before I can go to bed.\"\n\nChristian rose, set the bottle of kirschwasser on the window-sill, and\nwent out. The alternate movement of the saw, which had for a time ceased,\nnow recommenced amidst the rushing of the stream.\n\nMaitre Hertzog, astonished as he was to find himself in those remote\nsolitudes between Dagsberg and the ruins of Nideck, sat long meditating\nwhat he must do to rejoin his household gods; then, gliding down the\nstream of his usual meditations, he went over the fabulous, heroic, or\nbarbarous legends and chronicles of the former lords of that land. He\nwent back to the Tribocci, that German nation settled about Strasbourg,\nremembering Clovis, Chilperic, Theodoric, Dagobert, the furious struggle\nbetween Brunehaut, Queen of Austrasia, and Fredegonde, queen of Chilperic\nof France, and many heroes and heroines besides. All these fierce\npersonages passed in review before his eyes. The vague murmuring of the\ntrees, the inky blackness of the rocks, favoured this strange invocation.\nAll the distinguished personages of his chronicle were there, and the\nboar, and the wolf, and the bear were among them.\n\nAt last, unable to hold out any longer, the good man hung his\nthree-cornered hat upon a peg in the wall and lay down upon the heath.\nThe cricket sang its monotonous song upon the hearth, a few surviving\nsparks were running hither and thither in the smouldering fire, his\neyelids dropped, and he slept a deep, sound sleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nMaitre Bernard Hertzog had slept a couple of hours, and the boiling of\nthe water in the millrace alone competed with the noise of his loud\nsnoring, when suddenly a guttural voice, arising in the midst of the deep\nsilence, cried--\n\n\"Droeckteufel! Droeckteufel! have you forgotten everything?\"\n\nThe voice was so piercing that Maitre Bernard, waking with a sudden\nstart, felt his hair creeping with horror. He raised himself upon his\nelbow and listened again with eyes starting with astonishment. The hut\nwas as dark as a cellar; he listened, but not a breath, not a sound,\ncame; only far away, far beyond the ruins, a dull, distant roar was heard\namong the mountains.\n\nBernard, with neck outstretched, heaved a deep sigh; in a minute he began\nto stammer out--\n\n\"Who is there? What do you want?\"\n\nBut no answer came.\n\n\"It was a dream,\" he said, falling back upon his heather couch. \"I must\nhave been lying upon my back. There is nothing at all in dreams and\nnightmares--nothing! nothing!\"\n\nBut in the midst of the restored silence the same doleful cry was again\nrepeated--\n\n\"Droeckteufel! Droeckteufel!\"\n\nAnd as Maitre Bernard, fairly beside himself, was preparing for instant\nflight, but with his face to the wall, and unable to move from his couch,\nthe voice, in a dissonant chant, with pauses and strange accents, went\non--\n\n\"The Queen Faileube, espoused to our king, Chilperic--Queen Faileube,\nlearning that Septimanie, the governess of the young princes, had\nconspired against the king's life--Queen Faileube said to the lord, 'My\nlord, the viper waits until you are asleep to give you a mortal wound.\nShe has conspired with Sinnegisile and Gallomagus against your life! She\nhas poisoned her husband, your faithful Jovius, to live with Droeckteufel.\nLet your anger come down upon her like lightning, and your vengeance with\na bloody sword!' And Chilperic, assembling all his council in the castle\nof Nideck, said, 'We have cherished a viper; she has plotted our death.\nLet her be cut into three pieces. Let Droeckteufel, Sinnegisile, and\nGallomagus perish with her! Let the ravens rejoice!' And the vassals\ncried, 'So let it be! The wrath of Chilperic is an abyss into which his\nenemies fall and perish!' Then Septimanie was brought to be put to the\ntorture and examined; a ring of iron was bound around her temples; it was\ntightened; her eyes started; her blood-dropping mouth murmured, 'Lord\nking, I have offended. Droeckteufel, Gallomagus, and Sinnegisile have also\nconspired!' And the following night a festoon of corpses dangled and\nswung from the towers of Nideck! The foul birds of prey rejoiced over the\nrich spoil. Droeckteufel, what would I not have done for thee? I would\nhave had thee King of Austrasia, and thou hast forgotten me!\"\n\nThe guttural voice sank down, and my uncle Bernard, more dead than alive,\nbreathing a sigh of terror, murmured--\n\n\"Oh, I have never done anybody any wrong! I am only a poor old\nchronicler! Let me not die without absolution, far from the succour\nof the Church!\"\n\nThe great wooden box full of heather seemed at every effort to escape to\nsink deeper and deeper. The poor man thought he was going down into a\ngulf, when, happily, Christian reappeared, crying--\n\n\"Well, Maitre Bernard, what did I say? here is the storm.\"\n\nAnd now the hut was for an instant full of dazzling light, and my worthy\nuncle, who was lying facing the door, could see the whole valley lighted\nup, with its innumerable fir-trees crowded along the slopes down the\nvalley as close as the grass of the fields, its rocks piled up on the\nbanks of the river, which was rolling its sulphurous blue waves over the\nrounded boulders of the ravine, and the towers of Nideck rising proudly\nin the air fifteen hundred feet above.