The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Count of Nideck, by Ralph Browning Fiske This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Count of Nideck adapted from the French of Erckmann-Chartrian Author: Ralph Browning Fiske Illustrator: Victor A. Searles Release Date: January 18, 2011 [EBook #34999] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COUNT OF NIDECK *** Produced by Annie McGuire. This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print archive. Book Cover THE COUNT OF NIDECK "AND THE COUNT WAS STANDING UPRIGHT ON THE WINDOW-SILL." The Count of Nideck ADAPTED FROM THE FRENCH OF Erckmann: Chartrian BY Ralph Browning Fiske ILLUSTRATED BY Victor A. Searles BOSTON L. C. Page & Company INCORPORATED 1897 Copyright, 1897 By L. C. Page and Company CONTENTS. I. The summons to the Castle II. I meet the countess III. My first night in Hugh's Tower IV. Knapwurst acquaints me with the genealogy of the Nidecks V. I breakfast with Odile VI. The Count unsheathes his claws VII. Marie Lagoutte relates her experience VIII. Sebalt tracks the Plague IX. The Plague in my chamber.—The midnight scene on the Altenberg X. I lose my way and pass the night in the dwarf's lodge XI. I am summoned to the Countess's chamber, and make a confession XII. We chase the Plague.—Her death XIII. The Baron's story.—He disappears XIV. The boar hunt XV. The banquet.—The dwarf explains the mystery of the Nideck house LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. "And the Count was standing upright on the window-sill" "Pointing to a dark object crouching in the snow" In the portrait gallery "'Stay!' he howled, 'I have not cursed you yet'" "'Yonder you see the peak of the Altenberg'" "Then he would resume his frightful cries" "I raised myself on my elbow and stared fearfully in the direction" "I stepped forward, and found myself in the presence of Odile" "Odile dropped her eyes" "I fell upon my knee before the brute" CHAPTER I. THE SUMMONS TO THE CASTLE. Towards Christmas time, in the year 1780, as I lay soundly sleeping in my room at the Swan Tavern, in Tübingen, old Gideon Sperver burst suddenly into my room, crying, "Gaston, my boy, I have come to take you back with me to the Castle! You know Nideck, twenty miles from here,—the estate of my master, the Count of Nideck!" My failure to respond was perhaps due to the fact that I had not seen my worthy foster-father for twenty years, that in this time he had grown a full beard, and that now, in my half-aroused condition, he appeared before me thus, with a huge fur cap pulled down over his ears, and holding an ill-smelling lantern just under my nose. "In the first place," I replied, "let's take up things in their proper order. Who are you?" "Who am I?" repeated the good fellow, with such genuine surprise and distress in his tones that I felt a somewhat embarrassing sense of ingratitude. "What! Don't you remember your foster-father, Gideon Sperver, the General's old ranger who saved your life as a child, in the swamp of the Losser?" And his voice became so husky that he stopped and [Pg 10] [Pg 11] cleared his throat. "Ah, my dear Gideon, I know you now, indeed! Give me your hand!" We gripped each other's hands, and Sperver, passing his sleeve across his eyes, continued, "You know Nideck?" "Of course, by reputation. What are you doing there?" "I am the Count's steward." "And how did you happen to come hither?" "The young Countess Odile sent me to fetch you." "Very good. When are we to start?" "At once. It is an urgent matter; the old Count is very ill, and his daughter begged me to lose no time. The horses are waiting for us below." "But, my dear Gideon, just look at the weather; it has been snowing for three days!" "Pshaw! We are not starting on a boar hunt. Put on your fur coat, fasten on your spurs, and we are off! Meanwhile, I will order a bite for you to eat." He disappeared, and, as I never could refuse the chosen companion of my childhood anything from my youngest days, I hurriedly dressed myself, and lost no time in following him into the dining-room. "Ah, I knew you would not let me go back alone!" he cried delightedly. "Swallow down this slice of ham and drink a stirrup-cup, for the horses are growing impatient. I have strapped your valise to the saddle." "What is that for?" "You will be needed for some days at Nideck; that is indispensable. I will explain everything to you on the way." We went down into the inn yard. At that moment two horsemen arrived. They seemed exhausted, and their horses were white with lather. Sperver, who was a great lover of horses, exclaimed in surprise, "What beautiful animals! They are Wallachians; fine and swift as deer. Come, make haste and throw a blanket over them, my lad," he continued, addressing the hostler, "or they may take cold!" The travellers, enveloped in white astrakhan greatcoats, passed close to us just as were putting foot in the stirrup. I could only distinguish the long brown moustache of one, and his dark eyes that were singularly bright. They entered the inn. The groom released our bridles and wished us a safe journey. We set off at a gallop. Sperver rode a pure Mecklenberg, and I was mounted on a spirited horse of Ardennes; we fairly flew over the snow. In ten minutes we had left the outskirts of Tübingen behind us. It was beginning to clear up. All trace of our road had become obliterated by the considerable fall of snow. Our only companions were the ravens of the Black Forest, spreading their great hollow wings above the drifts, lighting for an instant here and there, and crying in discordant notes, "Misery! Misery! Misery!" Gideon, buried in his coat of wild-cat skin and fur cap, galloped on ahead. Suddenly he turned in the saddle and called, "Hey, Gaston! This is what they call a fine winter's morning." "So it is; but a bit severe." "I like the clear cold weather; it makes you tingle. If old Parson Toby had the courage to start out in such weather, he would never feel his rheumatism again." I smiled as well as my stiff cheeks would let me. After an hour of this furious pace Sperver slowed down and let me catch up with him. "Gaston," he said in