The morning rose bright and beautiful after the storm, shining down
the valley, glittering on the stream, and illuminating the castle.
High on its rock, from the base of which, steep and rugged as it was,
stretched forth about a mile of more gradual descent, broken and
undulating, thickly covered with trees, and here and there presenting
a large mass of fallen stone, looking like the wall of some outwork,
decayed by time, and garmented with moss. The whole surface on the
summit of the hill was crowned with walls and towers, and such was the
commanding situation which they occupied, that in days when the
science of warfare, though often practised, was but little known, it
might well seem a hopeless task to attempt to take that castle by any
means but famine. On a lower point, or what may be called a step in
the rock, appeared a very beautiful and graceful building, the lower
part of which displayed strong masonry, and manifold round arches
filled up with stone; while in the upper, the lighter architecture of
a later period was seen, in thin buttresses and tall pointed windows,
pinnacles, and mouldings, and fretwork. Built against the steep side
of the cliff below the castle, there seemed at first sight no path to
this chapel but from the fortress above, with which it was connected
by a few steps, flanked by a low square tower; but to the eye of a
traveller, riding or walking along the ridge of hills on the opposite
side of the valley, glimpses of a path displayed themselves, winding
in and out amongst the wood; and somewhat more than half-way down the
hill appeared a small edifice, in the same style of architecture as
the upper story of the castle-chapel.
On that opposite ridge of hills was another stronghold, or rather what
had been so, for at the time I speak of, it was already in ruins;--and
down below, on either hand, swept an ocean of green boughs, covering
the declivities of the hills, and leaving a narrow track of little
more than half a mile in breadth for verdant meadows, hamlets, and a
small but beautiful stream. Following the course of the little river,
the eye rested, at about two miles distance, upon the towers and
pinnacles of a large building, half concealed in wood; and from the
walls thereof, at the hours appointed for the various services of the
Roman Catholic Church, might be heard the great bell of the abbey,
swinging slow upon the breeze the call to prayer.
Beyond the abbey and the woods that surrounded it, a world of hill and
valley was descried, with rocks tossed in wild confusion here and
there, taking every different variety of form--now like a giant
sitting on the side of a hill, now like the ruined wall of some old
fortress, now like a column raised to commemorate some great event,
now like the crest of a warrior's helmet, plumed with feathery trees;
they offered to imagination infinite materials for the sport of fancy.
All the hollows, too, except those directly facing the east, were
filled with mists and shadows, while the tops of the mountains, the
higher crags, the old ruins, and the steeple of a distant church, rose
as if from the bosom of a dim and gloomy ocean.
"He!" exclaimed the young man; "who is he, boor--do you know him? Who
is it dares to hunt in our lord's lands? If I caught him, he should
pay dearly."
"Ah, Master Ferdinand of Altenburg, he is one who would make you pay
more likely; but, luckily for you, you can neither cross nor catch
him--it was the Black Huntsman and his train. We saw him with our own
eyes, and you may go back and tell the Count to prepare for war.
Twelve months will not pass from this day before there are armies
warring here. Tell him that old Werner says so; and I have lived years
enough to know what I am talking about."
"The Black Huntsman!" exclaimed Ferdinand, holding in his horse, which
was struggling forward. "And did you see him, say you--both of you?"
"Ay, both of us," answered the old man. "And he shook his fist at
Wettstein here, just because he looked at him a little too sharply."
"The Black Huntsman!" cried Ferdinand, again. "I never before knew any
one who saw him. What was he like, Werner?"
"He seemed to me ten foot high!" exclaimed Wettstein, joining in; "and
his horse big enough to bear him."
"Nay, nay, not ten foot," cried Werner; "eight he might be, or eight
and a half--and all in black from head to heel. I did not see a white
spot about him, or his horse either. Did yon, Wettstein?"
"Not a freckle as big as a pea," replied his comrade.
"Here's a mighty great horse's footmark, to be sure," said one of the
soldiers, who had dismounted, and was examining the ground. "I think,
Sir, you had better go back and tell our lord, for he'll be glad to
know of this."
The young man mused without reply for a moment or two, and then
turning his horse, rode back towards the castle, halting from time to
time to listen for the sounds of the hunt. All had now ceased,
however; the valley had returned to its stillness, and nothing but the
breeze sighing through the trees was heard, as Ferdinand and his
followers rode up the opposite hill.