\n\nThen the darkness covered all up again. That was the first flash.\n\nBut in that instant of time he caught sight of a strange figure crouching\nat the end of the hut without being able to make out what it really was.\n\nGreat drops were beginning to patter on the roof. Christian lighted a\nrush, and seeing Maitre Bernard with his hands convulsively clutching the\nedge of his box of heather, and his face covered with beads of cold\nsweat, he cried--\n\n\"Why! Master Bernard! what is the matter with you?\"\n\nBut, without answering, he merely pointed to the figure huddled up in the\ncorner; it was an old woman, so very advanced in extreme old age, so\nyellow and wrinkled, with such a hooked nose, fingers so skinny, and\nlips so lean, that she looked like an old owl with all its feathers gone.\nThere were only a few hairs left on the back of her head; the rest of her\nskull was as bare of covering as an egg. A threadbare ragged linen gown\ncovered her poor skeleton figure. She was sightless, and the expression\nof her face was one of constant reverie.\n\nChristian, noticing my uncle's inquiring look, turned his head and said\nquietly--\n\n\"It's old Irmengarde, the old teller of legends. She is waiting to die\ntill the old tower falls into the torrent.\"\n\nUncle Bernard, stupefied, looked at the woodman; he did not seem inclined\nto joke; on the contrary, he looked serious.\n\n\"Come, Christian,\" said the good man, \"you mean to have your joke.\"\n\n\"Joke! no indeed, old and feeble as you see her, that old woman knows\neverything; the spirit of the ruins is in her. She was living when the\nold lords of the castle lived.\"\n\nNow my old uncle was very nearly falling backwards at this astounding\ndisclosure.\n\n\"But what do you mean?\" he cried; \"the castle of Nideck has been down\nthese thousand years!\"\n\n\"What if it was two thousand years?\" said the woodman, making the sign of\nthe cross as a new flash lighted up the valley; \"what does that prove?\nThe spirit of the ruins lives in her. A hundred and eight years\nIrmengarde has lived with this spirit in her. Before her it was in old\nEdith of Haslach; before Edith in some other--\"\n\n\"Do you believe that?\"\n\n\"Do I believe it! It is as sure, Master Bernard, as that the sun will be\nback in three hours' time. Death is night, life is day. After night comes\nday, then night again, and so on without end. The sun is the soul of the\nsky, the great spirit that is in us all, and the souls of the saints are\nlike the stars which shine in the night, and which will never cease to\nreturn.\"\n\nBernard Hertzog replied not another word, but having risen, he began\nsuspiciously to consider the aspect of that aged woman, who sat still in\na niche carved out of the rock. He noticed above the niche some rough\ncarving on the stone representing three trees with their branches\ntouching, and forming a sort of crown; lower down were three toads cut in\nthe granite. Three trees are the arms of the Tribocci (_dreien buechen_),\nthree toads are the arms of the Merovingian kings.\n\nWhat was the surprise of the old chronicler! Covetousness now took the\nplace of alarm.\n\n\"Here,\" thought he, \"is the oldest monument of the Frankish race in Gaul.\nThat old woman reminds me of some fallen queen, left here a relic of ages\nlong gone by. But how am I to carry the niche away?\"\n\nHe began to consider.\n\nThen was heard far away in the woods the trampling of the hoofs of\nmany cattle and deep bellowing. The rain fell faster; the flashes of\nlightning, like flights of frightened birds in the dark, touched each\nother by the tips of their wings; one never waited for another to be\ngone, and the rolling of the thunder became incessant and terrible.\n\nSoon the storm reached the very gorge of Nideck and hung over it closely,\nand swooped down with implacable fury; the explosions succeeded each\nother without intermission. It seemed as if the very mountains were\nfalling.\n\nAt every fresh crash Uncle Bernard shrank, feeling as if the lightning\nwere coming down his back.\n\n\"The first Triboceus who built a hut to cover his head was no fool,\"\nthought he. \"He was a sensible man, with some experience of atmospheric\nchanges. What would have become of us in this emergency had we not a roof\nover our heads? We should be greatly to be pitied. The invention of that\nTriboccus was quite as useful as that of the steam-engine; what a pity\nhis name is not known!\"\n\nThe worthy man had scarcely concluded his reflections when a young maiden\nof sixteen, wearing a very wide-brimmed straw hat, her white skirts\ndripping with rain and her little bare feet covered with sand, advanced\nto the doorstep, and said--\n\n\"The Lord bless you!\"\n\n\"Amen,\" answered Christian solemnly.\n\nThis young girl was of the purest Scandinavian type, with cheeks of rose\npink upon a face of pure whiteness, and long waving tresses, so fair and\nso silky that the finest wheat straw would hardly bear comparison with\nit. Her figure was tall and slender, and her blue eyes beamed with\ninexpressible sweetness.