"Fairest creature!" he stammered, in the double intoxication of wine and passion. Wildly throbbed his pulses as if they would burst their veins,--and the lamp went out.
* * * * *
It was towards the morning when Tausdorf awoke from a heavy slumber. When on opening his eyes he found the sleeping Bona by his side, his recollection returned with the consciousness, and he sprang up in horror.
"Then it was not merely a wild dream," he exclaimed painfully. "How could I so forget myself! Never shall I forgive myself this error!"
He paced up and down the room with vehemence for a time, and then paused before the fair sleeper.
"The sin is beautiful which has seduced me from the right path; but that does not excuse a man from whom principles are to be expected, and who has taken upon himself important duties. Poor Althea! is this the reward of your love and truth? I never could have believed that to be possible which now rises to my revolted senses in disgusting reality. Ah! let no one boast of his virtue! It is often the prey of the most involuntary accident!--Ofaccident?--Was indeed all that happened to me yesterday no more than accident? I can answer for myself--my soul was pure when I entered this house; and not till I was allured by the siren's song, and the voluptuous spirits of the wine had painted her fair form in glowing colours, not till then was the evil passion kindled in me. Could a few glasses have changed me so much? Could they have lighted up the wild glow that raged in my veins, and the dregs of which still lie heavy on my head and heart? The advances too of the stranger and her feigned sickness, which tightened the noose about my neck,--at the bottom of all this is some secret plan which I must unravel."
He left the room quickly, and soon returned with horror in his looks, and in his hands two half-full goblets, which he placed on the table by the bed, and had already raised his arm to wake the sleeper. At this moment the first sunbeams flamed through the darkness of the green curtains, and cast a warm glow upon her lovely features. Bona opened her eyes, which immediately sought and found her beloved, and rested upon him with bewitching tenderness; but she soon perceived the cold disdain that flashed from his, and she started up from the bed in terror.
"For heaven's sake," she exclaimed, "what has happened to you? What do you mean by these fierce looks?"
"To ask you how we so soon became familiar with each other--how you so soon succeeded in seducing an honourable knight into disgraceful infidelity towards the mistress of his heart."
"This is a common injustice of you men to lay on the weaker sex the blame of the evil caused by your sensuality, that you may afterwards despise your victim, and so have a pretence for denying all satisfaction."
"You are right, but it does not apply here. We will not, however, say any more about which of us is the victim; only I must know whether some hellish arts were not employed in the adventures of last night, and therefore you must give me an account of these goblets."
"Gracious heavens! I am lost!" exclaimed Bona, without looking at the goblets, and clasping her hands together. Tausdorf went on:--
"This, with the white sediment at the bottom, stood before Rasselwitz, who still lies motionless on the seat, bound up in a death-like slumber. This, with the black dregs, I emptied, and I can now well explain the ebullition which threw me into your arms. Strumpet! have we drank poison at your hands?"
The beautiful sinner started up proudly, glanced at the knight with noble anger, and exclaimed, "Contemptible suspicion!" and snatched at the goblet with intent to empty it; but Tausdorf put back her hand--
"No! I would not place any soul before the judgment-seat ere the Creator calls for it."
He took the goblet from the table, and having flung it out of the window, walked up and down the room in silence; Bona wept.
"You would drink of it?" he continued. "There was then no poison in the goblet? But what else? For, by heaven, all is not right with this wine."
Bona hid her face in the pillows of the bed, and was silent.
"A love-draught, perhaps, for the chosen victim of your desires, and an opiate for the troublesome witness--is it not so?"
Bona started as if a blow had struck her heart, and was still silent.
"In the name of heaven, woman, what made you seek out me in particular? You are fair enough, unfortunately, to be able to dispense with such means with thousands of my sex. Why must you fling into my breast the scorpion--which must poison the peace of my future days?"
"I loved you, as I now abhor you," was hollowly murmured from beneath the pillows.
"Profane not the sacred word," retorted Tausdorf indignantly; "I cannot, besides, rest contented with this answer. What you did yesterday, the way in which you prepared and accomplished it, the danger to which you exposed yourself if discovered, all this points to something very different. You had some great, and, as my warning angel tells me, some terrible, design upon me, and that it is which you must confess this very hour."
At this Bona started up with wild looks, and her long auburn locks hung down in disorder, like so many living snakes, about her fair pale face, and gave it the convulsed appearance of a raging Medusa. "Kill me," she cried, defyingly, "or accuse me at the tribunal as a poisoner--I am silent."
Tausdorf could not refrain from shuddering as her figure stood up thus before him, like some horrid spectre,--that figure which but a few hours since had appeared so kind and graceful: he turned away from her, and at length said--
"You understand us German knights badly, in thinking us capable of such wretched measures. If you do not choose to unburthen your heart by a frank confession of your evil intentions, persist then in your obduracy. I leave you to your conscience; and however late may come the moment in which you hear its voice, yet the moment will come. If in such an hour you repent of the evil you have already done me, and of that which you yet purpose, may heaven not remember against you your heavy sin in abusing the fair body it has given you--abusing it as a bait for vice, and to the destruction of the souls of your fellow-creatures. I for my part forgive you now as becomes a Christian; but we never see each other again."
He went. With the rolling eyes of a lioness, whose prey has escaped, Bona watched after him.
"So then, this sin has been in vain. I have not even earned the fruits of the evil harvest. My machines have been in play to no purpose. The awkward footsteps of this rough man have crushed to pieces the artificial wheelwork. Let it go. I meant it better with you than you deserved. The assailant has always the advantage, because he can choose time and place. If you will not be set upon my victim, he must be set upon you, that self-defence may force the sword of vengeance into your hand. May you both perish in it!"
The old gardener thrust his head in at the door with a crafty, inquiring laugh. Bona called out to him--"I am alone, Sylvester. What is Rasselwitz doing?"
"Awake at last!" replied the gardener, coming into the room. "He complained of head-ache, begged of me to excuse him to you, and tottered off. But in his place some one else has come again--Mr. Christopher Friend, splendidly tricked out, and dressed in sky-blue velvet, waits below in the green-house, and begs for a morning audience."
"So early?" asked Bona, surprised. "What can he want?"
"He inquired of me so circumstantially about your fortune," replied the gardener, "and looked withal so smart and gay, and made such little twinkling eyes, that I think in a short time you may expect proposals of marriage."
Bona smiled scornfully. After a brief consideration she replied--"He does indeed mistake, but he comes in good time. Beg of him to excuse me till I am dressed."
"Number three, in so short a period!" said the gardener smirking. "If this goes on, you'll soon draw after you the core of the Schweidnitz male population, as Punch does the children with his trumpet."
"Think you so?" rejoined Bona, with self-satisfaction.