A number of men were collected under the arched gateway of the castle,
and several horses stood ready saddled near, but before them all
appeared a tall, dark-looking personage, somewhat past the middle age,
but still in full vigour, with a stern and somewhat forbidding
countenance. The expression was sharp, but not lofty, morose rather
than firm, and as Ferdinand rode up and sprang to the ground, he
exclaimed, "Ha, who are they, boy? Or have you turned back from
laziness or fear, without having found them?"
Ferdinand's cheek grew red, and he replied, "If I had been fearful or
lazy, my lord, I should have waited for orders ere I went to seek
them; but when we reached the road leading to Lindenau, the sounds
were scarcely to be heard, and we met Werner and Wettstein in the
wood, who told us that it was the Black Huntsman."
"Ay, ay," exclaimed the Count, moodily; "doubtless the Black Huntsman.
There is never a cry of hounds across the land, but, if you believe
the peasants, it is the Black Huntsman. They are in league with the
robbers of my deer and boars. The swine-fed rascals have their share,
no doubt."
"But, my lord Count," replied one of the soldiers who had accompanied
Ferdinand, "this time the men saw him, and he shook his fist at
Wettstein for daring to look at him too close. Besides, old Werner is
not a man to lie about it."
"Werner and Wettstein!" said the Count, "who are they? We have a
hundred of such hogs in the valley."
"They are men of the abbey, my good lord," replied Ferdinand; "and at
all events, they were both in the same story, and told it at once. One
of our men, too,--it was you, Karl, was it not?--saw the hoof-marks
much larger than the common size."
"Ay, that I did," replied the man; "as big as any two in the stable.
My lord can see them too, if he doubts it."
"I will," replied the Count, sternly; and without more ado he turned
into the castle, leaving the rest to follow to the morning meal.
Contrary to a very common practice of the day, when most of those who
were qualified to bear arms were considered fit to sit at the table of
their lords, the Count of Ehrenstein usually admitted none but two or
three of his chosen followers to take part in the meal at the same
board with himself and his daughter. The large hall, of which we have
already spoken, had been long disused, and a smaller one, fully large
enough, indeed, for the diminished number of retainers which the
castle now contained, was divided into two unequal parts by a step,
which raised the table of the lord above that of his vassals. It was
to this hall he now took his way, moving slowly onward with a heavy
step and eyes fixed upon the ground, till, opening the door, he gazed
round it for a moment, and his face lighted up with the first look of
pleasure it had displayed that day, as his eyes rested on a group at
the farther end of the chamber. From the midst of that group, with a
light bounding step, was even then coming forward to meet him, as
beautiful a form as was ever beheld, even by a father's eyes; and what
father in his heart has never said, when gazing on his child--
"Du nun als ein Engel schön?"
Young she was, very young--in the first early bloom of youth, and
wonderfully fair--for no marble that was ever hewn by the most
fastidious sculptor's hands, was whiter, clearer, softer, than her
skin; and yet there was a glow of health therein, not seeming in the
skin itself, but shining through it, like the rosy light of morning
pouring into the pale sky. Her eyes could hardly be called blue, for
there was a shade of some other colour in them; but the long black
lashes, together with the strong contrast afforded by the fairness of
her face, made them look dark, though soft, till one approached her
very near. Her dark brown hair, too, full to profusion, looked almost
black where it fell upon her neck, notwithstanding the bright golden
gleams that shone upon the wavy clusters. Round, yet tapering, every
limb was moulded in the most beautiful symmetry, which even the long
line of floating garments from the hip to the heel shadowed without
concealing; and, as almost always happens, perfection of form produced
grace of movement, though that grace is in some degree dependent also
upon the spirit within, where it is natural and not acquired. Even in
the light, quick, bounding step with which she sprang to meet her
father, there was a world of beauty, though it was simply the
unstudied impulse of filial affection; and for an instant, as I have
said, the very sight of her bright countenance dispelled the gloom
upon her father's face, and brought a momentary gleam of sunshine over
it; but the grave, hard look soon returned, and taking her hand in
his, he led her on to the upper table, calling to him two of his old
ritters or knights, and seated them beside himself and his child.