\n\nMaitre Bernard stood a few moments in rapt admiration, and the woodman,\nkindly addressing the young girl, said--\n\n\"I am glad to see you, Fuldrade. Irmengarde is still asleep. What a storm\nit is! Is it coming to an end yet?\"\n\n\"Yes, the wind is driving it down to the plain. It will be over before\ndaylight.\"\n\nThen, without looking at Maitre Bernard, she went to sit before the old\nwoman, who now seemed to revive.\n\n\"Fuldrade,\" she murmured, \"is the great tower yet standing?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nThe aged woman bowed her head, and her lips moved.\n\nAfter the last thunderclaps the rain fell in torrents. All down the\nvalley was heard an incessant loud beating of falling sheets of rain,\nand the rushing of the swollen stream, then, at intervals, after a brief\ncessation of rain, again the heavier dashing of repeated and more violent\nshowers.\n\nBetween the heavy showers the tinkling which Uncle Bernard had\ndistinguished in the distance when he awoke gradually became more\ndistinct, and at last arrived under the window of the hut, and almost\nimmediately five long-horned head of beautiful cows, spotted equally with\nwhite and black, appeared at the door.\n\n\"Why! here's Waldine!\" cried Christian, laughing; \"she is looking for\nyou, Fuldrade.\"\n\nThe gentle creature calmly and quietly came straight in, and seemed to\nexamine old Irmengarde.\n\n\"Go away!\" cried Fuldrade; \"go along with the others!\"\n\nAnd the obedient heifer turned back to the cabin door.\n\nBut the falling floods seemed to give her matter for reflection, for she\nstood quietly there, contemplating the deluge, and slowly swinging her\nbeautiful head, lowing in a deep, subdued tone.\n\nThe fresh air was now penetrating the hut and bringing with it the sweet\nperfumes of honeysuckle and wild roses, excited by the freshening rain.\nAll the birds in the woods--redbreasts, thrushes, and blackbirds--formed\na concert under the trees; the air was filled with the little love-tales\nof the happy birds and the fluttering of their eager wings.\n\nThen Maitre Bernard, recovering from his reverie, took a few paces\noutside, raised his eyes, and contemplated the white and fleecy clouds\nhastily crossing the still troubled sky. On the hill opposite he could\nsee the whole herd of cattle, all lying sheltered beneath the overhanging\nrocks, some lazily extended, their knees bent beneath them, with sleepy\neyes; others, with neck outstretched, lowing solemnly. A few young\nanimals were gazing at the hanging festoons of honeysuckle, and seemed\nto enjoy the balmy air that wafted from them.\n\nAll these diverse forms and attitudes stood clearly out upon the reddish\nbackground of the rock; and the immense expanded vault of the cavern,\nwith its setting of oak and pine whose twisted roots appeared where they\nhad pierced through the rock, gave a majestic air of grandeur to the\nspectacle.\n\n\"Well, Maitre Bernard,\" cried Christian, \"it is broad daylight; had we\nnot better start?\"\n\nThen, speaking to Fuldrade, who seemed buried in thought--\n\n\"Fuldrade, this old gentleman cannot drink our kirschwasser, yet I cannot\noffer him water. Have you anything better?\"\n\nFuldrade took up a milk-pail, and, with an intelligent glance at\nChristian, went out.\n\n\"Wait a moment,\" she said; \"I shall be here directly.\"\n\nShe rapidly tripped over the wet meadow; the drops of rain, collecting in\nthe large leaves, poured about her feet in little crystal streams. At her\napproach to the cave the finest cows arose up as if to greet their young\nmistress. She patted them all, and, having seated herself, began to milk\none, a fine white cow, which, standing motionless, with eyes half-closed,\nseemed grateful for the preference.\n\nWhen her pail was full Fuldrade made haste back, and, presenting it to\nBernard, said, smiling--\n\n\"Drink as much as you like; that is the way we drink milk warm from the\ncow in the country.\"\n\nWhich was done at once, the good man thanking her many times, and\npraising the excellence of this frothy milk, flavoured, as it were, with\nthe wild aromatic plants of the Schneeberg, Fuldrade seemed pleased with\nhis eulogiums, and Christian, who had slipped on his blouse, standing\nbehind them, staff in hand, waited for the end of these compliments\nbefore he cried--\n\n\"Now, master, en route! We have plenty of water now to turn the mill for\nsix weeks without stopping, and I must be back by nine o'clock.\"\n\nAnd they started, following the gravelly road under the hill.\n\n\"Adieu!\" said Maitre Bernard to the young girl, who gently bowed her head\nwithout speaking; \"farewell! and may God make you always happy!\"\n\nThe next day, about six in the evening, Bernard Hertzog, having returned\nto Saverne, was seated before his writing-desk, and describing in his\nchapter upon the antiquities of the Dagsberg, his discovery of the\nMerovingian arms in the woodman's hut in the Nideck. Then he went on to\nprove that the name of Tribocci, or Triboques, was derived from the\nGerman _drei buechen_--that is, three beeches. As a convincing proof, he\nreferred to the three trees and the three toads of Nideck, which latter\nour kings have converted into three _fleurs-de-lis_.