"And yet," continued the old man, "you don't altogether understand it. You entice the birds in a masterly way, but you forget to pluck them, which yet is the principal part of the business. With the exception of the easy fool of a Spaniard, your love-affairs have brought you in marvellously little. The handsome pagan courtesans of the old time were much wiser. Though you may not exactly wish to build pyramids of the oblations of your adorers, yet a comfortable house for a refuge to your old age is in truth not to be despised."
"I hope never to be old to need it," said Bona hastily.
"But don't reckon without your host," rejoined the gardener. "The quantum of wealth from the new world, left you by Don Alonzo, has melted away confoundedly in the old world, as must naturally be the case with your passion for appearing as a rich heiress. If this is to last long, you will be forced to sell the rich jewels with which you blind the eyes of people. What then is to become of you if you do not betimes think of some new acquisition?"
"He who followsmuchat once," replied Bona, "attainsnothing. I followoneobject only, but that one I follow so stedfastly, with such inflexible purpose, that Imustgain it, and when I have gained it, I need nothing more in this world."
"And thisone?" asked the gardener with sly importunity.
"I pay you as my servant, not as my confessor," replied Bona with angry pride, and pointed to the door.
"Good troth, a princess has been spoiled in you," muttered the old man; "but there is no helping one who will not be advised."
So saying he went. Bona laid her hand upon her forehead, and looked down gloomily in earnest meditation.
"The poison of Althea's refusal is still rankling in this Christopher," she said, after a long pause, "and the brothers are not friends. If the one were to perish through the other, that might at last reach the stony heart of Erasmus, and, conquered or conquer, still my victims would fall. The vindictive spirit of his adversaries is my pledge for that. Francis, think of your reckoning on the other side. The avenger of blood is already breathing within these walls."
She went up to a great mirror between the windows to arrange her hair. The sun, veiled in mist, cast a red light through the panes, and shone in wondrous way upon the fair and angry features, so that they seemed to glow with an inward fire. At the first look in the glass Bona started back in horror.
"Are the old tales of my childhood coming back upon me?" she exclaimed with fixed gaze. "It was, indeed, as if an evil spirit grinned at me from the mirror."
But by degrees she came to her recollection, and began to chide her folly with a laugh, though her lips were still quivering--"Fool, it was yourself. Revenge never beautifies a female face; that I might have well known."
And with firm step the strong-minded woman went up again to the glass, and looked in it defyingly, as if to challenge forth the monster that was hid behind its crystal. Although her hands trembled in arranging her locks, she yet accomplished the task with her eyes stedfastly fixed upon the mirror.
"Now, then," she cried with a horrid laugh, "I am armed. Hold yourselves in readiness, my beloved! The Norna is sitting at her task, and with sharp-edged swords weaves the bloody web of the decisive combat. Up! to complete the work!"
She turned hastily to the door, which even then opened. Christopher Friend, whose tender impatience would not suffer him to remain any longer below, walked in, and with a sweet smile the beautiful fury stepped forward to meet him.
* * * * *
In Althea's rooms at Tausdorf, silent and anxious, expecting the return of his intended bride. Meantime, at a little table, sat Henry, looking over a large volume of copper-plates, which, according to its title, depicted "The strange Forms of the Metamorphoses of the ingenious heathen Poet, Ovid."
"The insupportable Latin!" cried the boy, stamping with his feet; and then jumping up to Tausdorf with the folio, he said, "Pray, now, help me out of this difficulty. The stupid pictures are so singular that it makes one quite curious to learn what they mean; and when one looks after the explanation, the fool of an engraver has written Latin underneath."
"Do not find fault with the engraver," said Tausdorf; "he with justice believed that such pictures were not fit for a boy who does not yet understand Latin."
"But you told us lately that you understood it a little," persevered the boy, "so translate me the subscription. I should like to know what the mad picture means. Only look, now, there stands a stately knight in a circle of dead men's bones and strange signs, holding a goblet in his hand, and a beautiful woman touches him with a wand, and a mist spreads over the country, and the knight has already got a horrid snout, as if he were just being changed into an abominable beast, and below is written:
"In turpes abiere feras quicunque biberuntDulcia Circæa pocula mixtu manu."
"In turpes abiere feras quicunque biberunt
Dulcia Circæa pocula mixtu manu."
"Pray, now, tell me what it means?"
And Tausdorf, confused, translated it: "All were turned into vile brutes who drank of the sweet cup that was mixed by the hand of Circe."
"Now I am as wise as before," rejoined the boy. "Who was this Circe? She is right handsome here in the picture; but then she looks at the poor knights with such hateful eyes that I can't bear her."
"She was a wicked enchantress of the old heathen time," said Tausdorf. "To all voyagers who visited her island, she offered a rich draught, and when they drank of it, she touched them with her magic rod, and they became beasts."
"But why did the foolish people drink of it?"
"They knew not the evil consequences," replied Tausdorf, leaning his heavy head in his hand, "or they had not done so."
"Ah! they should have been more on their guard with strange cunning women," rejoined Henry. "You certainly would not have drank of it, Herr Tausdorf!"
"Who knows, my child?" said Tausdorf, the innocent remark going to his heart: "Perhaps I might."
"Wicked witch!" cried the boy, and threatened the picture with his fist. "But did she not at last find her master?"
"Oh yes," said Tausdorf, turning over the leaf. "On this Ulysses was depicted, holding his sword to the breast of the enchantress, without fear of her powerful wand, or of the devil-masks that surrounded him, grinning and menacing."
"Heaven be praised!" cried Henry; "there's a German subscription again. He read,
"Ulysses compels her to disenchant his companions."
"That's right!" he cried--"who was Ulysses?"
"A Greek hero," replied Tausdorf. "The heathen god, Mercury, had supplied him with a herb, calledmoy, that protected him against the enchantment."
"Or he too had been metamorphosed?" asked Henry with vexation.
"No doubt," replied the knight mournfully. "He, whom God does not uphold in the hour of temptation, falls, and falls deeply."
"But it is not all really true?" added the boy, after some reflection.
"There is a good wholesome truth in the story," returned Tausdorf; "only the painter has veiled it in images. The beautiful, wicked Circe is intended to prefigure the human passions, the impulse of the senses. Whoever empties her cup, she robs him of reason, and makes him like the beasts in the wood. Recollect, Henry, how you were wrath, not long ago, with your play-fellow for some trifle, and screamed, and struck about you, and would not be satisfied,--then you had become a little wild beast in your anger."
"I will not do so again," said Henry, ashamed and kissed the knight's hand.
"But what is the meaning of the herb moly, which protected the great hero from this enchantress?"
"It is religion," replied Tausdorf, embracing the boy in deep emotion. "If in every purpose you remember that God looks on; if you ask yourself whether it would be acceptable to him; and if in the slightest doubt of this you abandon it, then you have got the right talisman against sin."
