The personage who broke in upon the conversation of Ferdinand and
Adelaide must have been at least six or eight inches above the
ordinary height of the human race. Nevertheless, though he undoubtedly
looked a very tall man, and those who stood beside him felt themselves
like pigmies, yet at first sight he did not seem so tall as he really
was. Unlike most of those persons who deviate from the common
standard, either above or below, there was no disproportion in his
limbs, nor want of symmetry--the neck was not long, like that of a
crane, the form was not spare and meagre, the joints were not large
and heavy, the knees did not knock together as he walked. If there was
anything out of proportion, it was that the chest and upperpart of the
frame were even too broad and bulky; and the head was comparatively
small; but it was round and well-shaped, with a capacious forehead,
and the short brown hair curling round it like that of the Farnesian
Hercules. The features of the face were good, but somewhat short, and
the expression stern and bold. There were no wrinkles on that
countenance, except a deep furrow between the eyes; and yet, by those
indescribable indications which convince us of a fact without our well
knowing why, one judged in a moment that the man who entered was
between forty-five and fifty years of age, though everything in his
whole aspect and carriage denoted undiminished vigour and activity.
Here and there, indeed, in his beard and hair, might be traced a
single white line, but that was all that spoke the passing of years.
The dress of this worthy personage was that of a handicraftsman of
moderate wealth. His coat was of untanned leather, slashed here and
there upon the arms--as was the custom of the times--and he wore
before him a great leathern apron blackened and soiled, apparently
with the labours of the forge. A little vanity, of the kind which the
French call coquetry, was observable in the covering of his head;
which was a cap or bonnet of black felt, bordered with a lace of gold;
the brim was somewhat broad, slashed in the forms of one of the Greek
mouldings, and turned back towards the crown, while a bunch of green
feathers, taken, not from the wing of the ostrich, but rather from
that of some more homely bird, stretched across the front, and leaned
towards his left shoulder. His shoes, or rather half boots, for they
came up to his ankle, were long, and pointed at the toe; and under one
arm he carried a number of pieces of lead and iron, while his right
hand was armed with a sledge hammer, which, wielded by him, might have
brained an elephant.
Behind the blacksmith came a lad (bearing a basket, full of various
utensils of his trade), who, in any other situation, would have
appeared a good-sized, comely youth, but who, by his side, looked a
mere dwarf; and such was the effect of the man's appearance, that
Adelaide, who had never beheld Franz Creussen before, turned somewhat
pale at the sight, though Ferdinand welcomed him with a good-humoured
smile of recognition, perhaps a little vexed that he had come so soon,
but not attributing any blame to him on that account.
"Ha, ha, Master Ferdinand!" cried the giant, as soon as he saw him,
"good morning to you, Sir, I thought how it would be--Why don't you
help the lady? She can never get that bunch of flowers up there;" and
at the same time striding forward, and towering above Adelaide even as
she stood raised upon the chair, he stretched out his long, powerful
arm, and fixed the wreath upon the spot she could not reach.
"You thought how what would be, Franz?" asked Ferdinand, who had
remarked a peculiar tone as the blacksmith spoke, and a glance of the
eye from himself to Adelaide.
But Franz Creussen did not answer his question, going on in a rambling
manner. "So there are ghosts here, the Count tells me; and all the men
and women but you two are afraid. Let the ghosts come hither, and see
if I will not split their skulls with my hammer."
"Why, Franz, I hardly thought you would come," answered Ferdinand; "I
heard you once tell the Count you would neither shoe his horses, nor
do work of any kind for him. I am glad to see you in a better humour."
"I would not have come," answered the blacksmith, "only he told me
that all the people were afraid; and as I never yet saw a thing to be
afraid of, I came to look if I could find it here. But I must set to
work, Master Ferdinand.--God help us, how thou art grown! When I first
saw thee, thou wert scarce half an ell high, and now thou art above my
shoulder."
Ferdinand smiled, for though he was certainly above the blacksmith's
shoulder, he was not much higher, and had no reason to believe he
would ever rise above the height he had attained. Franz Creussen,
however, turned abruptly to his work, and with the aid of his boy,
soon unhinged the latticed part of the casement nearest the door, in
which the largest fractures were, perceptible. He then proceeded to
another and another, while Ferdinand continued to aid the fair girl in
ornamenting the other side of the hall, with somewhat less familiarity
of demeanour; but nevertheless many a dear whispered word passed
between them, as they hung the garlands, or shook the banners, or
crowned the war crests of the old helmets with bunches of flowers.