Ferdinand of Altenburg was about to take his place as usual at the
other board, not judging that he stood at all high in the graces of
his lord; but after a moment's consideration, the Count beckoned him
up, saying, "Sit there, Ferdinand," and then commenced the meal in
silence. Adelaide of Ehrenstein looked down, but yet a momentary light
shone in her eyes, and a well-pleased smile, before she could check
it, played round her lip; and then, as if afraid that the pleasure she
felt should be marked by too watchful eyes, the colour glowed warm in
her cheek, and even tinged her fair brow. Oh, those traitorous
blushes, how often they hang out the flag of surrender, when the
garrison would fain hold firm. The young lover saw the look, and
judged it rightly; but no one else seemed to remark it; and while he
was thinking what could be the Count's motive in thus honouring him,
his lord raised his eyes heavily, saying, "And do you really believe
this story of the Wild Huntsman, Ferdinand?"
"Nay, my lord, I know not what to think," replied the youth. "The men
seemed so frightened themselves, and spoke so naturally, that I could
not doubt that they believed it. Nevertheless, if I could have heard
the sounds any more, I should have followed to see this Black Huntsman
with my own eyes, but the noise was by that time done."
"Would you not have feared to meet him?" asked the Count, with a
smile.
"Not I, Sir," answered Ferdinand. "If I find any one hunting on my
lord's lands, I will stop him and ask his right, be he black or white.
But we could never catch the noise again and there was another reason,
too, that made me think it best to return; the old man, Werner, bade
me tell you there would be war within a year."
"And so there will," replied the Count, "if it be truly the Black
Huntsman."
"I am glad to hear it," replied Ferdinand; "there will be some chance
of honour and distinction then."
The Count's brow grew dark. "Ay, foolish youth," he answered, "and
what sums of gold will have to be spent, what fair fields ruined, what
crops swept away!"
"And what bloodshed!" said Adelaide, in a low tone. "Oh, my father, I
hope it will not be!"
"Bloodshed, that's but a small matter," replied her father, with a
grim smile. "It does good to these hot youths to bleed them. Is it not
so, Seckendorf?"
"Ay, my lord," answered the old knight to whom he spoke; "and as to
the gold and the crops, that's no great matter either. Money must be
spent, soldiers must live; and it's a pleasant sight to see a troop of
bold fellows in a vineyard swilling the fat boor's grapes. I don't let
them burn the houses, unless there's resistance; for there's no good
in that, if the knaves give up their money and their food."
Adelaide was silent, but as she gazed down, with her beautiful eyes
full of deep thought, many a dark image of spoliation and cruelty
presented itself to fancy as approaching in the train of war. Her
father was silent too; for he knew that his somewhat unknightly love
of gold was not likely to raise him in the opinion of his followers;
but at length he said, "Well, then, we must prepare, at all events,
Seckendorf, if this be the Black Huntsman."
"Ay, that we must, my good lord," replied the old man. "He never comes
out without being sure of what he's about. I remember when I was in
the Odenwalde, with the lord of Erlach, looking at the book in which
is written down each time he has gone forth for these two hundred
years--"
"And you couldn't read it if you did look," said the other knight, who
was at the same table.
"Ay, I know that," replied Seckendorf; "no one better; so I made the
sacristan read to me, and it never failed once, when that Black
Horseman went forth, or when the cry of his dogs was heard, that there
was war within a twelvemonth. But it is right to be sure that this was
he; for it would not do to sit here with the place cooped full of men,
fretting ourselves for a year, with the thought of a brave war coming,
and then for none to come after all. We should be obliged to have a
feud with some friend, just to give the men something to do."
"True, true," answered the Count, with a quick assent; "that would not
do at all, Seckendorf. I will go after meat, and inquire more into the
affair."
"You had better see the two men, my Lord Count," said Ferdinand. "I
will fetch them up from the abbey in an hour, and you can question
them yourself."
"No, you will stay where you are, Sir," replied his lord, sharply; "I
can question them myself without your help. I will see these
hoof-marks too. But tell me more; from the sounds I heard as I hurried
from my bed, there must have been a whole host of followers with this
Black Huntsman. What said the man?"
In return, Ferdinand gave as good an account as he could of all that
had occurred, though he had little to add to what he had told before.
He neither exaggerated nor coloured his narrative, but with the vice
of youth he indulged in many a figure to express his meaning, as was
indeed somewhat customary with him; drawing freely upon imagination
for the language, though not for the facts. This mode, however, of
telling his tale, did not altogether please his lord, upon whose brow
an impatient frown gathered fast. But Adelaide paid his flights of
fancy with a smile, and her father's anger was averted by a man coming
in hastily from the walls to announce that some one who seemed a
messenger was riding up at full speed towards the castle.