\n\nAll the antiquaries of Alsace envied him this admirable and interesting\ndiscovery. On both banks of the Rhine he was known as doctor,\ndoctissimus, eruditus Bernardus, under which triumphal titles he dilated\nwith honest pride, while he tried to bear his honours with becoming\ngravity.\n\nAnd now, my dear friends, if you are curious to know what became\nof old Irmengarde, refer to the second volume of Bernard Hertzog's\n_Archeological Annals_, where under date July 16,1836, you will find\nthe following statement:--\n\n\"The old teller of legends, Irmengarde, surnamed '_The Soul of the\nRuins_,' died last night in the hut of the woodman Christian. Wonderful\nto relate, in the very same hour, almost the same minute, the principal\ntower of Nideck fell, and was washed away by the waterfall below.\n\n\"Such is the end of the most ancient monument known of Merovingian\narchitecture, of which Schlosser, the historian, says,\" etc., etc.\n\n\n\n\nTHE QUEEN OF THE BEES.\n\n\n\n\n\"As you go from Motiers-Navers to Boudry, on your way to Neufchatel,\" said\nthe young professor of botany, \"you follow a road between two walls of\nrocks of immense height; they reach a perpendicular elevation of five or\nsix hundred feet, and are hung with wild plants, the mountain basil\n(thymus alpinus), ferus (polypodium), the whortleberry (vitis idoea),\nground ivy, and other climbing plants producing a wonderful effect.\n\n\"The road winds along this defile; it rises, falls, turns, sometimes\ntolerably level, sometimes broken and abrupt, according to the thousand\nirregularities of the ground. Grey rocks almost meet in an arch overhead,\nothers stand wide apart, leaving the distant blue visible, and\ndiscovering sombre and melancholy-looking depths, and rows of firs\nas far as the eye could reach.\n\n\"The Reuss flows along the bottom, sometimes leaping along in waterfalls,\nthen creeping through thickets, or steaming, foaming, and thundering over\nprecipices, while the echoes prolong the tumult and roar of its torrents\nin one immense endless hum. Since I left Tubingen the weather had\ncontinued fine; but when I reached the summit of this gigantic staircase,\nabout two leagues distant from the little hamlet of Novisaigne, I\nsuddenly noticed great grey clouds begin passing overhead, which soon\nfilled up the defile entirely; this vapour was so dense that it soon\npenetrated my clothes as a heavy dew would have done.\n\n\"Although it was only two in the afternoon, the sky became clouded over\nas if darkness was coming on; and I foresaw a heavy storm was about to\nbreak over my head.\n\n\"I consequently began looking about for shelter, and I saw through one\nof those wide openings which afford you a perspective view of the Alps,\nabout two or three hundred yards distant on the slope leading down to\nthe lake, an ancient-looking grey chalet, moss-covered, with its small\nround windows and sloping roof loaded with large stones, its stairs\noutside the house, with a carved rail, and its basket-shaped balcony,\non which the Swiss maidens generally hang their snowy linen and\nscarlet petticoats to dry.\n\n\"Precisely as I was looking down, a tall woman in a black cap was folding\nand collecting the linen which was blowing about in the wind.\n\n\"To the left of this building a very large apiary supported on beams,\narranged like a balcony, formed a projection above the valley.\n\n\"You may easily believe that without the loss of a moment I set off\nbounding through the heather to seek for shelter from the coming storm,\nand well it was I lost no time, for I had hardly laid my hand on the\nhandle of the door before the hurricane burst furiously overhead; every\ngust of wind seemed about to carry the cottage bodily away; but its\nfoundations were strong, and the security of the good people within,\nby the warmth of their reception, completely reassured me about the\nprobability of any accident.\n\n\"The cottage was inhabited by Walter Young, his wife Catherine, and\nlittle Raesel, their only daughter.\n\n\"I remained three days with them; for the wind, which went down about\nmidnight, had so filled the valley of Neufchatel with mist, that the\nmountain where I had taken refuge was completely enveloped in it; it was\nimpossible to walk twenty yards from the door without experiencing great\ndifficulty in finding it again.\n\n\"Every morning these good people would say, when they saw me buckle on my\nknapsack--\n\n\"'What are you about, Mr. Hennetius? You cannot mean to go yet; you will\nnever arrive anywhere. In the name of Heaven stay here a little longer!'\n\n\"And Young would open the door and exclaim--\n\n\"'Look there, sir; you must be tired of your life to risk it among these\nrocks. Why, the dove itself would be troubled to find the ark again in\nsuch a mist as this.'\n\n\"One glance at the mountain side was enough for me to make up my mind to\nput my stick back again in the corner.