a serious tone, "you ought to know the circumstances of the master's illness." "I was just thinking of that." "The more so, as a great number of doctors have already visited the Count." "Indeed." "Yes; they have come from Paris, Berlin, and even Switzerland, and have made a most careful study of their patient and employed all their skill, but to no purpose." As no answer seemed called for, I remained silent, waiting for him to continue. "The Count's disease is a terrible affliction somewhat akin to madness. It returns every year on the same day and at the same hour; his eyes grow red as fire, he shudders from head to foot, and he mutters incoherently." "The man has undoubtedly become unbalanced through trouble and adversity." "No! Not so! He possesses power and wealth and untold honors,—everything, in short, that other people most desire; [Pg 12] [Pg 13] [Pg 14] [Pg 15] [Pg 16] [Pg 17] but the most singular part of it is that he fancies if his daughter would only consent to marry, it would effect his cure; and she as strangely refuses even to entertain the idea, maintaining that she has consecrated her life to God. The Count cannot bear to think that the ancient race of Nideck must perish with her." "How did his illness first declare itself?" "Suddenly, twelve years ago." As he spoke my companion seemed to be trying to recall something. "One evening," he began, after a moment, "I was alone with the Count in the armory of the Castle. It was about Christmas time. We had been hunting wild boar all day in the gorges of the Rhethal, and had returned at nightfall bringing with us two poor hounds ripped open the length of their bellies. It was just such weather as this, cold and snowy. The Count was striding up and down the room, his head upon his breast and his hands clasped behind his back, like a man who is deep in thought. From time to time he paused, and looked at the high windows that were fast becoming veiled in snow, while I sat in the chimney-corner warming myself, thinking of my dogs, and silently cursing all the wild boar of the Black Forest. For fully two hours everybody in the Castle had been asleep, and there was no sound to break the silence, save the noise of the Count's heavy spurred boots on the flagstones. I distinctly recall how a raven, doubtless borne along by a gust of wind, came flapping against the panes with a discordant cry, and how the sheets of snow fell from the windows. The casements on that side of the house were suddenly changed from white to black." "Have these details any bearing on your master's illness?" "Let me finish. You shall see for yourself. At the raven's cry, the Count suddenly halted; his eyes became fixed, his cheeks ashy pale, and he bent his head forward like a hunter who hears the game approaching. I went on warming myself, thinking meanwhile, 'Won't he go to bed soon?' For, to tell the truth, I was dropping with fatigue. I can see it all, Gaston; I am sitting there now! Scarcely had the raven uttered its harsh croak above the abyss, when the old clock struck eleven. At the same moment the Count turned on his heel; he listened; his lips moved; I saw him totter like a drunken man. He stretched out his hands, his teeth tightly clenched, and his eyeballs shining like fire. 'My lord,' I cried, 'what is the matter?' But he burst into mad laughter, stumbled, and fell upon the floor, face downwards. I called for help immediately; the servants hurried to the room. Sebalt and I raised the Count and moved him to the bed near the window; but just as I was about to cut my master's cravat with my hunting-knife,—for I believed it was a stroke of apoplexy,—the Countess Odile entered, and threw herself upon the body of her father, uttering such piteous cries that I tremble yet when I think of it. From that hour, Gaston, a pall has hung over the Castle, and Heaven only knows when it will be lifted. Every year, at the same day and hour, the Count is seized with these strange convulsions. The attacks last from a week to a fortnight, during which he howls and cries in a most terrifying manner. Then he slowly recovers. He is pale and weak, and moves about steadying himself on the chairs of his chamber, and turning fearfully to look, at the slightest sound, seemingly afraid of his own shadow. The young Countess, the sweetest creature in the world, never leaves him; but he cannot bear the sight of her at these times. 'Go! Go!' he cries, stretching out his arms before him. 'Leave me! Haven't I suffering enough as it is, without your hated presence?' It is abominable to hear him, and I, who am always at his side in the chase, and would readily risk my life to serve him,—I could throttle him at these moments, when I witness his monstrous treatment of his own daughter!" Sperver, whose swarthy face had assumed a gloomy look, set spurs to his horse, and we continued at a gallop. I had become thoughtful. The cure of such a malady seemed to me exceedingly doubtful, if not indeed impossible. It was evidently some moral disease. In order successfully to combat it, it would be necessary to trace it back to its origin, and this origin was doubtless lost in the vagueness of the past. These reflections tended to increase my apprehension. The old steward's story, far from inspiring me with confidence, had depressed me,—a doubtful state of affairs to insure success. It was about three o'clock when we descried the ancient Castle of Nideck on the furthest horizon. In spite of the vast intervening distance, we could distinguish the high turrets suspended like baskets from the angles of the edifice. It was as yet but a mere outline, hardly distinguishable from the blue sky; almost imperceptibly the red granite peaks of the Vosges appeared. At that moment Sperver slowed up and cried, "Gaston, we must get there before night shuts in. Forward!" But it was in vain that he plunged his spurs into his horse. The animal remained motionless, with his fore legs planted firmly before him, his mane bristling up with fear, and emitting two streams of bluish vapor from his nostrils. [Pg 17] [Pg 18] [Pg 19] [Pg 20] [Pg 21] [Pg 22] [Pg 23] [Pg 24] "POINTING TO A DARK OBJECT