"Let him be brought in," replied the Count; and he added, with a
laugh, "perhaps this may be news of the Black Huntsman."
Expectation is ever a silent mood; and the meal continued; even the
wine circulated without anything more being said, till at length a man
dirty with hard riding through a country still wet with the storm of
the preceding night, was brought in, with formal ceremony, by two of
the Count's attendants, and led to the table at which he sat. The
stranger seemed a simple messenger in the garb of peace, and in his
hand he bore one of the large folded letters of the day, inscribed
with innumerable titles then and still given to every German nobleman
of rank, and sealed with a broad seal of yellow wax.
"Who come you from?" demanded the Count, before he opened the letter
which the messenger presented.
"From the high and mighty prince, Count Frederick of Leiningen,"
replied the man; "who bade me bear this letter to the noble and
excellent lord, the Count of Ehrenstein, his old and valued friend,
and bring him back an answer speedily."
"Ah! where is the Count?" exclaimed the lord of Ehrenstein; "when came
he back? 'Tis many a year since we have met."
"He stopped last night, noble Sir, at an abbey some ten miles beyond
Zweibrücken, and he will reach that place this day," replied the
messenger, answering only one of the Count's questions. "I pray you
read the letter and let me have my answer."
The Count cut the silk, and, unfolding the paper, read, while
Seckendorf commented in a low tone, with words of admiration, but with
something like a sneer upon his lip, at his lord's learning, which
enabled him to gather easily the contents of what seemed a somewhat
lengthy epistle.
"Ah, this is good news indeed!" exclaimed the Count, at length.
"First, that I should see again and embrace my old friend and comrade,
Count Frederick;" and he bowed his head, not ungracefully, to the
messenger. "Next, that your lord has, after so many years, collected
together some of my poor brother's wealth, which he went to cast away
with his life upon a foreign shore. It will come well, Seckendorf, if
the Black Huntsman make his promise of war good.--You, Sir, take some
refreshment, while I go to write the safe-conduct which your lord
requires. Then you shall spur on, as hastily as may be; for, if not, I
shall overtake you on the road. Tell the mighty Count, that I will not
answer his letter till I've held my old friend in my arms, and that he
shall see me at once at Zweibrücken ere two hours past noon." Thus
saying, he rose and left the hall, and while Seckendorf and the other
knight made the messenger sit down at the lower table, furnished him
with food and wine, and questioned him eagerly as to Count Frederick's
journey, and when he had returned from eastern lands, Ferdinand of
Altenburg leaned across the table, and spoke a few low words to
Adelaide of Ehrenstein, which made the colour come and go in her
cheek, as if some strong emotions were busy in her heart. Whatever he
said, indeed, was very brief, for he feared to draw the notice of
those around upon them both; and in a moment after he had ceased, the
Count returned, with a paper in his hand. The messenger would not wait
to finish his meal, but retired from the hall, remounted his horse,
and spurred on his way back.
As soon as he was gone, the tables were cleared, and orders given for
instant preparation, that the Count might set out to meet his friend,
with all the state and display that befitted his station. Before he
went, he whispered to Seckendorf to bring up during his absence, all
the vassals from the neighbouring estates, to swell the number of
retainers in the castle, against the following day; to sweep the
country round of its poultry, eggs, and fruit--a pleasant mark of
paternal affection which the peasantry of that day not unfrequently
received from their lords; and to prepare everything for one of those
scenes of festivity which occasionally chequered the monotony of
feudal life in peaceful times.
Ferdinand of Altenburg stood ready to accompany his lord, with his
horse saddled, and his gayest garment displayed, never doubting for a
moment that he was to form one of the train. No sooner, however, had
the Count done speaking to the old knight, than he turned towards the
youth, saying, sharply, "Did I not tell you that you were not to go?
You will stay and guard the castle while Seckendorf is absent, and go
no farther from it, till I return, than the stream on one side, or the
hamlet on the other."
The tone was haughty and imperious; and Ferdinand felt his heart burn,
but he merely bowed, and took a step back; the Count, fancying that he
had mortified him by leaving him behind, and feeling that sort of
bitter pleasure which harsh men find in giving pain, though, in truth,
if he had sought to consult the youth's most anxious wishes, he would
have acted just as he did act. What was to Ferdinand, Count Frederick
of Leiningen? What cared he for the meeting of two haughty lords? In
the castle of Ehrenstein remained Adelaide; and where she was, even
though he might not see her, there was festival for him.