\n\n\"Walter Young was a man of the old times. He was nearly sixty; his grand\nhead wore a calm and benevolent expression--a real Apostle's head. His\nwife, who always wore a black silk cap, pale and thoughtful, resembled\nhim much in disposition. Their two profiles, as I looked at them defined\nsharply against the little panes of glass in the chalet's windows,\nrecalled to my mind those drawings of Albert Durer the sight of which\ncarried me back to the age of faith and the patriarchal manners of the\nfifteenth century. The long brown rafters of the ceiling, the deal table,\nthe ashen chairs with the carved backs, the tin drinking-cups, the\nsideboard with its old-fashioned painted plates and dishes, the crucifix\nwith the Saviour carved in box on an ebony cross, and the worm-eaten\nclock-case with its many weights and its porcelain dial, completed the\nillusion.\n\n\"But the face of their little daughter Raesel was still more touching.\nI think I can see her now, with her flat horsehair cap and watered black\nsilk ribbons, her trim bodice and broad blue sash down to her knees,\nher little white hands crossed in the attitude of a dreamer, her long\nfair curls--all that was graceful, slender, and ethereal in nature. Yes,\nI can see Raesel now, sitting in a large leathern arm-chair, close to the\nblue curtain of the recess at the end of the room, smiling as she\nlistened and meditated.\n\n\"Her sweet face had charmed me from the first moment I saw her and I was\ncontinually on the point of inquiring why she wore such an habitually\nmelancholy air, why did she hold her pale face down so invariably, and\nwhy did she never raise her eyes when spoken to?\n\n\"Alas! the poor child had been blind from her birth.\n\n\"She had never seen the lake's vast expanse, nor its blue sheet\nblending so harmoniously with the sky, the fishermen's boats which\nploughed its surface, the wooded heights which crowned it and cast\ntheir quivering reflection on its waters, the rocks covered with moss,\nthe green Alpine plants in their vivid and brilliant colouring; nor had\nshe ever watched the sun set behind the glaciers, nor the long shades of\nevening draw across the valleys, nor the golden broom, nor the endless\nheather--nothing. None of these things had she ever seen; nothing of what\nwe saw every day from the windows of the chalet.\n\n\"'What an ironical commentary on the gifts of Fortune!' thought I, as I\nsat looking out of the window at the mist, in expectation of the sun's\nappearing once more, 'to be blind in this place! here in presence of\nNature in its sublimest form, of such limitless grandeur! To be blind!\nOh, Almighty God, who shall dare to dispute Thy impenetrable decrees, or\nwho shall venture to murmur at the severity of Thy justice, even when its\nweight falls on an innocent child? But to be thus blind in the presence\nof Thy grandest creations, of creations which ceaselessly renew our\nenthusiasm, our love, and our adoration for Thy genius, Thy power, and\nThy goodness; of what crime can this poor child have been guilty thus\nto deserve Thy chastisement?'\n\n\"And my reflections continually reverted to this topic.\n\n\"I asked myself, too, what compensation Divine pity could make its\ncreature for the deprival of its greatest blessing, and, finding none, I\nbegan to doubt its power.\n\n\"'Man, in his presumption,' said the royal poet, 'dares to glorify\nhimself in his knowledge, and judge the Eternal. But his wisdom is but\nfolly, and his light darkness.'\n\n\"Oh that day one of Nature's great mysteries was revealed to me,\ndoubtless with the purpose of humbling my vanity, and of teaching me\nthat nothing is impossible to God, and that it is in His power only\nto multiply our senses, and by so doing gratify those who please Him.\"\n\nHere the young professor took a pinch from his tortoiseshell snuff-box,\nraised his eyes to the ceiling with a contemplative air, and then, after\na short pause, continued in these terms:--\n\n\"Does it not often happen to you, ladies, when you are in the country in\nfine weather in summer, especially after a brief storm, when the air is\nwarm, and the exhalations from the ground filling it with the perfume of\nthousands of plants, and their sweet scent penetrates and warms you; when\nthe foliage from the trees in the solitary avenues, as well as from the\nbushes, seems to lean over you as if it sought to take you in its arms\nand embrace you; when the minutest flowers, the humble daisy, the blue\nforget-me-not, the convolvulus in the hedgerows raise their heads and\nfollow you with a longing look--does it not happen to you to experience\nan inexpressible sensation of languor, to sigh for no apparent reason,\nand even to feel inclined to shed tears, and to ask yourselves, 'Why does\nthis feeling of love oppress me? why do my knees bend under me? whence\nthese tears?'\n\n\"Whence indeed, ladies? Why from life, and the thousands of living things\nwhich surround you, lean to you, and call to you to stay with them, while\nthey gently murmur, 'We love you; love us, and do not leave us.'\n\n\"You can easily imagine, then, the deep enthusiastic feeling and the\nreligious sentiment of a person always in a similar state of ecstasy.\nEven if blind, abandoned by his friends, do you think there is nothing to\nenvy in his lot? or that his destiny is not infinitely happier than our\nown? For my own part I have not the slightest doubt of it.