Ferdinand's teeth were set hard, and his hands clasped tight together
as the jester's story ended, and for a moment or two he did not speak;
but at length he inquired, "And how long was it ago that the good lord
fell?"
"Oh, a long while," answered his companion, "long enough for young men
to grow old, and for old men to wither and rot. Some twenty years ago
or more. Lackaday how few twenties there are in life. Twenty and
twenty are forty, and twenty are sixty: how few see the fourth twenty!
Who sees the fifth? The first begins in the infant, with a passion for
milk; all mouth and no wit; and ends in the youth with a love for
sweet ankles and for cherry lips; all heart and no brains. The second
starts on his course like a swallow catching insects, and ends like a
slough-hound upon the track of a deer: ambition flies before and
distances him still. Then begins another twenty, with the hard brain
and the hard heart; your man of manifold experiences, who finds no
pleasure in pippins, and is mailed against the darts of a dark eye. He
must have solid goods, forsooth! and so chooses gold, which will not
decay; but, good faith! it matters little whether it be the possession
which decays, or the possessor, whether the gilded coin rots, or the
fingers that clutch it: the two part company all the same. Then comes
the fourth twenty, often begun and seldom ended; and we go creeping
backward, as if we would fain run away from the other end of life; top
please as, straws offend us; we stumble at the same mole-hills that
tripped up our infancy. Time rubs off from the score of memory what
experience had written; and when the sorrowful soft gums have eaten
their second pap, death takes us sleepy up and puts us quietly to bed.
It was twenty years ago, good youth,--ay, that it was,--and twenty
years is one of those strange jumps that are more wisely taken
backwards than forwards."
"Methinks," said Ferdinand, "that though the time is so long, I know
something of this story, too--". But before he could add more, a
slight sort of creaking noise was heard proceeding from the end of the
hall, near the chair of state. Ferdinand, whose face was already in
that direction, and the jester who suddenly turned round, saw the
small door which has been so often mentioned open slowly, exposing the
mouth of the passage beyond.
"Ah, who have we here?" cried the jester. "Some of our friends from
over the sea, I suppose;" but no one appeared, and all was silent.
Both the watchers rose, and gazed for a minute or two towards the
door; Ferdinand grasping the cross of his sword, but the jester
showing no sign either of alarm or surprise.
"By my faith!" he exclaimed, at length, "I will see what is beyond,
there. Will you come with me youth, or shall I go alone?"
"I should think from the tale you have told," answered Ferdinand,
"that you know your way right well without guidance. But I will go
with you, whatever is there--I have been once, and will not be stopped
from going again."
"Come along, then," answered the jester. "Let us each take a lamp,
cousin, for the dead must lack lights, as they always choose to walk
in darkness. Why is a ghost like a flagon of wine?"
"Nay, I know not," answered Ferdinand, "and to say truth, I am in no
jesting mood just now."
"Because it comes out of the vault at midnight," answered the jester,
"and where it enters there it scatters men's wits about. Happy he who
has none to scatter. But come along, cousin, we'll soon see whether
our spirits are equal to theirs--I feel rather queer, but a mole
wouldn't mind it, for he's accustomed to holes in the earth."
Thus saying, he led the way to the door, and entered the long narrow
passage, Ferdinand following, and each carrying a lamp. The jester's
young companion, though busied with many other thoughts, watched his
movements closely, in order to obtain a confirmation or refutation of
the suspicions which his tale had excited.
Those suspicions, however, were strengthened by all that the young man
remarked, "Damp, damp and chilly, as a rich man's heart," murmured the
jester, as he advanced; and then, as if his knowledge of the passages
which they were following was not of a few hours' growth, he laid his
hand upon the door, at the farther end, and without hesitation drew it
towards him, choosing at once the way which it really opened. He next
passed on down the stone steps, without a moment's pause to consider,
merely turning round and saying, "Take care of your lamp, cousin, for
a light extinguished in this world is not easily lighted again,
whether it be love's lamp or life's. A puff puts them out, but a puff
won't bring them in again. By the mass! the stones are somewhat
slippery, and as much out of repair as a fool's head or a
spendthrift's purse. I must mind my way; for here, as on ambition's
ladder, a small slip would make a great tumble."
"By my faith! you seem to know your way right well, Herr von Narren,"
said Ferdinand, "better than I do, methinks."
"Ay, ay, folly finds the straight road, while wisdom is looking for
the short cut," answered the jester. "One can't well miss their way
when there is but one. But there seem no ghosts here, except the
spirit of Mistress Mildew, and she is very prevalent. We shall lose
our time, and get no payment for chilling our bones, if we get no
better apparition than this green slime. I would give a great deal to
see a ghost. I never met with one in all my travels."
"Perhaps you may be gratified to-night," rejoined Ferdinand, "for here
they wander, if anywhere."
