The glorious sun and the free air of heaven, the blue arch above, the
green fresh world around, the face of man, the sweet human voice,
greeted the senses of Martin of Dillberg for the last time. The
chaplain of Count Frederick had been with him for some hours; but his
voice had made no impression. He would neither confess that he had
offended, nor acknowledge the justice of his sentence. Sullen and
dogged, though evidently terrified and cowed, he remained either
obstinately silent, or murmured low curses to himself, till he was
brought out from his place of imprisonment, and led towards the
drawbridge. Glaring round, with eyes at once fearful and fierce, he
soon perceived the retainers of Ehrenstein guarding the gates, and the
soldiers of Leiningen in possession of the drawbridge; while on the
right, at a little distance, stood Count Frederick, with his arms
sternly folded on his chest, and surrounded by several of his knights.
In front was a large beam of wood, with a tall, powerful man, bare
armed, leaning on an axe. The youth shuddered; but with the bitter and
malicious spirit still strong in his bosom, which had been his bane
through life, he looked round for Ferdinand of Altenburg, who, he
doubted not, was to share his fate. He saw him nowhere; but he
remarked that the chaplain went up to Count Frederick, on a sign, and
that his lord spoke eagerly a few words which he could not hear. They
were, "Has he shown contrition? Has he confessed and repented?"
"Alas! no, my good lord," replied the chaplain; "yet it is a pity that
one so young--"
"It is," said the Count, musing; "were there a hope--but this is now
the third time, and hope is gone. Nevertheless--"
But ere he could conclude the sentence, the voice of Martin of
Dillberg was heard exclaiming, bitterly, "I see not the man who is
more guilty than I am. Where is that Ferdinand of Altenburg? Let me
see him die first; or will you spare him, and murder me?"
An expression of high scorn and indignation came over the face of
Count Frederick as he heard those words, and pointing to the criminal,
he said, "To the block with him--there is no hope!"
The trumpet sounded; they drew him on, and bade him kneel; but when he
saw the axe and the bare-armed executioner, his heart failed him, and
he drew back and trembled violently.
"Down, coward!" said an old soldier behind him; but yet even that
contemptuous word had not power to goad him to assume a daring that
was not really in his breast; and still he held back, and gazed wildly
at the instrument of his death. The priest advanced to his side, and
whispered some words in his ear--they were words of hope and promise
for a world to come; but all the unhappy youth's thoughts were fixed
on this life, even at the moment he was quitting it; and he murmured,
"I will confess--I will pray for pardon!"
"It is in vain," said the chaplain; "your own words but now, have
destroyed you. The Count is gone, and you must die."
Martin of Dillberg looked round; but Count Frederick was no longer
there; and at the same moment the hands of some of those who had
been his companions, but not his friends--he had no friend amongst
them--seized him, and bent him down to the block. Then all withdrew
for a few steps, except the priest, who still stood by his side,
addressing to his dull unlistening ear the words of holy exhortation.
There was a movement in the youth's limbs, as if he would fain have
risen again; but then the trumpet sounded again, the heavy axe fell
hard upon his neck, and at that one blow, the head, smote off, rolled
upon the drawbridge.
The men around were used to sights of blood, to daily peril, and to
the image of death; but still there were various feelings amongst
them. None murmured, it is true,--all admitted that his fate was just,
and that he had been pardoned but too often. Some sternly said, it was
a good deed done, and turned away contented; but others felt a
sensation of awe, and even of pain, at witnessing the violent death of
one so young, though brought about by acts of craft and wickedness
beyond his years. Count Frederick remained in his own chamber for some
time alone, and in deep meditation; and when at length he came forth,
his cheek was pale, and his whole air sad.
He had but taken three steps in the corridor, however, when he was
roused from the reverie in which he seemed plunged, by the agitation
and bustle which might be observed in the castle. Persons were passing
up and down the great stairs; doors were opening and closing; there
was a sound of trampling horses in the court-yard, and many voices
speaking; but above all rose the tones of the Count of Ehrenstein,
apparently in anger. Further on, towards the other end of the wide
passage, Count Frederick beheld his own page apparently listening to
the mingled din; and so occupied was the boy that he did not perceive
his lord had quitted his chamber, till the Count called him to him.
"What is the matter, Albert of Landeck?" asked the nobleman, as the
page ran up at his call; "there seems a strange confusion here."
"'Tis, my good lord, that the Lady Adelaide has escaped from the
chamber where her father had imprisoned her," answered the boy; "and
no one knows how or whither she has gone. The door was still locked,
they say, and not a trace of her to be found."
"'Tis a strange place, this castle of Ehrenstein," said Count
Frederick, with a smile; "has my noble friend no suspicion of who has
aided her flight?"