\n\n\"But you will, doubtless, say such a condition is impossible--the mind\nof man would break down under such a load of happiness. And, moreover,\nwhence could such happiness be derived? What organs could transmit,\nand where could it find, such a sensation of universal life?\n\n\"This, ladies, is a question to which I can give you no answer; but I ask\nyou to listen and then judge.\n\n\"The very day I arrived at the chalet I had made a singular remark--the\nblind girl was especially uneasy about the bees.\n\n\"While the wind was roaring without Raesel sat with her head on her hands\nlistening attentively.\n\n\"'Father,' said she, 'I think at the end of the apiary the third hive on\nthe right is still open. Go and see. The wind blows from the north; all\nthe bees are home; you can shut the hive.'\n\n\"And her father having gone out by a side door, when he returned he\nsaid--\n\n\"'It is all right, my child; I have closed the hive.'\n\n\"Half an hour afterwards the girl, rousing herself once more from her\nreverie, murmured--\n\n\"'There are no more bees about, but under the roof of the apiary there\nare some waiting; they are in the sixth hive near the door; please go and\nlet them in, father.'\n\n\"The old man left the house at once. He was away more than a quarter of\nan hour; then he came back and told his daughter that everything was as\nshe wished it--the bees had just gone into their hive.\n\n\"The child nodded, and replied--\n\n\"'Thank you, father.'\n\n\"Then she seemed to doze again.\n\n\"I was standing by the stove, lost in a labyrinth of reflections; how\ncould that poor blind girl know that from such or such a hive there were\nstill some bees absent, or that such a hive had been left open? This\nseemed inexplicable to me; but having been in the house hardly one hour,\nI did not feel justified in asking my hosts any questions with regard to\ntheir daughter, for it is sometimes painful to talk to people on subjects\nwhich interest them very nearly. I concluded that Young gave way to his\ndaughter's fancies in order to induce her to believe she was of some\nservice in the family, and that her forethought protected the bees from\nseveral accidents. That seemed the simplest explanation I could imagine,\nand I thought no more about it.\n\n\"About seven we supped on milk and cheese, and when it was time to retire\nYoung led me into a goodsized room on the first floor, with a bed and a\nfew chairs in it, panelled in fir, as is generally the case in the\ngreater number of Swiss chalets. You are only separated from your\nneighbours by a deal partition, and you can hear every footstep and\nnearly every word.\n\n\"That night I was lulled to sleep by the whistling of the wind and the\nsound of the rain beating against the window-panes. The next day the wind\nhad gone down and we were enveloped in mist. When I awoke I found my\nwindows quite white, quite padded with mist. When I opened my window the\nvalley looked like an immense stove; the tops of a few fir-trees alone\nshowed their outlines against the sky; below, the clouds were in regular\nlayers down to the surface of the lake; everything was calm, motionless,\nand silent.\n\n\"When I went down to the sitting-room I found my hosts seated at table,\nabout to begin breakfast.\n\n\"'We have been waiting for you,' cried Young gaily.\n\n\"'You must excuse us,' said the mother; 'this is our regular breakfast\nhour.'\n\n\"'Of course, of course; I am obliged to you for not noticing my\nlaziness.'\n\n\"Raesel was much more lively than the preceding evening; she had a fresh\ncolour in her cheeks.\n\n\"'The wind has gone down,' said she; 'the storm has passed away without\ndoing any harm.'\n\n\"'Shall I open the apiary?' asked Young.\n\n\"'No, not yet; the bees would lose themselves in this mist. Besides,\neverything is drenched with rain; the brambles and mosses are full of\nwater; the least puff of wind would drown many of them. We must wait a\nlittle while. I know what is the matter: they feel dull, they want to\nwork; they are tormented at the idea of devouring their honey instead\nof making it. But I cannot afford to lose them. Many of the hives are\nweak--they would starve in winter. We will see what the weather is like\nto-morrow.'\n\n\"The two old people sat and listened without making any observations.\n\n\"About nine the blind girl proposed to go and visit her bees; Young and\nCatherine followed her, and I did the same, from a very natural feeling\nof curiosity.\n\n\"We passed through the kitchen by a door which opened on to a terrace.\nAbove us was the roof of the apiary; it was of thatch, and from its ledge\nhoneysuckle and wild grapes hung in magnificent festoons. The hives were\narranged on three shelves.\n\n\"Raesel went from one to the other, patting them, and murmuring--\n\n\"'Have a little patience; there is too much mist this morning. Ah! the\ngreedy ones, how they grumble!'\n\n\"And we could hear a vague humming inside the hive, which increased in\nintensity until she had passed.\n\n\"That awoke all my curiosity once more. I felt there was some strange\nmystery which I could not fathom, but what was my surprise, when, as I\nwent into the sitting-room, I heard the blind girl say in a melancholy\ntone of voice--\n\n\"'No, father, I would rather not see at all to-day than lose my eyes. I\nwill sing, I will do something or other to pass the time, never mind\nwhat; but I will not let the bees out.'