At length, as the blacksmith reached the fourth window, Adelaide's
store was exhausted, and she said, "I must go and bring more,
Ferdinand; Theresa, I dare say, has twined plenty of wreaths by this
time; and in the mean while, if you could drive some nails between the
stone-work of the arches, we could span over the vault with green
branches, and make the old hall look like a forest bower."
"I will get Franz to help me," answered her lover; "his arm, I should
think, would drive a nail into the heart of the stone, if it were
needful."
As soon as she was gone, however, Franz handed down the lattice of the
fourth window to his apprentice, saying, "There, carry that to the
little court by the stables--I will work there. Then come for the
others, boy;" and as the youth departed, the stout man leaned upon his
hammer, and gazed after him till the door was closed.
"Come, Franz, help me to drive some nails in here, to hold some
boughs," said Ferdinand. But Franz Creussen strode up to him, and
grasping him tightly by the shoulder with his heavy hand, he said, in
a low voice, bending down his head, "Be careful, be careful, young
man."
"Be careful of what?" asked Ferdinand.
"Pooh! nonsense," cried Franz Creussen, "do you think others will not
see what I see? and if they do, you may chance to go to bed one night,
shorter by the head."
Ferdinand was somewhat puzzled how to answer. It was a case, perhaps,
in which insincerity is tolerated by all the rules of social polity;
but he knew the man who spoke to him to be honest and true-hearted,
and one who had always displayed towards him a peculiar and remarkable
degree of kindness and regard when he was almost at open enmity with
all the rest of the Count of Ehrenstein's household. After a moment's
hesitation, however, he answered, "I know not what you have seen,
Franz, to make you use such words; but I wish you would speak more
plainly. I do believe you love me, and would do all you can to serve
me."
"Ay, more than you know, Master Ferdinand," replied the blacksmith.
"Speak more plainly! Why I have spoken plainly enough. Who is it makes
love to his lord's daughter, and thinks that all other men are
buzzards, and can only see by candle-light? I knew it would be so long
ago, and told Father George so, too, when he first put you here."
"But if Father George wishes it," rejoined Ferdinand, looking up in
his face.
"Why I suppose he knows best, then," answered the man, turning on his
heel, "but it's a dangerous game. A neck's but a neck, and that's soon
cut through.--But he knows more than I do, and I suppose he is right;"
and thus saying, he searched his basket for a number of large nails
that it contained, and was soon busily driving them in between the
joints of the stone-work, without adding a word more.
In a minute after, his boy returned to take away another of the
frames, and as soon as he was gone, Franz Creussen turned to Ferdinand
again, and said, "I'll tell you what, young gentleman; Father George
knows best, and so you must follow his counsel; but these monks,
though they manage all the world, do not always manage it as they like
best; and if this matter should go wrong, and you should need help,
you will always know where to find it, as long as Franz Creussen
lives. In any time of need, come down to me if you can; and if you
can't get out, which is not an unlikely case, get me down word, and
the door will be strong indeed that Franz Creussen's arm cannot open."
"Thank you, Franz, thank you," answered Ferdinand, grasping his hand.
"But I would not have you peril yourself for me. I must take my fate
as I find it, and no fears for myself will stop me."
"That's right, that's right," answered Franz Creussen. "Life would not
be worth keeping if it always wanted watching. But I don't fear peril
either, good youth; and I can do more than you think, for there's many
a man round about would follow my leathern apron as soon as a knight's
banner; I can ride with as good a train, if I like it, as any baron in
the land. But all I tell you is, don't you wait too long. If you find
yourself in danger come to Franz Creussen in time--the good Count is
quick in his despatch; didn't he strangle the poor fellow who he
thought--or said, whether he thought it or not--had stabbed his
brother, within twelve hours after he brought home the news of the
last Count's death?"
"Indeed!" exclaimed Ferdinand, "I was not aware he had done so."
"Ay, ay," answered the blacksmith, "he did it sure enough; you may see
his bones, poor fellow, chained to the pillar against which they
strangled him, down in the serf's burial vault--but that was before
you came here, of course, so you can't know much of it."
"I was aware he had put him to death," replied Ferdinand, "but did not
know he had been so prompt in his execution."
"He was, though," rejoined the blacksmith, "and for that reason, be
you prompt too. If you see signs of danger, come to Franz Creussen at
once--better to him than to the Abbey, for though the monks hold their
own well enough against the Count, they do not like to meddle in other
people's quarrels; and it is likely there would be long consultations,
before the end of which, the Abbey might be stormed, or at the end of
which you might be given up."