"I will be truly good, Herr Tausdorf; I will, indeed," said the boy, and gently rested his auburn head against the knight's breast, when the sound of horses' feet was heard before the window.
"That is my mother!" he shouted, wiping away his tears, and running out of the room. Tausdorf started from his seat--"Air! the child has made me warm with his questions. It is hard to teach good to others, when one has to accuse one's self of evil. Oh Circe! Circe!"
Again he looked at the picture of Ulysses.
"With armed hand the hero broke the mighty spell which held his companions prisoners. He did his duty. Have I too done mine? I have redeemed myself from the magic circle, but is that enough? Should I not have taken the power of evil from this woman, who seems to have come here to weave the meshes for some net of mischief, heaven only knows what? If I did not choose to denounce the creature, should I not at least have called the attention of the council to her, that no one might come to harm? Yet no. In what she has done she has only wronged myself. The ill that my denunciation might cause her would be revenge, and that does not become a man towards frail woman. Let her do as she pleases, we are all in God's hand."
"My dear friend!" exclaimed Althea, who then entered, and immediately let go of Henry's hand to fly into the arms of her intended husband. The old Schindel followed. Tausdorf hastened to welcome him with the knightly pledge, that he might not have at once to meet the look of his bride, towards whom he knew his heart was not perfectly at ease.
"Are you quite recovered?" asked Althea affectionately; "you look pale, as if you had slept but little last night."
This innocent appeal to the past night covered poor Tausdorf with a burning blush, which, as an estimable rarity in a man of his age, gave a double charm to his features. He turned away, however, to hide the treacherous colour, and Schindel addressed his niece:
"Will it please you, niece, to give me an answer? The poor fool waits below in the corner of the street, and stays for permission to come up."
"You love to torment people, uncle. I have a deadly aversion to this family, and of all of them, the avaricious, spiteful Christopher is the most abhorrent to me."
"Shame! shame, niece! What good Christian would recollect an injury so long? Know you not from the Scriptures, that you are to forgive your brother seventy times, and again seven times seventy?"
"It is not that alone; but a secret dread possesses me whenever the creeper comes near me. I always feel as if my evil angel stood at my side, ready to plunge me into destruction."
"Psha! Superstitious fancies, which do not become so sensible a woman. Your intended shall decide."
"Well," cried Althea; "decide, dear Tausdorf. You know that a year ago Christopher Friend solicited my hand and was rejected. Now I may add, what I before concealed; in the vexation of his disappointment, he spoke of you most unbecomingly. But he now perceives his injustice, and seeks for a reconciliation."
"Forgive, and you shall be forgiven," said Tausdorf good-naturedly.
"My own words!" cried Schindel.
"Oh, for that," said Althea impatiently, "I am as prompt as willing; but he requires a formal reconciliation, and as the seal of it would have our presence at his banquet to-morrow; this I deem as superfluous as it would be disagreeable to me."
"Who says A must say B too," retorted Schindel. "Christopher will not believe in the sincerity of your forgiveness, and thinks that you scorn him if you refuse to appear at his banquet. You owe some compliance, besides, to his rich and powerful family, to which in addition you are allied."
"Still the untiring peacemaker and mediator! and inexhaustible in arguments, where the point is to reconcile the nobility and citizens!"
"I can't help it, niece, since, as a nobleman and a proprietor at Schweidnitz, I have become a sort of doubtful thing, and don't well know whether I am a bird or a mouse. I am compelled, therefore, to speak in the way of reconciliation on both sides, lest a feud should break out, and it should eventually fare with me as with the flittermouse in the fable. May I call up the petitioner?"
"Call him in God's name, uncle," said Tausdorf: "I read my Althea'syesin her lovely and peaceful countenance."
"Excellently spoken!" cried the uncle, and hurried out.
"Heaven grant that we may never repent thisyes," said Althea with heavy heart. "I only wish the wild Francis were not of the party!"
"Why is he so terrible to you?" asked Tausdorf, smiling.
"Because he is so rough, so fond of frays and drinking, and because he detests the nobles so irreconcilably. Since too he has been forced to submit to the long imprisonment, on account of the late unlucky affair, there is no managing with him."
"I have never seen him; but I should not like to subscribe to the damnatory sentence pronounced against him by the nobles of our acquaintance. Hot-headed men are frequently the best. As I have heard from good authority, this Francis fought bravely against the Turks, and I find it natural and pardonable that a soldier should not willingly suffer himself to be played upon. His late misfortune grieved me much. As he was absolved after all, he certainly did not belong to Bieler's murderers; and to suffer a year's undeserved imprisonment must embitter even the heart of a lamb."
"Heaven grant that you may never come in contact with this lamb; you would find in him a furious wolf. I tremble at the thoughts of it, for I think fire and water could not meet more hostilely than your dispositions. Your person would show him a true mirror of what he ought to be and is not; that would shame him, and shame exasperates vulgar minds. His roughness and your cultivation, his furious violence and your noble calmness, his inclination to every excess and your purity----"
"Still! still!" interrupted Tausdorf, ashamed, and gently pressing his hand upon the lips of the animated eulogist. "Do not forget that I also am no more than a frail man, and that exaggerated praise from an estimable mouth can corrupt even better than I am."
"Come along," cried Schindel, dragging in the sky-blue Christopher.
With a pitiful sinner-face he approached Tausdorf, and timidly stretched out his hand to him.
"All is forgotten and forgiven," cried the knight, shaking him by the hand; "only as a first proof of friendship, do me the favour not to speak a single syllable of the past."
"You are too good, sir," replied Christopher, smiling; "but I will not fail to requite so great a favour to the best of my power."
He then went to Althea, and, kissing her hand, said--"You owe me some reparation, noble lady, for the banquet which was put off four years ago on account of that murderous history. I may, therefore, the more boldly presume that you will this time favour me with your invaluable company at a feast, which, please God, I intend giving to-morrow, at Barthel Wallach's, for my own house is just undergoing a thorough repair."
"Will your brother, Francis, be there?" asked Althea hastily.
"Heaven forbid!" rejoined Christopher; "We do not want this quarreller and roarer. I have taken good care not to invite him. At first I feared that he might intrude himself, unasked; but to my great delight I have learnt that he goes on this day to a drinking-party at Freiburg, so that we are quite safe from him. I have asked but a small party, a few quiet nobles, and two or three honest citizens of the first class. After the cloth is taken off, we'll have a little dance amongst ourselves."
"We will come," said Althea with lightened heart.
"Excellent!" cried Christopher, rubbing his hands, while a singular piercing glance of triumph fell from his eyes upon the fair widow, who immediately changed colour. "Now I can set about the preparations for my feast with a right joyful heart. I thank my dear friends for their courtesy, and commend myself to their recollection."