"I heard him vow but now, that it was the monks from the abbey,"
answered the boy; "he sent down, an hour ago, it seems, to one Father
George, at the chapel we passed yesterday in the wood, requiring his
presence to shrive Ferdinand of Altenburg; but no monk was to be found
there; and so he thinks it must have been he who has spirited the lady
away."
"I will go down and speak with him," said Count Frederick; and,
descending the stairs, he found his host, with heated look, and fiery
words, urging his horsemen, who were mounting as rapidly as possible,
to more speed.
"Quick, fool, quick!" he cried to one; "will you have never done that
buckling of the girth? Away, by the upper road, to Anweiler. They
cannot be far. Take the road to the left, as soon as you top the hill,
and sweep round through the woods, meeting Mosbach by the blacksmith's
forge. You, Seckendorf, with four or five more, to the abbey at once,
and demand the lady of the abbot, in her father's name. Tell him, as
sure as the sun shines in heaven, I will burn his monkery about his
ears, if he conceals her. You, Adolph, track along the stream, letting
some of the men dismount and look for the prints of horses' feet. If
you can find any, follow them. Quick to the saddle to the saddle; a
minute, more or less, may save or ruin all. Ha! my noble friend. This
is a sad and terrible thing; my daughter fled, and no clue or tidings
of her!"
"And the youth?" inquired Count Frederick; "can he give you no
information? He, most likely, has some knowledge of her means of
escape. Doubtless, the probable necessity of such a step was
calculated on beforehand."
"Ha! in my anxiety I forgot him," cried the Count; "true, true--I will
have it from his heart--I will put him to the torture. Go, bring
Ferdinand of Altenburg hither to the great hall. We will have him in
the great hall, Count Frederick. He feared it not in old times; now he
shall have cause to fear."
Thus saying, he led the way, while his friend followed, the party
being swelled by the jester, the chaplain, and one or two of Count
Frederick's attendants, as they went. What it was that Herr von Narren
said to those who followed, the two noblemen did not hear; but just as
they reached the door of the great hall, and while the man, to whom
the Count had given his orders respecting Ferdinand, was drawing back
the bolts on the other side of the vestibule, a loud laugh, in which
even the priest joined, though not so vociferously as the rest, struck
harshly on the Count of Ehrenstein's ear; and flinging back the door
of the hall, he took three steps in. Then, however, he stopped
suddenly, and gazed with haggard eyes before, around, above him. Count
Frederick also looked with an expression of wonder round the walls;
and, in truth, it was a strange sight that presented itself. The
banners were all gone; the green bows and chaplets of flowers,
wreaths, and coronets, were no longer seen; but on every banner-pole
hung a mouldy shroud, and each thick column was covered with a pall.
"In Heaven's name! what is this?" exclaimed Count Frederick; "'tis a
strange way of tricking out your hall, Ehrenstein."
"'Tis for the bridal! 'tis for the bridal, uncle!" cried the jester.
"What bridal, fool?" cried the Count of Ehrenstein, fiercely,
remembering only the hated union between his daughter and Ferdinand of
Altenburg.
"Why, the bridal between the worm and the corpse," answered the
jester; "there are few more merry weddings; but what is that on the
chair of state? It looks marvellous like a pillow after a man's nose
has bled in the night."
Count Frederick advanced with a quick step, and his host followed with
a pale cheek. The object which had attracted the jester's notice
proved to be a blood-stained coat of arms, cut and torn in many
places, and on it lay a strip of parchment inscribed with the words,
"Wilhelm, Count of Ehrenstein--summoned--judged--condemned.--Death."
"What is all this, my friend?" asked Count Frederick; "you seem to
decorate your hall somewhat strangely."
But as he spoke, there was a hurried step upon the pavement behind;
and the man who had been sent to bring Ferdinand before his lord,
approached, exclaiming, "He is not there, my lord. The door was fast
locked--not a bolt drawn; but he is gone. Food and wine are there, as
if he had fared well before he went, but not a trace of him can I
find."
"Wise young man," cried the jester, "he walks after supper. 'Tis a
wholesome practice, and in his case peculiarly preservative of health.
He must have a good physician."
The Count of Ehrenstein folded his arms upon his chest; and gazing on
the bystanders, murmured, "I am betrayed." Then turning to the chair
again, he fixed his eyes upon the soiled coat of arms, raised the slip
of parchment, read it, and threw it down again, turning to his guest
and saying, "Who can have done all this? I know nought of it. I deck
not my hall with shrouds, nor set free my own prisoners. Who can have
done this?"
"Nay, it is very strange!" answered Count Frederick. "It would take a
man hours to spread these out. Good faith! I love not the
neighbourhood of such dark mysteries,--and the youth gone, too! I
wonder if our friend of Eppenfeld is safe; for in truth, my noble
friend, your doors seem not the most secure."