CROUCHING IN THE SNOW." "POINTING TO A DARK OBJECT CROUCHING IN THE SNOW." "What does this mean?" cried Gideon, astonished. "Do you see anything, Gaston? Can there—" He did not finish his sentence; pointing to a dark object crouching in the snow at a distance of some fifty paces on the hillside, he exclaimed, in a tone of such distress that I was a good deal startled, "The Black Plague!" Following with my glance the direction of his extended arm, I was astonished to perceive an aged woman, her legs bent up between her clasped arms, and so ragged that her red elbows protruded from the sleeves of her dress, seated in the snow. A few locks of gray hair fell in disorder about her thin, red, vulture-like neck. Singularly enough, a bundle of some sort rested on her knees, and her haggard eyes wandered over the snowy plain. Sperver had gone far to the right and kept as far as possible out of the old creature's way. I had some trouble in overtaking him. "What the deuce is the meaning of all this? Are you joking?" I cried. "Joking! God forbid that I should jest about such matters. I am not superstitious, but this meeting with the old witch frightens me." Then, turning his head and seeing that the old creature had not stirred, and that her eyes were still fixed on the plain before her, he seemed somewhat reassured. "Gaston," he said solemnly, "you are a man of learning, and are acquainted with many subjects of which I know nothing, but believe me, a man is wrong to laugh at things he cannot understand. It is not without reason that I call this woman the Black Plague. Throughout the Black Forest she is known by that name, but here at Nideck she has won a special right to it." My companion rode on for a few minutes without speaking. "Come, Sperver, explain yourself more clearly! I confess I don't understand you in the least." "The hag that you saw down there is the cause of all our misfortunes. It is she who is slowly killing the Count." "How is that possible? How can she exercise such an influence?" "I cannot tell you. But one thing is certain: on the first day of the Count's attack, at the very moment even, you have only to climb up to the signal-tower and you will see the Black Plague crouching like a dark speck in the long stretch of snow between the Tübingen Forest and the Castle of Nideck. Every day she comes a little nearer, and at her approach, the Count's attacks grow worse; sometimes when the trembling fits come upon him, he says to me, 'Gideon, she is coming.' I hold his arms and try to quiet him, but he keeps muttering with staring eyes, 'She is coming! Oh, oh! She is coming!' Then I climb the tower and survey the landscape. You know I have a keen eye, Gideon. At last, amid the distant mists, between sky and earth, I distinguish a black speck. The next morning the speck has grown larger; the Count starts up in his bed with chattering teeth. On the second day we can see the old creature distinctly, almost within rifle-shot on the plain; and then it is that the Count's jaws become set like a vice, his eyes roll in his head, and he utters terrible cries. Ah, the cursed witch! A score of times I have brought my carbine to bear on her, but the poor Count has prevented me from drawing the trigger, crying, 'No, Sperver; shed no blood!' Poor man! He is sparing the creature who is killing him by inches; he is nothing but skin and bones." My good friend Gideon was too much taken up with the vision of the hag to be brought back to calm reason. Moreover, who can define the exact limits of the possible? Do we not each day see the realm of reality extend itself more widely? These hidden influences, these unseen bonds, this world of magnetism that some proclaim with all the ardor of the fanatic, and others deny with scorn and ridicule,—who can say that all these forces will not some day revolutionize our universe? It is easy to arrogate to yourself a claim to superior knowledge in the face of such general ignorance. I confined myself, therefore, to begging Sperver to moderate his anger, and beyond all things not to fire upon the Black Plague, warning him that it would very probably bring grave misfortune upon himself. "Bah! I will risk all that!" he exclaimed; "the worst they could do would be to hang me." "But that would be a good deal for an honest man to suffer." [Pg 25] [Pg 26] [Pg 27] [Pg 28] [Pg 29] [Pg 30] [Pg 31] "As well die one way as another. In this case, you are suffocated, that's all. I would as lief die that way as to receive a blow on my head, or a stroke of apoplexy, or give up smoking, drinking, and a good digestion." "My dear Gideon, that sounds odd, coming from a graybeard." "Graybeard or not, that is the way I look at it. I always keep a bullet in my rifle at the service of the witch; from time to time, I renew the priming, and if ever the occasion offers—" He finished his sentence by an expressive gesture. "You are wrong, Sperver! I am of the same opinion as the Count: 'no bloodshed.' Reconsider, and discharge your piece against the first wild boar you happen upon." These words seemed to have some effect upon the old huntsman; he dropped his chin on his breast, and his face assumed a thoughtful expression. By this time, we were climbing the wooded slopes which separate the squalid hamlet of Tiefenbach from the Castle of Nideck. Night had overtaken us, and as it often happens after a clear, cold day in winter, the snow was beginning to fall again, and large flakes fell and melted on our horses' manes. The animals whinnied and increased their pace, cheered doubtless by the prospect of a warm shelter. Every now and then, Sperver turned and looked behind him with evident anxiety, and I was not free from a certain indefinable apprehension as I reflected upon the strange account of his master's malady which the steward had given me. Besides, man's spirit harmonizes itself with its surroundings, and, for my part, I know of nothing more melancholy than a forest covered with snow and hoar frost, and stirred by a moaning wind; the trees have a sombre, icy look that chills you to the heart. As we climbed the slope, the oak-trees became fewer, and the birches, straight