He made a profound bow and departed, accompanied out by Schindel and Tausdorf; but Althea looked after them anxiously, and sighed--"Oh that I could recall my word!"
* * * * *
The morrow of the 27th of July was come. In Barthel Wallach's great room on the ground floor, just before the entrance, sat Christopher Friend with his guests at the epicurean banquet, while the upper seat was graced by the betrothed pair. The first course was removed; the strong dark Hungary went unremittingly about the table in the great cups; and while the females, according to the good old custom, seemed only to kiss the goblet, the men drained it frequently till their faces glowed, and many a broad jest cast the reflection of this red upon the delicate cheeks of the ladies. Tausdorf only sat still and wrapt up in himself, and with his fork scratched letters on the pewter-dish before him.
"What ails you?" said the mild Althea sportively, and passed her white hand across his eyes. "You are not yourself, and cannot plead in excuse that your thoughts are absent with the object of your passion, for she sits by you in her honoured person, and you trouble yourself but little about her."
"My good Althea!" sighed Tausdorf, and with a mournful smile kissed the hand that caressed him.
"And what are you graving so earnestly upon the plate? I must see it, and woe betide you if it should be the name of a fortunate rival."
She bent down more closely to read what he had written.
"Memento mori!For God's sake, how is it that you are seized on a sudden with these death-thoughts at a pleasure-banquet?"
"It is a way of mine to think on death in the midst of enjoyment. I deem it pardonable at least, as in return one can blend with death the thought of the eternal joy that waits us in the world beyond."
"My worthy Herr von Tausdorf," interrupted Christopher with a disagreeable laugh, "I do not doubt your oratorical powers, or your piety, and am convinced that you could, if you pleased, make an excellent funeral sermon extempore; but that would be too dull an entertainment with the full goblet: therefore take up the glass before you, and pledge me as fairly as I pledge you to the health of your noble bride."
Tausdorf seized the goblet, but again lost himself in a sea of thought, and forgot to pledge.
"Well, dreamer," said the intended bride with good-humoured reproach, "do you hesitate to drink the health of your Althea?"
He raised the cup mechanically, drank, and set it down again. Schindel, who sat near him, was surprised.
"What is the matter with you, Tausdorf? I never saw you thus before?"
"I do not comprehend myself. An anxiety has possessed me, as if I were to commit a murder. It must have been so that the poor king, Saul, felt when the evil spirit was upon him. I am ashamed of this childish feeling, and yet I can so little master it, that I shudder every time the door opens, thinking that some great misfortune must enter under a dreadful form."
"All this comes only of thick blood," replied Schindel; "you must be bled."
As he spoke the word, the door was flung open, and Francis Friend burst into the room with his usual impetuosity.
"Ah, woe!" cried Althea.
Schindel clasped his hands in terror, while Christopher asked piteously, "Why, whence do you come, brother? I thought you were long ago at Freiburg, and enjoying yourself?"
"He is a fool," replied Francis, "who hunts after pleasure miles off, when he knows where to find it at once. I heard yesterday of your present feasting, upon which I thought directly of surprising you, and put off mine."
"Well, all that's true," said Christopher; "you have surprised us all, and most agreeably: so let us draw together. Set yourself here at my right hand, and enjoy with us the meat and drink that God has sent us."
"Spare all this idle talk," cried Francis, "I'll find out a good place for myself;" and he carried his chair to the upper part of the room, seating himself between Tausdorf and Schindel, and saying to the former, "I see by your place near my cousin that you are the knight Tausdorf. I'm glad to have an opportunity of knowing you, for though I do not in general care much about the nobles, you please me well. There is a command and intelligence about you such as one does not usually see in your knights. For the rest, I am the wild Frank Friend, of whom no doubt you have heard all manner of stories, and more bad than good. In troth, I am a mad companion, but I mean it fairly with him who means it fairly with me, and I now heartily wish you joy of your marriage with my handsome cousin Althea here."
Tausdorf returned a fitting compliment, while Schindel, who had got behind Althea's chair, whispered to her, "The bear does not seem in one of his worst bear-moods to-day. Heaven help us farther."
In the mean time the second course was served up. Francis ate little, but stuck so much the more diligently to the wine, and kept up a constant talk with Tausdorf, in a tone of frank importunity, which did not sit amiss upon him. Soon the conversation turned upon the Turkish war; and he was ready to leap out of his skin for joy on finding that Tausdorf had served against the infidels in Transylvania, at the very time he had been fighting with them in Hungary.
"Heaven confound me!" he cried, while his face glowed with drinking; and holding up the goblet--"Why, you please me better and better, comrade, and therefore we'll now pledge each other in a brave draught, and swear eternal friendship and brotherhood."
Tausdorf hesitated at this unexpected proposal, and was about to decline it courteously, when Althea pressed his hand under the table, and in low brief words requested him to accede for her sake; upon which he took up the crystal goblet, and Francis did the same to pledge him; but in the moment that the glasses touched, both rang hollowly, and burst with a sharp jarring sound, which echoed lamentably through the wide hall, while the noble wine poured down in streams upon the floor, to the indignation of the avaricious Christopher, who called out, "You are, and always will be, Frank the clumsy, and do nothing like rational people; all with noise and fury. You have broken now my beautiful crystal cups with your rough pledging."
"Yes, every thing is to be laid to me," growled Francis: "I pledged my goblet as neatly as possible; it was not till afterwards that both broke, and how that chanced, the devil only knows."
"It is not your brother's fault," said Tausdorf, drying the wine from his doublet. "I do not myself understand how it happened."
"We have examples," observed Schindel thoughtfully, "that empty glasses have broken upon people calling out loudly in the same key to which they were tuned; but these goblets were full, and all was still in the room. God grant that this accident may not prognosticate the rupture of your new-formed friendship as early as the glasses!"
"No fear of rupture," cried Francis, shaking Tausdorf's hand cordially. "We must both agree to that first, but our hearts have been amalgamated and hardened together in the same war-fire, and will hold together for life and death."
"Gentlemen," said the butler, entering with a respectful bow, "there are some well-dressed personages--masks,--standing without, before the door, who would ask of the honourable company through me whether they may come in to amuse you with song and dance, and other allowable pleasantries."
"They are welcome," cried the restless Francis, starting up. "This tedious sitting at table has long been abominable to me."
He ran to the door and opened it. Three gipsies danced in, playing with pipe, triangle, and tambourine: these were followed by three females in black clothes, slashed with red, and wearing black masks.
"Trim wenches, brother," said Francis, with eager look, to Tausdorf, upon whose chair he was leaning. "So slim, and at the same time so full! By heavens! it makes one wish to become a gipsy for the pleasure of possessing them."
"This masking is not to my taste," replied Tausdorf. "The burning eyes that sparkle from the fixed black faces have to me something almost supernatural. The open brow, and an open heart whether in joy or grief, are what I love."