Adelaide had left the hall while the preparations for her father's
journey were being made, and was not present when he departed. Old
Seckendorf bustled about for nearly half an hour after the Count was
gone, choosing out men, from those left in the castle, to accompany
him upon what was neither more nor less than a marauding expedition;
and he then set out with right good will to perform a part of his duty
which he loved the best. Ferdinand of Altenburg watched from the
battlements of one of the towers the train of his lord, as it crossed
the valley and mounted the opposite hill, and then fixing his eyes on
the spot where the road, emerging from the wood again, wound on
through the distant country, continued to gaze till the last horseman
disappeared on the road to Zweibrücken. He then paced up and down till
Seckendorf and his people also were gone, and then paused, leaning
thoughtfully against the wall, as if considering what was next to be
done.
The world is full of thin partitions, moral and physical, so slight,
so feeble in appearance, that one would think they would fall with a
touch, but often more strong than doors of brass or iron; and like the
airy limits of two hostile countries, they are full of dangers to
those who pass them. There, in the same dwelling, with nought between
him and her but a door that would at once yield to his hand, was she
whom he loved. His heart beat to go and join her; hers he fondly hoped
would flutter gladly to have him near; but yet he dared not go.
Surrounded by her women, as he believed she was, he knew that the risk
of such a step would be great to all his future hopes; and yet he
asked himself again and again, if he must lose so bright an
opportunity. It might never return; all the manifold chances of human
fate presented themselves to his mind, and he would have been less
than a lover, if he had not resolved to find some means of drawing
sweet advantage from the golden present. How? was the only question;
and after long thought, he descended slowly by the steps that led to
the battlements beneath the lady's window, and there seating himself,
with his eyes turned over the distant country, as if simply whiling
away an idle hour, he sat and sang:--
SONG.
Wander with me, loved one, loved one,
Wander with me where none can see;
Through the wood,
By the flood,
Under the greenwood tree.
Wander with me, loved one, loved one,
Wander with me where none can hear;
Where none is nigh,
But the birds that fly,
And the timid and silent deer.
Wander with me, loved one, loved one.
Wander with me where none can mark;
Where the leaves green,
Our love shall screen,
In their bower 'twixt light and dark.
Wander with me, loved one, loved one,
And a tale to thee I'll tell,
Which, if thy heart
With mine takes part,
Shall please thine ear right well.
As he ended, the casement, which was partly open, was drawn fully
back, and the head of a gay, light-hearted girl, one of Adelaide's
attendants, was thrust forth with a laughing countenance, exclaiming,
"Get ye gone, you vile singer! no one can rest in peace for your harsh
voice. Methought it was a raven or a daw cawing on the battlements,
and our lady cannot read her missal for hearing thee talk of thy
'loved one, loved one.'"
"Nay, let him alone," said Adelaide, advancing to the window; "I love
music, Bertha; 'tis that thou canst not sing a note thyself that makes
thee jealous. Sing on, if thou wilt, Ferdinand; I would listen to you
with right good will, but that I promised Father George to come down
to the shrine to-day; and I must read before I go."
She said no more, and did not even look at him while she spoke, but
the gay girl Bertha's eyes twinkled with an arch smile upon her lips,
as if she guessed more than either the lady or her lover suspected.
Ferdinand replied little, but slowly moved away: and in about ten
minutes after he might be seen going forth from the castle gates, and
taking the road which led away in a different direction from the
chapel in the wood.
The reader need not be told that in every portion of life, in all
life's doings, in everything moral and physical, there are circuitous
paths; nor that nine times out of ten, when a man seems to be doing
one thing, he is doing another. It is a sad truth, a bitter dark
reality; so much so, indeed, that those who have watched man's ways
most closely, will best understand the force and beauty of the
words which the inspired writer uses,--"a man without a shadow of
turning"--to express all that we should be, and are not. However, in
that deep wood that cloaked the side of the hills, there were nearly
as many crooked paths and tortuous roads as in human life. Ferdinand
took his path to the north, the chapel lay to the south. The watchman
saw him go, and thought no more of it; but the keen eye of the gay
girl Bertha marked him also, and she smiled. Some half hour after,
when her young mistress went out alone, and bent her steps towards the
chapel, Bertha laughed.