As he spoke, the Lady Adelaide returned with a fresh supply of
garlands, and Franz Creussen turned away to drive in more nails on
which to hang the branches; and, at the end of about a quarter of an
hour, he quitted the hall, saying with a laugh,--"I'll go work at the
casements, in the court; I am better there than here; and you shall
have timely notice when the Count is coming up the hill."
"That man looked very strange," said Adelaide, "and spoke strangely
too. Can he suspect anything, Ferdinand? He frightened me."
"Oh, do not fear him, dearest girl!" replied her lover; "he is honest
and true, if ever one was so, and has a great love for me. I must not
conceal from you, my beloved, that he does suspect, and has been
warning me, if any danger should arise, to fly to him speedily, or to
send to him at once, if I should be imprisoned. He is much loved, and
much feared in the country round, and might give good and serviceable
aid in case of need."
"Heaven forbid that it should ever be required!" cried Adelaide,
clasping her two hands together, and gazing sadly down; but the moment
after, the light rose in her eyes again, and she looked up with a
bright smile, exclaiming,--"I am doing what is right, and I will not
fear; but we must be careful, dear Ferdinand; we must not, for the
mere happiness of the moment, call suspicions upon us that might
endanger the happiness of our lives. Let us to our task--let us to our
task, and show them, when they return, that we have been right busy in
that we undertook."
For the next three or four hours, with a brief interruption for the
mid-day meal, the lady and her lover continued to employ themselves in
decorating the old hall; and, aided by Franz Creussen and his lad,
contrived completely to change the appearance of the place. Bertha,
too, by seeing the other four continually go in and come out, by
hearing the cheerful sounds of their voices from within, and by the
presence of so many persons who seemed to have no fear, was at length
encouraged to look in, and then to speak from the door to her mistress
at the other end of the hall; and lastly, to enter herself, and assist
with her own hands.
Everything was nearly completed; but a few more boughs were required
to be added to form a sort of canopy over the chair of state, and to
bring in the tables from the other halls, when the distant sound of a
trumpet was heard, and Franz Creussen's boy learned from the feudal
retainers, who had by this time assembled in considerable numbers,
that a large body of horsemen was coming over the opposite hill.
Adelaide hastened away to prepare herself for the reception of her
father's guests; but Ferdinand remained for a few minutes longer, to
finish, with hurried hands, all that remained to be done, and then
left the hall with Franz Creussen, who declared that he would now
hasten home, adding, in a surly tone,--"I will not stay to see them
revel who have no right to be here."
At the door, however, Ferdinand turned to look back, and mark the
general effect which had been produced by the labours of the day. A
pleasant, though a somewhat strangely mingled sight it was, and
certainly the change which had been produced was very great. The old
arches, with their fretted roofs above, the grey stone-work, from
which the hue of age and disuse could not be removed, contrasted
curiously with the gay garlands of bright summer flowers that crowned
the chapters of the pillars, and hung in wavy lines along the walls.
The green boughs, too, with their regular irregularity, forming a
vault as it were within the vault, crossed in different directions by
the banners, now shaken clear of the dust which had long covered them,
and the rushes with which the floor was thickly strewn, gave the old
hall, as Adelaide had said, the appearance of a forest glade, dressed
out with flags for some chivalrous holiday; and as he stood and looked
around, strange dreamy visions crossed his mind, such as could present
themselves only to fancy in a chivalrous age. Thoughts of wild and
strange adventure, of renown in arms, of generous deeds and noble
daring, of befriending the poor and needy, of supporting the weak and
oppressed, of overthrowing the wrong-doer and delivering the wronged,
mixed in strange confusion with sylvan sports and forest glades, and
calm hours spent by castle hearths between. But in every scene, with
every picture, came one fair, dear form; wherever fancy placed him,
the bright soft eyes looked at him, the sweet lips smiled his reward.
She whom he loved was the soul of all his imaginings, and he felt how
truly it was that innocent love gave its own sunshine to everything
around. Even the hall he had just been decorating lost its light when
she was gone, the old walls grew cold and damp, the flowers seemed not
half so fair, the boughs appeared to droop more languidly. It all
looked but half as gay as when Adelaide was there, and yet he saw not
what could have been done better. Nevertheless, a great change had
been effected; and when he compared the hall with what it had been,
before he and Adelaide had undertaken its arrangement, he felt sure
that his lord would think that they had laboured well during his
absence, and though but half-contented with his work, hastened to his
chamber to remove the dust from his face and hands, and don his
festival attire.