and white as marble columns, stretched one beyond another, far out to the horizon line intersecting the dark arches of the larch-trees. Suddenly, as we emerged from a thicket, the ancient fortress reared up before us, its dark extent sprinkled with points of light. Sperver had pulled up before a funnel-shaped gateway, cut deep in the rock between two towers, and barred by an iron grating. "Here we are!" he cried, leaning over the horse's head and seizing the deer's-foot bell-handle. The clear tinkle of a bell sounded in the interior. After a few minutes of waiting, a lantern appeared at the end of the archway, dispersing the gloom, and showing us within its circle of light a little dwarf with a yellow beard and broad shoulders, enveloped in furs from head to foot. He came slowly towards us and pressed his great flat face against the grating, straining his eyes to make us out in the darkness. "Is that you, Sperver?" he asked in a harsh voice. "Yes. Open the door, Knapwurst!" cried the huntsman. "Don't you know how devilish cold it is?" "Ah, I know you now," replied the little fellow; "it is you indeed! You always speak as though you would swallow people whole." The door opened, and the gnome, raising his lantern towards me with an odd grimace, greeted me with, "Welcome, Monsieur Doctor," but in a tone as much as to say, "Here is another one who will go the way of the rest." Then he quietly closed the door, while we dismounted, and this done, he came to take our horses by the bridle. CHAPTER II. I MEET THE COUNTESS. Following Sperver, who climbed the staircase at a rapid pace, I was able to convince myself that the Castle of Nideck merited its reputation. It was a true stronghold, cut out of the rock; a relic of feudal times. Its high, deep archways reëchoed the sound of our steps, and the wind blowing through the loopholes caused the flame of the torches which were fastened at intervals along the wall to flare and flicker and send our giant shadows dancing along the corridor. Sperver knew every nook and cranny of this vast place; he turned many times to right and left, and I followed him, out of breath. At last he stopped on a large landing, and said to me: "I will leave you with the people of the Castle for a moment, Gaston, while I go to inform the young Countess Odile of your arrival." "Very good; do whatever you think suitable." "You will find among the domestics, our majordomo, Tobias Offenloch, an old soldier of the regiment of Nideck. In former days he made a campaign in Germany under the Count." "A good fellow, no doubt." "You will also see his wife, a Frenchwoman, named Marie Lagoutte, who pretends to come of good family." [Pg 32] [Pg 33] [Pg 34] [Pg 35] [Pg 36] [Pg 37] [Pg 38] "And why not?" "To be sure; only, between ourselves, she was nothing but a canteen-woman of Soubise's army. One day she brought us in Tobias Offenloch on her cart, minus one leg, and the poor fellow married her out of gratitude; you understand." "Precisely; but open the door,—I am freezing!" I tried to push past him, but Sperver, obstinate, like all good Germans, was bound to enlighten me as to the people into whose presence I was about to enter, and seizing me by the frogs of my greatcoat, he continued: "Then there is Sebalt Kraft, the master of the hounds, a sad sort of chap, but without an equal in sounding the horn; Karl Trumpf, the butler; Christian Becker, and all our people, if they haven't all gone to bed." Thereupon Sperver pushed open the door, and I stood surprised on the threshold of a high, dark hall, the former guardroom of Nideck. I took in at a glance the three windows at the further end of the room, that dominated the precipice; on the right a sort of sideboard of old oak, browned by age, and on it a small cask, glasses, and bottles; on the left a Gothic chimney with a broad mantel-shelf empurpled by the blazing fire underneath, and ornamented in front and on the sides by carvings representing the various scenes of a boar hunt in the Middle Ages; and finally, in the centre of the room, a long table upon which stood a huge lamp, its light reflected by a dozen mugs with pewter lids. All this I saw at a glance, but it was the people that interested me most. I recognized at once the majordomo with his wooden leg; a small, square, thick-set man, with a ruddy face, and prominent waistband, and a nose of marvellous brilliancy. He wore an enormous hemp-colored wig, with a long pigtail, a coat of apple-green plush with steel buttons as large as a five-franc piece, velvet breeches, blue silk stockings, and shoes with silver buckles. He was about to turn the spigot of the cask; an air of inexpressible satisfaction beamed upon his rubicund face, and his eyes, starting slightly from his head, glowed in profile like a pair of watch glasses. His wife, the worthy Marie Lagoutte, dressed in a gown of woolen stuff with a large flowered pattern, and her thin face the color of a withered apple, was playing cards with two servants, all three seated in straight-backed armchairs. Some small split pegs pinched the olfactory organ of the old woman and that of another player, while the third was winking slyly and seemed to enjoy seeing his opponents subjugated beneath this new variety of Caudine Forks. "How many cards?" he was asking them. "Two," replied the old woman. "And you, Christian?" "Two." "Ah, ha! I've got you! Cut the king; now the ace. Ha, ha, ha! Another peg, mother; this will teach you once more to boast to us of your French games!" "Master Christian, you don't treat the fair sex with due respect." "When we play cards, we respect nobody." "But you see, I have no room for any more." "Pshaw! with a nose like yours, there's always room enough." At this moment Sperver cried, "Here I am, comrades!" "Ha, Gideon! back so soon?" Marie Lagoutte made haste to shake off her numerous pegs with a motion of her head; the big majordomo emptied his glass, and everybody turned to look at us. "Is the Count better?" "Hum!" exclaimed the majordomo, drawing down his under-lip. "Is his condition unchanged?" "Just about," answered Marie Lagoutte, who never took her eyes off me. Sperver noticed