"If anywhere!" exclaimed the jester, "did any one ever hear such
heretical unbelief? We know that the church supports them, because, I
suppose, the poor things are too thin and unsubstantial to stand of
themselves. However, here we are at the bottom; praised be Heaven's
mercy in not bringing us there sooner! And here is a door. Now, marry,
you and other men of shrewd wits would doubtless be looking for
another, but I take the one that stands before me, the sunshine of my
darkness teaching me that that which is at hand is always nearer than
that which is far off. Now let us see, it should be pulled this way,
by the look of the lock and the hinges, but if it be locked, what
then?" and he paused for a minute or two seeming to consider curiously
the question before he proceeded to ascertain the fact.
"Come, come, Herr von Narren," said Ferdinand, "you know it opens this
way well enough, and doubtless it is not locked, and if it be, I have
a key that will open it."
"What! then you come hither often," said the jester, "no wonder you
are less afraid of haunted places than the rest."
"I do not come here often," said Ferdinand, somewhat vexed at the
incautious admission he had made, "I have been here but once in my
life before, and even that I do not wish mentioned," and stretching
forth his arm, he pulled back the door, before which his companion was
apparently inclined to hold a long parley.
"Bless the lad's heart!" cried the jester, "he seems to think that
his light words will stay in a fool's head for an hour. My brain is
not bird-lime, boy, to catch your fluttering things, and put them in
the trap. But now, what place is this?" and he took a step forward and
looked round, holding up the lamp in his hand.
"This is the Serf's Burial-Vault," answered Ferdinand, in a low voice,
remembering, with a sensation of awe that he could not overcome, the
strange and fearful sights which he had there beheld.
"Hold up your lamp," said the jester, in a grave tone, "I wish to see
around me."
But the darkness, as before, was too thick to be pierced for any
distance by the feeble rays of the two lamps, and the next moment, to
his surprise, the young man heard his companion demand aloud, "Where
art thou, Walter?"
"Here!" answered a deep tone instantly; and following the sound, the
jester advanced direct towards the column, to which the skeleton was
bound by the chain. There he paused, and gazed upon it, as if that had
been the object he sought; and the emotions which he experienced,
whatever they were, seemed to overpower him, and make him forget for
the time the presence of his companion. His eyes filled with tears,
"Honest, and faithful, and true," he cried, "and was this the fate
reserved for thee? All could be forgiven but this--This cannot, if
there be justice on earth or in heaven," and bending down his head, he
slightly raised the bony fingers in his own, and pressed his lips upon
the mouldering joints.
There was a faint sound, as of sobbing loud, but Ferdinand's strange
companion took no notice of it, and continued gazing upon the skeleton
for several minutes, with a look of deep and intense thought in his
eye, as it wandered up and down the fleshless limbs. Then suddenly
turning away, he said, "Come on," and striding forward to the further
side of the vault, he passed through the archway into the crypt or
lower chapel. Taking no notice of several of the monuments on either
side, and only giving a glance to the coffins, he went straight to the
tomb of grey marble, on which was sculptured a lady in the attitude of
prayer, and there kneeling for a few moments by the side, he seemed to
busy himself in silent devotions. After which, rising he turned to
Ferdinand, and said, in a mild but no sportive tone, "It is done. Go
back to the hall, good youth, and wait for me there. I will not be
long, and nothing will annoy you by the way."
Ferdinand might think it all strange, but yet the words of his
companion seemed to have a power over him which he could not resist,
and turning back he retrod his steps to the hall, where, after having
closed the door, he seated himself before the fire to wait for the
jester's return.
Light-hearted youth, that season of great powers and small
experiences, may feel strong and deep emotions, but their influence,
on the corporeal frame at least, is not very permanent. Weary with a
long day's exertion, and having had little rest for the three or four
nights preceding, Ferdinand's eyes felt heavy; and that pleasant
languor which precedes sleep stole over his limbs. He wished to remain
awake; but yet he leaned back for support against the stone-work of
the wide chimney; and in a few minutes he nodded, woke up again, and
then fell into sound slumber. He was awakened by a heavy hand grasping
his shoulder; and looking round he saw the jester standing beside him,
with the fire in its last embers, on the hearth, and the lamps burning
dim.
"I must wake you, cousin," said his companion. "For we shall soon have
Madam Morning winking at us with her old grey eye. Sleep is better
than waking for some good reasons, but it must come to an end, coz!"
"Is it so late?" asked Ferdinand. "I thought that I had just closed my
eyes!"
"Yes, that is the blessing of youth," said the jester; "he thinks not,
either sleeping or waking. He dreams while he is waking, and forgets
while he is sleeping, and therein has he the two best gifts that man
can covet--to dream and to forget."
"I doubt not, from all I see," answered the young man, "that there are
many things you would wish to forget, were it possible."
"Hark ye, cousin," said the jester; "one thing we had both better try
to forget, to-wit, that we have been in those vaults together. I have
a secret of yours, you have one of mine. We will each keep what we
have got, and give it away to nobody, for that would be thriftless."
"Nay, I have nought to tell," answered Ferdinand; "though perhaps
something to inquire, Herr von Narren. I may suspect, and I do; but I
can do no more than suspect. But one thing I must ask; what you came
here for? as I can know of no evil to my lord without preventing it,
otherwise I am a traitor!"