"I understand you, my poor knight," said Francis mockingly. "You are already in the cage, and dare no longer take any pleasure in a handsome face, at least notshowit, lest your lady wife should be angry, and hold a criminal court upon her faithless shepherd."
"Do you know any of the party?" asked Althea, to interrupt this conversation.
"Not I," answered Francis. "The devil knows where stupid Kit has picked up the handsome wenches; but my acquaintance with them shall soon be made, and then I'll let you know more about them."
With this he would have forced himself upon the masks, but the gipsy with the triangle, an old gray-beard, waved him back, and gave the women a sign to begin their revels. The music immediately struck up, and the three gipsies commenced a wild fantastic dance, in which the twines of their round well-formed arms, the turnings and bendings of their slim, delicate figures, the springing and agility of their feet, were shown off in full perfection. One of them, whose auburn hair was adorned with coloured ribbons and Bohemian stones, particularly distinguished herself by the gracefulness of her movements; and Francis, after having looked on for some time, tore open his doublet, exclaiming, "Zounds! what a figure! It warms an honest fellow who has got a few bottles of Tokay in him."
"This mad springing may please you," said Althea contemptuously; "it is just calculated for the taste of a drunkard; but to me it seems like the wild dance of fiends about a lost soul. It grates me to see that a woman can so far forget the female dignity as to expose herself thus."
"Heaven deliver me from a tribunal where you preside," said Francis laughing; "why, it must be worse than that of the emperor at Prague. Your virtue is of so fierce a nature, there's no reasoning with it. That which is to please must be a little free: your decorum and modesty are the most tedious things on the face of the earth."
The trio was at an end. The gipsies fanned themselves with their motley-coloured handkerchiefs, but they would not move their masks, and on that account rejected the wine which was proffered to them by the master of the feast.
"These girls seem to be buttoned up to their chins," said Francis, "but for all that I'll have a peep behind their black masks, or die for it. Above all, I must try the fair-haired witch." And in the delirium of the moment, he dashed his goblet through the window, and leaped upon a chair, shouting "Huzza! huzza! away with the tables; we have had enough of eating, and will dance you one till the floor shakes, and the rafters crack again."
"Man! are you alone here?" exclaimed Tausdorf indignantly; but in his frenzy, Francis heard him not, and, springing from the chair over the table with a neck-breaking leap, alighted again just before the mask with the auburn hair.
"Take away," said Christopher with vexation. "When once he breaks out, there is no managing with him."
The tables were removed, the seats placed close to the walls, and the guests made room for the dancers. Passing over the usual forms of courtesy, Francis seized his chosen one with a rude grasp, and shouted to the musicians, "A waltz! a waltz! but quick! quick!"
The music began, and the feet of the dancers kept pace with its rapidity. The space about them grew wider and wider, for the spectators could hardly get their feet out of the way in time from the stamping of the intoxicated Francis, who kept clapping his hands, and shouting, "Faster! faster! I can stand it, and so can she." At last the piper stopped from want of breath; in a little time too the triangle was unable to follow; and now only the tambourine gave a fit measure to this bacchanalian revel.
"And this is called pleasure?" said Althea to Tausdorf, who had retreated to a bow-window.
"Where the soul is incapable of enjoyment," he replied, "pleasure must be sensual, or the vulgar mind would have no joy on earth whatever."
At last the sprightly bacchanal was exhausted, and danced off with his female into the next room. There he threw himself into a chair, forced his companion into the seat beside him, and panted out, "You dance as gracefully as lightly, and only so much the more stimulate my desire to see your face. It certainly won't have to be ashamed of the feet. Come, take off the damnable Moor's visor."
"It is not yet time," replied the gipsy in a low tone, that sounded still more hollowly from the mask.
"Not yet?" said Francis, with a rough grasp of her hand; "but soon? to-day?"
"If all goes as it should, perhaps," was the answer.
"Then I must have patience, however little I am used to it; so let us, in the mean time, have a friendly chat together. You are so sparing of words. I only wish your tongue had half the nimbleness of your feet."
"I am not fond of talking," replied the gipsy with cutting coldness; "there is little pleasure in it."
"And yet you are a woman," cried Francis, merrily. "For Heaven's sake, how could you have so degenerated? Only think, if every one were to be as you are, what a poor sort of entertainment we should have in the world."
"The world would gain by it," retorted the mask. "How much foolish, how much evil, talk would be spared! How much falsehood and deceit! How much perjury!"
"Oh, this is dull gossip," exclaimed Francis, struck by her words. "Rather tell me my fortune; you have visited us as a gipsy, and should keep up the character."
"Do not ask it," she replied, in a warning tone: "you might hear something that would not please you."
"Yes, if I were fool enough to believe such nonsense. Prophesy away, and be it at my peril. Here is my hand."
The gipsy hastily seized it. Her bosom heaved violently, and her eyes darted piercing looks from out the mask.--At length she said, "These lines do not please me; you are like to use your sword this very day."
"That would be the devil," cried Francis; and looked about with an air of defiance, as if seeking for his adversary.--"But I have no objection: to my mind the best of a feast is wanting if there is not something of a row to wind it up."
"So much for the future," said the gipsy, releasing his hand. "The past you will be contented to leave alone."
"By no means," exclaimed Francis. "Of the future you can lie as much as you please, because no one can peep behind the curtain; but in the past your art is put to the proof of fire, and if it does not come well out of it, I shall mock you soundly."
Again the gipsy took his hand, examined it; but shuddered and retreated, saying, "For the last time I warn you."
"That, by my troth, sounds like earnest," cried Francis, mockingly.--"But go on, at my peril."
"You have murder on your soul!" said a voice hollowly from beneath the mask.
Francis drew back, shuddering, but in the next moment he collected himself, as he replied, "In the Turkish war I helped more than one infidel to hell; but I pride myself upon it, and do not reckon it for a murder."
"I speak of that which happened four years since, and of which you were acquitted at the royal tribune of Prague."
Francis uttered a cry of terror, and would have started up, but the gipsy grasped his hand firmly, and he sank back upon his seat as if paralysed.
"Properly speaking," continued the gipsy, "you have two souls to answer for above. An honest old man was sacrificed for your safety. You deceived him by an oath to marry his daughter, whom you had seduced: justice gave way before the son of the all-powerful patrician, and, to save vice, innocence went out to die."
Francis sate pale and motionless. The fumes of the wine were for a short time dissipated by strong horror; and, though he saw that nothing would do here save bold denial either in wrath or ridicule, yet he was not sufficiently master of his tongue; and the moment in which impudence would have been in place passed by unemployed. The music from the next room sounded merrily, as if in mockery of his anguish. At length he stammered out with difficulty, "Avenging Nemesis, who are you?"