this. "Let me present to you my foster-son, Monsieur de la Roche, from Tübingen," he said proudly. "Things will change now in the Castle, Master Tobie; now that Gaston has come, this cursed malady will be put to flight. If we could only have found him out sooner! However, better late than never." Marie Lagoutte was still watching me, and the examination seemed to satisfy her, for, turning to the majordomo, "Come, come, Monsieur Offenloch! Stir yourself," she said; "offer monsieur the doctor a chair! You sit there with your mouth open like a great carp!" With these words, the good woman sprang up as though moved by a spring, and came to help me off with my greatcoat. [Pg 39] [Pg 40] [Pg 41] [Pg 42] [Pg 43] [Pg 44] [Pg 45] "Permit me, monsieur." "You are very good, my dear woman." "Hand it to me, monsieur. Such weather! Ah, monsieur, what a country this is!" "So our master is neither better nor worse," continued Sperver, shaking the snow from his cap. "We are here in time. Ho! Kasper! Kasper!" A little man with a drooping shoulder, indicating a partial paralysis of his frame, and a face liberally sprinkled with freckles, came out of the chimney-corner. "Here I am." "Good! You must prepare for the doctor the chamber at the end of the long gallery,—Hugh's chamber. You know which one." "Yes, Sperver. I will see to it at once." "One moment! You will take the doctor's valise with you as you go. Knapwurst will give it to you. As to supper—" "Never fear; I will take care of all that." "Very good." The little man went out, and Gideon, after throwing off his cape, left us to go and inform the young Countess of my arrival. I was somewhat embarrassed by the attentions of Marie Lagoutte. "Come, up with you, Sebalt!" she said to the master of the hounds; "you ought to be sufficiently roasted by this time, sprawling there since morning. Sit down by the fire, Monsieur Doctor; your feet must be cold. Stretch out your legs; that's the way." Then, after a minute: "You have come just in time; our master had his second attack yesterday, and it was a terrible one; hey, Master Offenloch?" "Terrible is just the word," replied the majordomo gravely. "Nor is it to be wondered at, when a man takes no nourishment; and he eats nothing, monsieur. Fancy, it is two days since he has taken so much as a bowl of broth." "Or a glass of wine," added Tobie, crossing his fat hands on his comfortable waistband. I felt it incumbent upon me to express some surprise, so I shook my head; whereupon the majordomo came over and sat down on my right, saying, "Take my advice, doctor, and prescribe a bottle of Marcobrunner every day." "And a chicken wing at each meal," added Marie Lagoutte; "the poor man is as thin as a ghost." "We have some Marcobrunner sixty years old, and Johannisberg of the year '14; for Villars's fellows didn't drink it all, as Madame Offenloch would have it. You might prescribe now and then a glass of Johannisberg; there is nothing like it to set a man on his feet." "There was a time," said the master of the hounds in a melancholy tone, "there was a time when our master went on the hunt twice a week, and he was well; now that he has stopped, he is ill." "That is reasonable enough," observed Marie Lagoutte; "the fresh air gave him an appetite. The doctor should order him three hunts a week to make up for lost time." "Two would do," replied the master of the hounds dismally; "two would do. The dogs must have some time to rest. They must be considered as well as we." A few moments of silence succeeded, during which I could hear the wind rattling the windows and whistling boisterously through the loopholes and along the empty halls. Sebalt had crossed his legs, and with his elbow on his knee supporting his chin, he gazed into the fire with unspeakable gloominess. Marie Lagoutte refreshed herself with a pinch of snuff, and I was reflecting on that strange infirmity that leads us to press our advice on others, whether they desire it or not, when the majordomo rose, and leaning over the back of my chair, said: "Will you have a glass of wine, doctor?" "Thank you, but I never drink before visiting a patient." "What, not even one small glass?" "Not even a tiny glass." He opened his eyes very wide, and looked with astonishment at his wife. "Monsieur the doctor is right," she said; "I am of his opinion; I prefer to drink with my meals and take a glass of cognac afterwards. In my country, the women drink cognac; it is more genteel than kirschwasser." [Pg 46] [Pg 47] [Pg 48] [Pg 49] [Pg 50] Marie Lagoutte had hardly finished this explanation, when Sperver opened the door part way, and motioned me to follow him. I nodded a farewell to the worthy company, and as I stepped into the passage, I heard Tobie's wife saying to him, "He is a nice-looking young man. He would have made a fine soldier!" Sperver looked uneasy; he said nothing. I too was thoughtful. A few steps beneath the shadowy arches of the Castle served completely to efface from my mind the grotesque figures of Tobie and Marie Lagoutte,—poor, inoffensive creatures, living like bats under the vulture's powerful wing. Soon Gideon threw open the door of a sumptuous apartment, hung with violet-colored velvet worked in gold. A bronze lamp, resting on a corner of the mantelpiece, and covered with a globe of ground crystal, vaguely lighted up the room. Thick rugs deadened the sound of our footsteps. It seemed like a refuge consecrated to silence and meditation. On entering, Sperver lifted the heavy draperies that concealed a turret window. I saw him gaze earnestly into the plain beneath, and I divined his thoughts; he was looking to see if the witch were still there, crouching in the snow,—but he could see nothing, for the night was dark. As I moved forward into the room, I made out, by the pale rays of the lamp, a young woman of girlish figure seated in an armchair, her forehead resting in her hand, and her whole attitude one of patient but despairing sorrow. Her back was slightly turned towards us, and for this reason I could not at first see her face. But at the rustle of our entrance she rose quickly, and exhibited to my gaze the most beautiful