\n\n\"While she was speaking in this strange manner I looked at Walter Young,\nwho glanced out of the window and then quietly replied--\n\n\"'You are right, child; I think you are right. Besides, there is nothing\nto see; the valley is quite white. It is not worth looking at.'\n\n\"And while I sat astounded at what I heard, the child continued--\n\n\"'What lovely weather we had the day before yesterday! Who would have\nthought that a storm on the lake would have caused all this mist? Now one\nmust fold up its wings and crawl about like a wretched caterpillar.'\n\n\"Then again, after a few moments' silence--\n\n\"'How I enjoyed myself under the lofty pines on the Grinderwald! How the\nhoney-dew dropped from the sky! It fell from every branch. What a harvest\nwe made, and how sweet the air was on the shores of the lake, and in the\nrich Tannemath pastures--the green moss, and the sweet-smelling herbs! I\nsang, I laughed, and we filled our cells with wax and honey. How\ndelightful to be everywhere, see everything, to fly humming about the\nwoods, the mountains, and the valleys!'\n\n\"There was a fresh silence, while I sat, with mouth and eyes open,\nlistening with the greatest attention, not knowing what to think or what\nto say.\n\n\"'And when the shower came,' she went on, 'how frightened we were! A\ngreat humble-bee, sheltered under the same fern as myself, shut his eyes\nat every flash; a grasshopper had sheltered itself under its great green\nbranches, and some poor little crickets had scrambled up a poppy to save\nthemselves from drowning. But what was most frightful was a nest of\nwarblers quite close to us in a bush. The mother hovered round about us,\nand the little ones opened their beaks, yellow as far as their windpipes.\nHow frightened we were! Good Lord, we were frightened indeed! Thanks be\nto Heaven, a puff of wind carried us off to the mountain side; and now\nthe vintage is over we must not expect to get out again so soon.'\n\n\"On hearing these descriptions of Nature so true, at this worship of day\nand light, I could no longer entertain the least doubt on the subject.\n\n\"'The blind girl sees,' said I to myself; 'she sees through thousands of\neyes; the apiary is her life, her soul. Every bee carries a part of her\naway into space, and then returns drawn to her by thousands of invisible\nthreads. The blind girl penetrates the flowers and the mosses; she revels\nin their perfume; when the sun shines she is everywhere; in the mountain\nside, in the valleys, in the forests, as far as her sphere of attraction\nextends.'\n\n\"I sat confounded at this strange magnetic influence, and felt tempted to\nexclaim--\n\n\"'Honour, glory, honour to the power, the wisdom, and the infinite\ngoodness of the Eternal God! For Him nothing is impossible. Every day,\nevery instant of our lives reveals to us His magnificence.'\n\n\"While I was lost in these enthusiastic reflections, Raesel addressed me\nwith a quiet smile.\n\n\"'Sir,' said she.\n\n\"'What, my child?'\n\n\"'You are very much surprised at me, and you are not the first person who\nhas been so. The rector Hegel, of Neufchatel, and other travellers have\nbeen here on purpose to see me: they thought I was blind. You thought so\ntoo, did you not?'\n\n\"'I did indeed, my dear child, and I thank the Lord that I was mistaken.'\n\n\"'Yes,' said she, 'I know you are a good man--I can tell it by your\nvoice. When the sun shines I shall open my eyes to look at you, and when\nyou leave here I will accompany you to the foot of the mountain.'\n\n\"Then she began to laugh most artlessly.\n\n\"'Yes,' said she, 'you shall have music in your ears, and I will seat\nmyself on your cheek; but you must take care--take care. You must not\ntouch me, or I should sting you. You must promise not to be angry.'\n\n\"'I promise you, Raesel, I promise you I will not,' I said with tears in\nmy eyes, 'and, moreover, I promise you never to kill a bee or any other\ninsect except those which do harm.'\n\n\"'They are the eyes of the Lord,' she murmured. 'I can only see by my own\npoor bees, but He has every hive, every ant's nest, every leaf, every\nblade of grass. He lives, He feels, He loves, He suffers, He does good\nby means of all these. Oh, Monsieur Hennetius, you are right not to pain\nthe Lord, who loves us so much!'\n\n\"Never in my life had I been so moved and affected, and it was a full\nminute before I could ask her--\n\n\"'So, my dear child, you see by your bees; will you explain to me how\nthat is?'\n\n\"'I cannot tell, Monsieur Hennetius; it may be because I am so fond of\nthem. When I was quite a little child they adopted me, and they have\nnever once hurt me. At first I liked to sit for hours in the apiary all\nalone and listen to their humming for hours together. I could see nothing\nthen, everything was dark to me; but insensibly light came upon me. At\nfirst I could see the sun a little, when it was very hot, then a little\nmore, with the wild vine and the honeysuckle like a shade over me, then\nthe full light of day. I began to emerge from myself; my spirit went\nforth with the bees. I could see the mountains, the rocks, the lake, the\nflowers and mosses, and in the evening, when quite alone, I reflected on\nthese things. I thought how beautiful they were, and when people talked\nof this and that, of whortleberries, and mulberries, and heaths, I said\nto myself, \"I know what all these things are like--they are black, or\nbrown, or green.