"You may, perhaps, learn to-day," replied the gipsy, "as I have already given you to hope. But that you may not send me to the stake for a witch," she added, passing over to a tone of jest, "I must confess that I had my information from a sure hand. The stately knight yonder, who is conversing so familiarly at the window with that handsome lady, told the strange tale a little time ago to a noble Hungarian. I listened to him unseen, and heard him calling you a pitiful boy, who did not know when death became a man more than life."
With the passion thus excited, returned intoxication also in the wild brain of Francis. His face became a dark red. He started from his seat, and snatching up his sword from the corner, girded it on with trembling hands, as he exclaimed, "For the first time I have trusted a noble, but never again.--And the scoundrel caught me so with his knightly bearing and open manners, was so frank and friendly with me, and yet attacked my honour behind my back like a hired murderer!--Perhaps at the very moment he drank to our brotherhood, he was plotting to rake up old forgotten stories from their oblivion, that he might capitally denounce me to the furious emperor, with whom he has so much weight. Now it is clear why the goblets broke in pledging. But, by the infernal hosts, I will do myself right upon this hypocrite!"
"You will do well," said the gipsy, still firmly grasping his hand; "but if it imports you to accomplish your revenge, don't begin the feud here. All would take part against you, and he would be warned. Entice him out, and then let your swords decide in the battle-ordeal."
"That is hard," exclaimed Francis; "hard that I am to speak the scoundrel fair, when I should like to fall upon him at once, tooth and nail. But you are right. I am called the wild Frank, and, as I should not dare to tell the real cause, I should be thought by every one in the wrong. I'll look out, therefore, for a quiet spot where I may right myself without any interruption or disturbance. But where shall I find you afterwards to thank you for your information?"
"When all is done, you will see me again, unmasked," replied the gipsy with peculiar emphasis. "My word upon it! I shall keep that word better than many a man his oath!"
"You are a strange being," cried Francis, struck by the word as if by a secret blow from a dagger. For several moments he stared at her fixedly and thoughtfully with large and drunken eyes, and then stammered, "I don't altogether know what to make of you. Sometimes you appear so familiar to me that my hair stands on end; at others, you sit by me like my evil conscience, and torture me at your own good-will. Again, you seem to be a sort of fiend, who would tempt me to some sin, and then laugh me to scorn when I had done your pleasure. If I had not so much Tokay in my brain, I should be able to unravel all this, and find out upon what footing we were. But that won't do now, and so let my first resolution abide, in the devil's name! Chalk your soles well, Tausdorf; I fetch you to a merry dance of death."
He hurried back into the ball-room.
"I am almost sorry that I must hound on this beast against the noble Tausdorf; but no choice was left me. He may defend himself. On one side blind wrath and drunkenness; on the other, sober courage. It cannot fail. Good night, Francis!"
In the meanwhile Althea and Tausdorf were gliding round in the graceful2German dance, and about them stood the guests, looking with delight on the pair that seemed to be made for each other. Christopher, indeed, eyed them maliciously, and at times cast a troubled glance at the side-chamber. At last Francis came out, death in his looks: his worthy brother immediately beckoned to him, and proffered a full goblet, which he seized and hastily swallowed.
"I have drunk this glass to the devil's brotherhood!" he whispered to Christopher, and then mixed amongst the spectators.
Schindel, who had overheard him, exclaimed to Christopher, "What means the libertine by those impious words?"
"The heathen god, Bacchus, can best tell that," replied Christopher, while with a quiet laugh he filled the goblet again. "To explain what a drunkard means one must be drunk one's self, and I, thank God, have kept myself sober, to be able to see that all goes on right."
"That last glass was one too much," said Schindel reproachfully. "You should not have given him any thing more to drink. If now he should do any mischief in his drunkenness?"
"I know my brother better. When he is half drunk, he is always ready to quarrel; but with a full lading he soon grows sleepy, and one gets a respite from him. I gave him the glass purposely as a sleeping draught."
"I have no faith in your expedient," said Schindel, looking for his cap; "and, as the sun is setting, you must allow me to take my leave."
"Not yet, not yet, cousin," entreated Christopher, trying to persuade the old knight to sit down again. "I'll not let you go till we have emptied this flask of Tokay to the bottom."
"I must put it off till another time: your brother's face does not please me again to-day, andbetter prevented than lamented. Do you see and get him to bed."
During this, the betrothed pair had finished their dance, and, observing Schindel's farewell, took it for a signal to follow, and bade adieu to their host accordingly. Francis came up to them: "What means this breaking-up, old man? It is bad enough that you leave us so early, but it would be a downright wrong to rob us of such sprightly dancers."
"We must, indeed, go," anxiously insisted Althea, perceiving the state of Francis. "I have a messenger to send to-day to our steward at Bogendorf, and it is on business that admits of no delay."
"Well, if you go, the best of the pleasure goes," said Francis gallantly. "I had rather not stay either, and will pay an hour's visit to the bowling-green: they bowl there to-day for a bacon-hog. Come with me, brother Tausdorf; it is still far from evening, andyouhave not got a messenger to send to Bögendorf."
"I am no player," said the knight, excusing himself.
"Nor I, brother," replied Francis, and took Tausdorf's arm familiarly in his; "at least I don't love this push-pin work. It is another thing when one can stake life and limb upon the hazard; then, indeed, I am for you. But we'll not bowl, only look on and see how the poor devils fag themselves for a paltry stake. Come along."
"Do as he wishes, to avoid strife," whispered Althea; "but get away from him as soon as you can."
"So be it then," said Tausdorf to Francis, and shook hands with Althea. In the mean time, Schindel had taken his leave of the other guests, and now first perceived what was going on. Alarmed, he drew Tausdorf to the window:--"You are not going to walk with Francis?"
"Why not?" replied the knight calmly: "He has asked me in a friendly manner, and Althea, too, wishes it."
"For God's sake don't get too familiar with the drunkard; above all, go not with him alone. He has no good intentions to-day."
"You carry your foresight too far, dear uncle," returned Tausdorf, girding on his sword; "Francis is an honest soldier, and, I can plainly see, well inclined to me. It is impossible he should have any design against me. Besides, I have already promised him my company, and therefore it must be so at all events."
"I have spoken and discharged my conscience," cried Schindel. "God avert all accidents!"
"Come then, brother, come," urged Francis, pulling the knight's arm.
"Adieu, dear Althea," said Tausdorf, and again shook the hand of his intended bride, who looked at him with a loving farewell. On a sudden the tears burst from her eyes, and, forgetful of those about them, she fell upon his neck.
"Farewell!" she cried, with stifled voice:--"God grant that I may see you again!"
"Without doubt before evening," said Francis laughing, and hurried out his companion.
"I don't like his going," observed Schindel, as he took his niece's arm and led her away.
"They are gone then!" said Christopher to himself: "As for the rest, that will come in time too."