presence I had ever beheld. The tall, stately figure, the ideal formation of the features, the glory of golden hair that fell about the fair, white neck, the deep, lustrous eyes that bespoke a soul as pure and beautiful as the scenes among which it flourished,— everything about the young mistress of the Castle proclaimed her to be of that noble type which we meet with but once, if at all, in a lifetime. Just what my feelings were at sight of this beautiful young woman I know not, but certain it is that they were of a nature hitherto unknown to me, and I felt a strange sense of harmony and contentment within me as my glance continued to rest upon her. After a moment the Countess advanced, and said simply, "You are welcome, monsieur;" then, motioning towards the alcove where the Count lay, she added, "There is my father." I bowed low, and without reply,—such was my agitation,—I approached the couch of the sick man. Sperver, standing at the head of the bed, held the lamp in his raised hand, and the light, softened by the crystal globe, fell palely upon the face of the Count. Odile remained near me, waiting anxiously for my first word. At the first glance I was struck with the strange physiognomy of the Lord of Nideck, and in contrast to the admiration that his daughter had inspired within me, my first thought was, "He is an old wolf!" And in truth, his head bristling with gray hair and swelling behind the ears; his long, pointed face and receding forehead; his narrow eyes and shaggy eyebrows that met in a point over the bridge of his nose, imperfectly shading the dull, cold eye beneath; his short, stiff beard, spreading unevenly over his bony jaws,—in short, everything about the man made me shudder, and brought involuntarily to my mind the oft-alleged affinities between man and the brute creation. I mastered my repugnance, and raised the arm of the sick man. It was wasted and tremulous, the hand small and wiry. The pulse was rapid, fluttering and feverish, indicating intense nervous excitement. What was I to do? I considered. On one side stood the young Countess, anxiously awaiting an expression of my opinion; on the other, Sperver, trying to read my thoughts and following attentively my slightest movement. A painful restraint was thus imposed upon me. However, I saw that no decided step could be undertaken as yet. I dropped the arm, and listened to the breathing. From time to time, something like a sob escaped the sick man's breast; then the respiration became normal again; then faster, and finally, labored. Some sort of nightmare oppressed him. But the cause!—this I must determine first, and I must confess it seemed hopeless enough. I turned round, sorely perplexed. "Is there any hope, monsieur?" asked the young woman. "Yesterday's crisis is drawing to a close, mademoiselle. We must seek to ward off the next attack." "Is that a possible thing?" I was about to reply in some scientific generalities, not daring to commit myself, when the distant sound of the Castle bell fell upon our ears. "Strangers," said Sperver. There was a moment of silence. "Go and see who it is," said Odile, whose brow was shadowed with anxiety. "How can we be hospitable at such times? It is impossible." Just then the door opened, and a yellow head and rosy cheeks appeared in the shadow, whispering, "The Baron Zimmer, accompanied by his servant, asks for shelter in the Castle. He has lost his way in the mountains." "Very well, Gretchen," replied the Countess quietly; "go and tell Offenloch to attend to the wants of the strangers. Tell him to inform the Baron Zimmer that the Count is very ill, and that this alone prevents him from doing the honors of the house in person. Wake up our people, and see that he is properly waited on and that everything is suitably done." [Pg 51] [Pg 52] [Pg 53] [Pg 54] [Pg 55] [Pg 56] [Pg 57] [Pg 58] It would be difficult to describe the well-born simplicity with which the young mistress of the Castle gave her orders, and I reflected that if an air of nobility seems inherent in some families, it is certainly because the discharge of hospitable and charitable duties tends to elevate the character and ennoble the soul. All this passed through my mind while I was admiring the gentle glance, the distinguished carriage, and the exquisitely cut features of Odile of Nideck,—that purity of outline only to be met with in the realms of aristocracy,—and I tried in vain to recall anything comparable to her in my recollection. "Make haste, Gretchen! Don't keep the travellers waiting," said the young Countess. "Yes, madame." The servant departed, and I stood for a few moments unable to dispel the charm of my meditations. Odile turned and addressed me. "You see, monsieur," she said with a sad smile, "we are not allowed to indulge our grief; we must ever divide ourselves between our feelings and the claims that others have upon us." "That is too true, mademoiselle," I replied; "souls of the higher sort seem purposed to serve as a guide and promise to us weaker ones: the traveller who has lost his path, the sick man, and the starving pauper,—each has a claim upon them, for God has created them like the stars above us, for the happiness of all." Odile lowered her deep-fringed eyelids, while Sperver pressed my hand. After a moment, the Countess continued: "Ah, monsieur, if you could only save my father!" "As I have had the pleasure of telling you before, mademoiselle, yesterday's crisis is past; we must now endeavor to prevent its recurrence." "Do you believe that this can be done?" "With God's help, mademoiselle, it is not impossible. I must give the matter the most careful thought." Odile, much agitated, moved with me to the door, and as I bowed myself out of the chamber, I fancied that I detected in her lovely face an expression of increased hope. Sperver and I crossed the antechamber, where a few servants were standing awaiting the orders of their mistress. We had just entered the corridor, when Gideon, who led the way, turned abruptly round, and resting his hands on my shoulders, said: "Gaston, I am a man to be trusted; what is your opinion of the case?" "There is nothing to be