\" I could see them in my mind, and every day I became\nbetter acquainted with them, thanks to my dear bees; and therefore I love\nthem dearly, Monsieur Hennetius. If you knew how it grieves me when the\ntime comes for robbing them of their wax and their honey!'\n\n\"'I believe you, my child--I believe it does.'\n\n\"My delight at this wonderful discovery was boundless.\n\n\"Two days longer Raesel entertained me with a description of her\nimpressions. She was acquainted with every flower, every Alpine plant,\nand gave me an account of a great number which have as yet received\nno botanical names, and which are probably only to be found in\ninaccessible situations.\n\n\"The poor girl was often much affected when she spoke of her dear\nfriends, some little flowers.\n\n\"'Often and often,' said she, 'I have talked for hours with the golden\nbroom or the tender blue-eyed forget-me-not, and shared in their\ntroubles. They all wished to quit the earth and fly about; they all\ncomplained of their being condemned to dry up in the ground, and of being\nexposed to wait for days and weeks ere a drop of dew came to refresh\nthem.'\n\n\"And so Raesel used to repeat to me endless conversations of this sort.\nIt was marvellous! If you only heard her you would be capable of falling\nin love with a dogrose, or of feeling a lively sympathy and a profound\nsentiment of compassion for a violet, its misfortunes and its silent\nsufferings.\n\n\"What more can I tell you, ladies? It is painful to leave a subject where\nthe soul has so many mysterious emanations; there is such a field for\nconjecture; but as everything in this world must have an end, so must\neven the pleasantest dreams.\n\n\"Early in the morning of the third day of my stay a gentle breeze began\nto roll away the mist from off the lake. I could see its folds become\nlarger every second as the wind drove them along, leaving one blue corner\nin the sky, and then another; then the tower of a village church, some\ngreen pinnacles on the tops of the mountains, then a row of firs, a\nvalley, all the time the immense mass of vapour slowly floated past us;\nby ten it had left us behind it, and the great cloud on the dry peaks of\nthe Chasseron still wore a threatening aspect; but a last effort of the\nwind gave it a different direction, and it disappeared at last in the\ngorges of Saint-Croix.\n\n\"Then the mighty nature of the Alps seemed to me to have grown young\nagain; the heather, the tall pines, the old chestnut-trees dripping with\ndew, shone with vigorous health; there was something in the view of them\njoyous, smiling, and serious all at once. One felt the hand of God was in\nit all--His eternity.\n\n\"I went downstairs lost in thought; Raesel was already in the apiary.\nYoung opened the door and pointed her out to me sitting in the shade of\nthe wild vine, with her forehead resting on her hands, as if in a doze.\n\n\"'Be careful,' said he to me, 'not to awake her; her mind is elsewhere;\nshe sleeps; she is wandering about; she is happy.'\n\n\"The bees were swarming about by thousands, like a flood of gold over a\nprecipice.\n\n\"I looked on at this wonderful sight for some seconds, praying the Lord\nwould continue His love for the poor child.\n\n\"Then turning round--\n\n\"'Master Young,' said I, 'it is time to go.'\n\n\"He buckled my knapsack on for me himself, and put my stick into my hand.\n\n\"Mistress Catherine looked on kindly, and they both accompanied me to the\nthreshold of the chalet.\n\n\"'Farewell!' said Walter, grasping my hand; 'a pleasant journey; and\nthink of us sometimes!'\n\n\"'I can never forget you,' I replied, quite melancholy; 'may your bees\nflourish, and may Heaven grant you are as happy as you deserve to be!'\n\n\"'So be it, M. Hennetius,' said good Dame Catherine; 'amen; a happy\njourney, and good health to you.'\n\n\"I moved off.\n\n\"They remained on the terrace until I reached the road.\n\n\"Thrice I turned round and waved my cap, and they responded by waving\ntheir hands.\n\n\"Good people; why cannot we meet with such every day?'\n\n\"Little Raesel accompanied me to the foot of the mountain, as she had\npromised. For a long time her musical hum lightened the fatigue of my\njourney; I seemed to recognise her in every bee which came buzzing about\nmy ears, and I fancied I could hear her say in a small shrill tone of\nvoice--\n\n\"'Courage, M. Hennetius, courage; it is very hot, is it not? Come, let me\ngive you a kiss; don't be afraid; you know we are very good friends.'\n\n\"It was only at the end of the valley that she took leave of me, when the\nsound of the lake drowned her gentle voice; but her idea followed me all\nthrough my journey, nor do I think it will ever leave me.\"","title":"The Man-Wolf and Other Tales","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":63152}