Tausdorf and Francis went out together towards the Peter's-thor, the city gate, followed at a distance by Martin Heubert, Tausdorf's boy, and his page, Schmidt, who had waited for their master at the door of the banqueting-house. In the heart of Francis fermented the poison which the gipsy had poured into it, but he still restrained his wrath, and walked in silence by the side of Tausdorf. In this way they came to the Park, between the two gates--the Peter's-thor and Nieder-thor,--in the way to the bowling-green, when Tausdorf, tired of the silent walk, and with the view of showing a friendly sympathy with Francis, said to him, "You are a soldier like myself, Frank; you too, therefore, must have found that the pains and dangers of a campaign are often less than the evils with which life threatens us in the profoundest peace. As I hear, you have gone through much misfortune, and at last come off triumphantly!"
These well intended, but unlucky, words made the crater overflow. The drunken Francis, prepared as he was by an evil hand, could see nothing in them but the bitterest scorn, and became mad with wrath. For a while he was silent, because he did not know with what language to hurl his contempt and rage in the face of his adversary. At last he thundered out, "Yes, indeed! And, as they tell me, you have so acted that an honest man cannot drink out of the same cup with you."
Surprised by this insult, which came upon him like a lightning flash from a clear sky, Tausdorf started back. With an awful sternness he asked, "How could you drink to our eternal friendship but a few hours since, if you knew this of me? In truth, you must be worse than I am in your opinion. But now you will say who it is that has spread this slander against me?"
"I had it from a good friend," retorted Francis defyingly.
"You will name him to me this very hour, and on this very spot!" cried Tausdorf, with flashing eyes.
The drunkard gazed on the knight, who stood before him like an angry Mars; and it seemed to him for a moment in his intoxication as if he had gone too far.
"I will tell you at a fitter time," he stammered out: "I have it from a woman."
The contradiction between this and the earlier statement enraged Tausdorf still more.
"Do not stir!" he called out to his people, and led Francis impetuously a few steps farther.
"Now, name the slanderer!"
Instead of reply Francis grasped at him, but with gigantic strength the latter caught his opponent by the breast and flung him to the ground, where he held him fast.
"If you are an honourable nobleman," groaned Francis under him, "let me betake myself to my sword."
Tausdorf hastily let him loose, and went back a few paces. The latter sprang up, frantic with rage, and tore his sword from the scabbard; and, looking after the knight's people furiously, cried out, "Don't let your servants help!"
Tausdorf called to them in Bohemian, "Whichever of you moves a hand, my sword strikes him!"
"Draw!" roared Francis, with foaming mouth.
"Only in self-defence," said Tausdorf, and held out his blade.
Francis pressed upon him with furious blows. He merely defended himself. During this the auburn-haired gipsy looked over the wall of the garden; she was now without a mask, and her face betrayed agony and repentance.
"Why don't you part them?" she cried to Tausdorf's people, wringing her hands.
"It is forbidden to us," replied the faithful Martin sadly.
Tausdorf cast a glance from the combat to the place whence the well-known voice came; and, taking advantage of this, Francis lunged fiercely at his heart, but the thrust did not succeed.
"My life, then, is intended?" cried Tausdorf indignantly, and he cut his adversary over the right hand. As the arm sank, his sword went into the breast of Francis, who fell to earth.
"Gracious Heavens! such was not my purpose," exclaimed Tausdorf, when he saw the blood flowing; and, sheathing his sword, he gazed for a while with looks of compassion on his fallen adversary. Then turning to his servant, he bade him hasten for his carriage:--"I feel myself too weak for long and speedy riding, and this brooks no delay."
Heubert and Schmidt hurried back to the town.
"By God's holy word it was not my purpose!" repeated Tausdorf; and sighing "Poor Althea!" he followed his people.
While this was passing, the gipsy had quitted the wall, opened a little gate in it, and approached Francis, who lay in death-throes on the ground. Having come up to him, she shook the auburn locks from her head, and the long brown hair fell about her face as she put on a withered coronet of roses.
"Do you know me, Francis? Do you know this bridal ornament?" she asked, with a mixture of grief and anger.
"Agatha!" sighed Francis; and with difficulty turned away his head, that he might not see the fearful apparition.
"I have revenged your crime," she exclaimed, "and by a greater crime. But there is no joy in vengeance; the grave knows no hatred, and I forgive you. Your guilt is atoned; and you may appear confidently before the throne of Heaven. Pray for me yonder, that I too may be forgiven when I have ended here in penitence and agony!"
She rushed away. Again he sighed!--Again!--and his soul fleeted with the last beams of the setting sun, and darkness and the silence of eve were upon the blood-besprinkled earth.
* * * * *
Althea was reclining in the window and impatiently expecting the knight's return, when at length she saw Martin and Schmidt come running breathlessly through the Peter's-gate. An evil foreboding thrilled through her bosom. She called out to them,--"What now? Has any accident happened?"
"We are to fetch our master's carriage immediately," replied Heubert; "you will learn the rest by and by."
"Gracious Heavens! What is the meaning of this?" she exclaimed, and leaning out of the window to look after Tausdorf, she saw him coming, pale and in disorder.
"Something dreadful has occurred--I have never seen him thus before."
She hurried down, but Tausdorf was already at the street door, and, seizing his hand with increasing anxiety, she said,--"Dear friend, what has happened to you?"
"My poor Althea! You were right with your foreboding when we parted. Such as I left you I never shall see you again, for then no murder was upon my soul!"
"Good Heavens! Francis Friend!" cried Althea, whose terror divined the truth at once.
"He lies in the Park, killed by my sword!"
"You are lost, then, if you do not instantly fly from Schweidnitz. You should not have returned, for moments here are of more worth than gold."
"My people are putting to the horses," replied Tausdorf, and went with Althea into the court, where Schmidt was just drawing out the carriage from the coach-house, and Martin was cursing in the stable because he could not find the harness.
"This is too long about," said Althea; "besides you will go more slowly in your carriage, and not be able to use the footpaths. Let them saddle my palfrey for you."
"The creature is good, but too slight. He'll not stand out a hard ride."
"Let him, then, drop under you, so as you but reach your goal. Only hasten, for Heaven's sake, before the deed is spread abroad!"
"Then saddle the palfrey," said Tausdorf to his servant; "and lead him on before to the Striegauer gate. I will come straight after you."
The servant obeyed.
"But how was it possible," said Althea, "that with all your coolness and moderation, you could suffer yourself to be provoked by the wretched drunkard to this rash act, the consequences of which are so evident?"
"Woman," replied Tausdorf, with gloomy looks, "were an angel from heaven to come down in a corporeal form, he could not remain in peace if the evil-minded seriously set about involving him in quarrels! Believe me on my knightly word, I was forced to draw the sword. My life and honour were both at stake; and if I am no longer to defend these with my knightly hand, I may bid adieu to the world, and creep into a cloister. The thrust did, indeed, go deeper than it should, but who, in the heat of battle, can command his steel? God be my judge!"