feared to-night." "I know that; you said as much to the Countess. But to-morrow?" "To-morrow?" "Yes. Don't turn your head. I suppose you can't prevent a recurrence of the attack, but, frankly, do you think he will die of it?" "He may, but I don't anticipate it." "Ah," cried the good fellow joyfully; "that means you are sure he won't!" Thrusting his arm through mine, he pulled me into the gallery. We had hardly set foot in it when the Baron Zimmer and his groom appeared, preceded by Sebalt, who carried a flaming torch in his hand. They were on their way to their chambers, and these two figures, with their cloaks flung over their shoulders, their knee-boots of soft Hungarian leather, their waists tightly buttoned in, their long green tunics ornamented with frogs and twisted fringes of silk and gold, their bearskin caps drawn down over their ears, and their long hunting-knives stuck in their belts, looked strangely picturesque in the white light of the dripping pine torch. "By Jove!" exclaimed Sperver, "if I am not greatly mistaken, those are our Tübingen friends. They were close at our heels, you see." "You are right; they are the same people! I remember the younger one by his slim figure; he has the profile of an eagle, and wears his mustache like the astrologer-general Wallenstein." They disappeared beneath a side triforium. Gideon took a torch from the wall, and guided me through a labyrinth of corridors, passageways, and high, low, turret- shaped, and winding entries. I thought he would never have done. "Here is the hall of the Margraves," he said; "and this is the portrait gallery. There is the chapel, where no mass has been said since Louis the Bald became a Protestant. Next comes the armory." [Pg 59] [Pg 60] [Pg 61] [Pg 62] [Pg 63] [Pg 64] These facts possessed but little interest for me. After having reached the end of the gallery, we had to descend a staircase that seemed interminable; at last, thank Heaven! we halted before a low, massive door. Sperver drew an enormous key from his pocket, and handing me the torch, said, "Mind the light; be careful!" At the same time, he pushed open the door, and the cold outside air rushed into the passageway. The flame leaped back and sent a shower of sparks in all directions. I fancied myself standing on the edge of an abyss, and I recoiled instinctively. "Ha, Ha!" laughed the steward, his mouth parted in a broad grin, "any one would think you were afraid, Gaston. Come on! We are now in the little court that leads from the Castle to the old tower." The good fellow moved on by way of example. The snow lay deep in this courtyard, and the wind swept it with terrific gusts. Had any one seen our flaring torch upon the plain, he would have asked himself, "What are they doing up there in the clouds? Why are they prowling about at this time of night?" "Perhaps the old witch is looking up at us," I thought, and the idea made me shudder. I drew closer the folds of my cloak, and holding my hat on with the other hand, I ran after Sperver, who held his light above his head to show me the path, and moved along with rapid strides. We rushed into the tower, and then into Hugh's Chamber, where a bright fire greeted us with cheerful cracklings. How grateful it was to be sheltered by the thick walls! I had stopped while Sperver closed the door, and contemplating this ancient abode, I cried, "Thank God, we shall have a moment to rest now!" "And before an excellent table," added Gideon. "Just look at that,—the leg of a kid, two roasted pheasants, a blue- backed pike, his mouth stuffed with parsley; cold meats and hot wines is what I like. I have no fault to find with Kasper; he has carried out my orders to the letter!" Gideon spoke truly,—"cold meats and hot wines;" for before the fire stood a generous array of bottles, being submitted to the gentle influence of the heat. The sight of this repast served to whet my already considerable appetite; but Sperver, who understood the art of being comfortable, said to me: "Don't be in too great a hurry, Gaston! Let's take things easily! We have time enough; the pheasants won't fly away, and as for the pike, I'll warrant he cares no more about swimming. In the first place, having been eight hours in the saddle, your boots must hurt you, so off with them. Sit down there and put your boot between my knees. I've got that one; let's have the other. There you are. Now put your feet in these slippers, take off your cloak, and throw this dressing-gown over you. Now you'll do!" Having gone through a similar course of preparation, he cried in a hearty tone: "Now, Gaston, fall to! You do your share and I'll do mine, and remember well the German proverb: 'If Beelzebub created thirst, surely the Lord made wine to quench it.'" CHAPTER III. MY FIRST NIGHT IN HUGH'S TOWER. We ate with the ravenous appetite which a ten hours' ride through the snows of the Black Forest would be likely to impart. Sperver attacked, in turn, the kid, the pheasants, and the pike, murmuring, with his mouth full, "Thank God for the woods, the heather, and the ponds." Then, leaning over the back of his chair and seizing the first bottle that came under his hand, he added, "And for the hillsides, green in spring and purple in autumn. Your health, Gaston!" "Yours, Gideon!" The fire crackled, the forks jingled, the bottles gurgled, and the glasses clinked, while outside the wind of the winter night, the blast from the snow-bound mountains, sang its unearthly hymn,—the hymn that it sings when storm-driven, fantastic cloud-shapes rush across the sky and obscure from moment to moment the pale face of the moon. We continued our grateful meal. Sperver filled the "wieder komm" with old Brumberg wine, whose sparkling froth bordered its generous edges, and, handing it to me, he cried, "Here's to the recovery of Hermann of Nideck, my noble master! Drink to the last drop, Gaston, that your prayer may be heard." This was done; then, refilling the bowl, he drained it in his turn. A sense of satisfaction took possession of us. We felt at peace with all the world. I sprawled out in my chair with my head thrown back and my arms hanging down, and began to study