"Why, what evil can I do?" asked the jester, with a smile; "what power
have I? Is the fool's bauble equal to a baron's sword? Good faith! I
will go to the wars, and turn out a great conqueror.--I intend your
lord no harm, cousin."
"But you said there was something not to be forgiven," replied
Ferdinand.
"Nor will it," said his companion, somewhat sternly; "if there be
justice in Heaven; but to Heaven I leave it; and in its own good time
I doubt not to see vengeance fall where it ought. What is it that you
suspect?"
"That you were the follower of the late Count of Ehrenstein," answered
Ferdinand, frankly; "the jester you mentioned in the tale you told;
and that even now you seek to revenge the Count's death."
His companion laughed aloud. "How thy wits jump!" he said; "but in one
way, like an ill-broken colt, they jump too far. I seek not to avenge
that Count's death; and by all that I hold sacred, I myself will never
attempt it; so let that satisfy thee, good youth."
"And yet, perhaps, I ought to inform the Count of who you are;"
replied the young man, thoughtfully.
"That you cannot do," answered the jester; "and if you believe that
the tale I told applies to your lord and his brother, you neither will
nor ought. Vipers have viper's eggs--rogues serve rogues; and the
blood in your veins would cry out against you, if you were to make
your mind the bondsman of a felon. If you think my tale is true, quit
this household in silence, for your own honour; if you do not believe
the tale to be applicable here, remain in silence. But if you would
needs speak, I will seal your lips with one word."
"Ay! what is that?" asked Ferdinand, in some surprise.
"Adelaide!" answered the jester, fixing his keen eyes upon him. "Is
there nothing, good youth, that you seek to conceal as well as myself;
nay, far more than I do? for I have nought to fear--you much. I care
not; but that it would sadden merry meetings, and break off gay
intercourse, if your good Count should know all that you know, and
more.--Indeed, I promise you, that ere I depart from this
neighbourhood, he shall hear the whole tale. He would less dare to wag
a finger against me, protected as I am, than jump from the top of the
keep; but I must choose my own time and my own way to speak, and it
must not be now."
Ferdinand had coloured high when the name of Adelaide was pronounced,
and now he remained silent while his companion went on in a tone so
different from that which he generally used in his jester's capacity.
An instant after, however, the other suddenly resumed his ordinary
manner, and exclaimed, "So that is settled between the two fools who
sat up all night watching for that which did not come.--Marry, had we
liked it, cousin, we might have proved ourselves the wise men of the
party; for with plenty of wine and good cheer, we had wherewithal to
be merry and wise. Now, however, we are sorry fools; for we have
neither emptied the flagons nor cleared the dishes, and vinegar will
be cheap in the market if all that wine stands there much longer."
"It may serve as a bribe to bring some of the knaves in by daylight,
to clear away the tables," answered Ferdinand. "There is more than one
amongst them who would sell his own soul for a flagon of strong
drink."
"Then is his soul dirt cheap, or a very bad one," answered the jester;
"but, on my life, I believe the market price of men's souls is half a
florin; for day by day we see them sold for less. The twinkle of a
girl's eyes is current coin against such commodities; the pottle-pot
drives a thriving trade in the mart of spirits; and two small pieces
of ivory spotted with black, have nearly emptied the world's fold of
its true sheep. But there comes the morning. See the panes of glass in
the casement are looking grey, we shall soon have the sun up, red and
blear-eyed like a drunkard who has sat up all night with the stoup.
I'll hie me to bed, for my wit will want activity, and, good faith! it
is getting somewhat weak in the knees."
"It must be a heavy task to be ever ready with a jest, even when the
heart is sad," said Ferdinand.
"What! a heavy task to find light wit?" exclaimed the jester. "No,
good youth; let a man but look at life as he ought, and the burden is
easily borne. All things here are but jests; some sour, some sweet;
some light, some heavy. If we cannot laugh with, we can laugh at; and
but get your wit into a cantering habit, and he'll forget his grave
paces and trip lightly along the road. Habit, habit, habit, cousin!
everything is habit in this world. What is that makes the man eat what
the child rejects? Custom. What makes us endure a load of clothes that
Heaven never intended us to wear? Custom. Put a pair of tawny leather
shoes upon a child's bare feet, and he will stumble over the rushes on
the floor; yet, see how gaily the youth will trip along, as if he had
been born into the world booted and spurred. The eye and the ear, the
tongue and the nose, all have their habits. Go into a strange land,
and you will split your sides at the odd dresses of the people. Stay
there a year, and you will think your own countrymen as comical. The
blast of the trumpet cracks a lady's ears; ask the knight and his war
horse if ever they heard sweeter music. Good sooth! I do believe, if
men ate dirt and ashes for a month, they would think them better than
stewed ducks or a brawn's head; and thus with me, though jesting be a
sorry trade enough when the heart is full or the stomach empty, yet,
either from lack of continence, or discretion, I began early, and now
the jest always gets the better of the lamentation, and finds vent
first. But look at the red light on the floor. It is time for night
fowls to roost. Give you good morning, cousin Ferdinand, I am away to
my pallet."