The palfrey was saddled and brought out. Tausdorf again bade Althea farewell, pressed her to his heart with the convulsive energy of grief, and rushed away. With slow steps she reascended the stairs, and placed herself again in the stone seat in the window. The tears flowed hotly down her cheeks, while her anxious heart swelled her bosom with strong and frequent heavings.
She had sate thus for some time, when with anxious speed her uncle entered the apartment.
"Have you heard it, niece? Francis Friend has been found dead in the Park, not far from the bowling-green, and report names our Tausdorf for his murderer."
"Alas! alas!" sobbed Althea; "this misfortune will cost me too my life."
"Gracious Heavens! It is true, then? But the unlucky man has fled?--for, if they catch him here, he is lost. He might rather hope to find mercy from the Spanish inquisition, or from the prince of darkness himself, than from the old Erasmus."
"He has fled upon my palfrey, and if he only gets a good start of them I deem him saved."
"God grant it! but as I hurried hither the prefects of the quarter were running about like mad. To a certainty they will raise a hue and cry after him. Has he been long gone?"
Althea remained without answering, for the hurried trot of many horses had caused her to look out of the window. A party of the city police were riding by, well armed and with speed, over the market-place to the Striegauer gate.
"Gracious Heavens! Too soon!" sighed the poor Althea, and sank in a swoon to the ground.
* * * * *
The night had come on, and the moon threw her first beams over the silent country. Tausdorf just then rode his panting horse into Salzbrunn, with many a glance behind to see if he could yet discover any of his pursuers. Unfortunately he heard from the town the snorting and the tramp of many horses.
"Hold out but this once, poor beast!" he exclaimed to his horse, and again plunged the spurs into his bleeding flanks. But the weary animal made only a few weak efforts, and fell back again into his short trot, interrupted by frequent stumbles, while the sound of horses' feet kept constantly nearing.
"It is then a struggle for life or death!" cried Tausdorf; drew his sword, and his left hand grasped his holster-pistols.
"Stop, murderer, stop!" cried the first horseman, springing forward. "You are our prisoner. Follow us to Schweidnitz."
"Keep yourselves out of harm's way, good people," cried Tausdorf, turning round his horse: "I am well armed, and have nothing to do with you."
"You have slain the son of our burgomaster, and are therefore forfeited to our criminal law," retorted two of the marshalmen, waving their swords, while the others came up and surrounded the knight.
"Surrender!" exclaimed the chief of them, "that we may not have to use force, by which you are sure to come off worst."
"Not alive!" cried Tausdorf. "I am here in the Fürstentein territory, and to the Fürstentein tribunal will I surrender myself, that theOberlandeshauptmannmay try me for my deed. To the sentence of the court of Schweidnitz I never will submit."
"By no means," replied the marshal. "Where you have committed the crime, there must you be judged. Therefore, yield yourself immediately, or I'll have you rode down, and the damage is your own."
In the meantime the tumult, the cry of murder, and the loud parley, had brought the peasants of Saltzbrunn thither. They came with poles and spears, and stared at the parties, whom they surrounded.
"Help us to seize the murderer!" cried the marshalman, who had but little inclination to venture on the single man with his whole troop.
"Not at all," replied the village magistrate. "You are here, gentlemen, upon the imperial fief of Saltzbrunn; and, as I understand, the knight is willing to give himself up to our tribunal. That is law, and so it must be. In the meantime I answer for the prisoner till I have informed our gracious mistress, the Lady of Hochberg, and afterwards right will be done to all parties."
"That I should have to dispute thus with a village magistrate about obeying the commands of the council at Schweidnitz!" exclaimed the marshal indignantly. "Peasants, I again warn you to help us seize the murderer, as good and true neighbours. You expose yourselves to a heavy responsibility if he escapes us through your fault; while, on the contrary, I promise you a rich reward for your services from the noble council."
"Here's an opportunity of gaining something," whispered one peasant to the other; and soon the whole party cried out in chorus, with lifted poles, "Surrender yourself, Sir knight."
"For God's sake, do not compel me to murder!" said Tausdorf earnestly, and waved his sword.
"Forwards!" commanded the marshal, and rushed with his horsemen upon Tausdorf; who instantly fired his pistol, but the ball only struck one of the horses. The knight now used his sword gallantly, but his enemies were too powerful, and his steed was too much exhausted for him to wheel about amongst them with the skill and tricks of horsemanship. During this, too, the peasants had come on with courage, and struck at him from a distance with their long poles. The opposition of the honest magistrate was lost, amidst this murderous uproar. At last a pole struck Tausdorf's head: he fell senseless from his horse, and the crowd rushed upon him with rude shouts of scorn and laughter. Bound with disgraceful bonds, they set him upon a horse, and the police returned in triumph with him to Schweidnitz.
* * * * *
In the hour of midnight the council was collected in the senate-house at Schweidnitz. The two tall candles which stood on the table lighted the high and gloomy Sessions'-room but sparingly. The council had collected in single groups, and conversed in low and troubled whispers. Alone, and with his hands behind his back, as was his custom, paced Erasmus, up and down, slow and silent; but on his old and venerable face the storm of the most violent passions was throwing up its waves.
"Tausdorf is just brought in and placed in the Hildebrand," announced the Marshal Clement Kernichen.
"God be praised!" said Erasmus, with a dreadful look towards heaven, and went to his seat.
"Ad loca, gentlemen!" he exclaimed to the counsellors; and when they had taken their places, he said with proud dignity, "The murderer is in our power; it is time, then, for us to do our duty. Let double watches be placed at the door. These will remain closed against every one till justice is satisfied. At the break of day the judges shall hold a criminal court; and as the murdered person was my son, Doctor Jacob Grenwitz will preside in my place. I do not conceal from you, colleagues, that the criminal has a strong party here, and that all the nobles will be on his side. Therefore, that justice may have its course, unchecked of human fears, I herewith declare the town in danger, and the council permanent. The horse-police shall be collectively summoned, and mount guard before the Sessions'-house completely armed; the gens d'armes shall be at their alarm-posts; the various guilds be warned to hold themselves in readiness with their weapons, that they may come forward at the first sound of the alarm-bell. Put all this into execution immediately, Mr. Marshalman, and then return to our sessions to report progress and receive our farther orders."
"God deliver us! how will all this end?" sighed Kernichen, and left the room; in which a deadly silence prevailed, as each of the council was sufficiently occupied with his own thoughts, and yet hesitated to impart them to another. In the midst of this the city-serjeant, Rudolph, announced Doctor Heidenreich, who wished to speak in private with the burgomaster.