my apartment. It was a low, arched chamber cut out of the live rock, shaped like an oval, and measuring in the highest part not more than twelve feet. At the further end I perceived a sort of alcove, and in it a bed resting on the floor, and covered, as nearly as I could make out, with a bearskin robe. Still further back was another and smaller niche, with a statue of the Virgin cut out of the same piece of [Pg 65] [Pg 66] [Pg 67] [Pg 68] [Pg 69] [Pg 70] [Pg 71] granite and crowned with a bunch of withered grass. "You are studying your chamber," said Sperver; "it is not as large nor as luxurious as the rooms of the Castle. We are now in Hugh's Tower, and it is as old as the mountain itself. It dates back to the time of Charlemagne. In those days the people didn't understand the art of building lofty, spacious dwellings; they cut right into the solid rock." "That served the purpose as well; but it is an odd corner that you have stuck me in, Gideon." "Don't be deceived on that point, Gaston; it is the place of honor. Whenever the Count's particular friends come to visit him, they are put in here. Hugh's Tower is the most honorable accommodation of all." "By the way, who was this Hugh?" "Why, Hugh the Wolf!" "What!" I exclaimed in astonishment. "Certainly; the founder of the family of Nideck; a rough customer, they say. He came and settled down here with a score of horsemen and archers. They scaled the highest rock on the mountain,—you will see it to-morrow,—and built this tower. 'We are the masters,' they declared, 'and woe be to those who try to pass without paying toll. We will fall on them like wolves, tear the clothes from their backs, and the hides, too, if they are obstinate. From here we can command the landscape, the passes of the Rhethal, the Steinbach, and the Roche Plate, and the entire line of the Black Forest. Let the merchants beware.' And the bold fellows carried out their threats under the leadership of Hugh the Wolf. Knapwurst told me all about it when we were sitting up the other night." "Knapwurst?" "You know; the little dwarf who opened the gate to us; a droll chap, Gaston, who is always to be found in the library bent over a book." "So you have a scholar at Nideck." "Yes, the rascal! Instead of staying in his lodge, where he belongs, he spends the whole blessed day shaking the dust from old family parchments. He moves about among the shelves like a cat, and he knows our history better than we do ourselves. He would like nothing better than to tell you his stories; he calls them chronicles. Ha, ha, ha!" Hereupon, Sperver, exalted by the old wine, laughed for some moments, without knowing exactly why. "So that is why you call this the Tower of Hugh the Wolf?" I resumed. "Didn't I just tell you so? What are you so surprised at?" "Oh, nothing." "Yes, you are. I see it in your face. What are you thinking of?" "It isn't so much the name of the tower that surprises me, as that you, an old ranger, who from a baby had never known any home but the fir-trees and crests of the Wald Horn and the gorges of the Rhethal, who would never sleep with a roof over your head in spite of all my father's urging, and who amused yourself roaming the paths of the Black Forest and revelling in the fresh air, the sunlight, and the freedom of a hunter's life, should be found here, after sixteen years, in this red-granite hole. Come, Sperver, light your pipe and tell me how it happened." The old ranger drew a short, black pipe from his leather jacket, filled it leisurely, and snatching up a coal from the hearth, placed it on the bowl of his pipe; then, with his head thrown back and his eyes wandering over the ceiling, he replied thoughtfully: "After I left your father's service twenty years ago, it was long before I could bring my mind to work for any other master, for I loved the General, and you, and your pretty mother, as I could never come to love others, not even the Count and my mistress Odile. So I took to poaching for a term of years, and found a living by any means I could, until one night the Count came upon me in the moonlight. "He did not despise Sperver, the old hawk, the true man of the woods; and he said to me, 'Comrade, you have hunted long enough by yourself; now come and hunt with me. You have a good beak and strong claws, and you might as well hunt my game with my permission as without it.'" Sperver was silent for some minutes; then he continued: "I was getting old,—and the old falcons and hawks, having long swept the plains, end by settling down in the cleft of a rock to die. So it was with me. I loved the open air, and I love it yet; but now, instead of lying on a high branch at night and being rocked to sleep by the wind, I prefer to come back to my cover, quietly pick a woodcock, and dry my plumage before the fire." Sperver was silent for some moments; then he continued: "I still hunt as before, and afterwards I drink a quiet glass of Rudesheimer with my friends, or—" At this moment a [Pg 72] [Pg 73] [Pg 74] [Pg 75] [Pg 76] [Pg 77] [Pg 78] shock made the door tremble. "It is a gust of wind," I said. "No; it is something else. Don't you hear a claw scratching on the panel? I think one of the dogs must have got loose. Open, Walden! open, Lieverlé!" He got up, but he had not gone two steps when a formidable Danish hound leaped into the room and raised his fore- paws on his master's shoulders, licking his cheeks and beard with his long, red tongue, and whining with joy. Sperver put his arm around the dog's neck, and turning to me: "Gaston," he said, "what man could love me as this dog does? Look at this head, these eyes, and teeth!" He drew back the animal's lips and showed me a set of fangs that could have torn a buffalo to pieces. Then pushing him off with difficulty, for the dog redoubled his caresses, he cried, "Down with you, Lieverlé; I know you love me! Who would, if you did not?" He went and closed the door. I never had seen a dog of such formidable proportions before; he measured nearly four feet in height, with a broad, low forehead and fine coat, a bright eye, long paws, broad across the chest and shoulders and tapering down to the haunc...