"We will send and see," replied the Count of Ehrenstein; but the
reader is already aware of what must have been the result of the
search. The Baron of Eppenfeld was not to be found; and with a
somewhat heavy brow Count Frederick exclaimed, "He must be taken!
Alone, on foot, and without money, he cannot go far--he must be taken,
Ehrenstein."
"Good faith! my noble friend, I would willingly help you," answered
his host; "but I have, as you well know, matters on hand that touch me
nearer far; and all the men I can spare must be absent, seeking for
this undutiful girl and her perfidious paramour. Doubtless these monks
are the movers in all this; and I will burn their abbey about their
ears, unless I find her speedily."
"No, no; oh, no!" cried the Count of Leiningen. "No such rash
violence, Ehrenstein. You may suspect much, but can prove nought
against them."
"I can prove that one of them wedded my daughter to my sworn
follower," cried the Count, "secretly, by stealth, and at an unlawful
hour. He knew right well what he was doing, and he shall pay the
penalty."
"Take counsel, take counsel," exclaimed the jester, "and I will show
you a far better way to punish this meddling priest. Force him to
marry a wife himself; and he will repent in sack-cloth, I will
warrant."
"You have no proof of the fact, as far as I have heard," said Count
Frederick, "and you may bring yourself into great danger. But 'tis no
affair of mine. I will attach myself to find this Baron of Eppenfeld;
and he will lie closer than a hind beside her fawn, or I will find
him."
"Perchance, in seeking him, you may find what would be to me a far
more precious thing," replied the Count of Ehrenstein; "and I am sure
that, in honour and good fellowship, if you should meet with either my
rebellious child, or he who has seduced her from obedience to her
father, you will send them back to me at once."
Count Frederick mused for an instant without reply, and then said,
"Nay, not at once, Ehrenstein. Should they fall into my hands, I would
fain give you time to let your wrath subside, and judge the case of
Ferdinand of Altenburg more calmly."
"He or I shall die," answered the Count, sternly, interrupting his
guest.
"But not without fair and free trial, if I have him in my custody,"
replied Count Frederick, firmly; "that, at least, I will secure to
him. We are all the slaves of our passions, Ehrenstein; and when we
find an angry spirit stirring within us, we should take sureties
against ourselves. For that reason was it that, in judging the guilty
youth who died this morning, I called to my aid as many free and
impartial voices as I could find. You do so too. At all events, if I
take the youth, you shall have no cause to complain that justice is
not done upon him. You shall have every means and every aid to prove
the charge, and then to deal with him according to the laws and
customs of the land."
"Good faith!" said the jester, "then shall he have hard measure and
short time; for the laws are bitter enough, and the customs are
expeditious. Thank Heaven! we nobles and jesters are above the laws."
"Not so," answered Count Frederick, while his host stood gloomy beside
him, not very well contented with the restricted promise he had
received; "there are laws for nobles and even for jesters, Herr von
Narren."
"Doubtless, doubtless, uncle," said the other; "I said not that there
were not laws for all: I only said that we are above them; and that is
true, as I can prove. First, the noble is so high above the law, that,
long as is the arm of justice, it can never reach him. Secondly, so
far is the law beneath the noble, that every day he tramples it under
his feet."
"Too true, I fear," answered his lord. "But hark, Ehrenstein! I hear
some of your people returning. Let us see what success they have had.
Perchance they have caught the fugitives."
It was soon found, however, that no success had been obtained. The
persons whom Count Frederick had heard passing the drawbridge were not
of those who had been sent in pursuit of Adelaide; but ere an hour was
over, two or three who had visited the abbey came back with the
tidings that the monks denied the lady had taken refuge there, but
threatened loudly in regard to some violence shown by the Count's men
to the windows of the chapel in the wood. The messenger added, that
they seemed angry enough about something; for he saw vassals and
tenants coming in armed, and horsemen sent out as if to call for
further assistance. Other parties returned soon after, but yet no
intelligence arrived Of the fair fugitive; and the Count of Ehrenstein
mused in silence, perhaps not quite so well contented as he would have
wished to appear, that he could not take his measures unnoticed by the
eyes of one whose frank and generous spirit, and calmer and more
elevated mind, acted as a check upon him. Count Frederick, however,
did not, or would not, see that his presence was in any degree a
burden. He remained with his host, sometimes musing as he mused,
sometimes counselling, sometimes discussing; or busied himself in
ordering preparations for the pursuit of the Baron of Eppenfeld, by
parties of his own band.
In the mean while, the jester kept close to the side of his lord and
the Count of Ehrenstein; but he too seemed buried in deep reveries;
and at length the last-named nobleman, as if in a fit of impatience,
turned round, exclaiming, "Well, Herr von Narren, what do you meditate
so profoundly? It is to find that one wilful girl can baffle so many
experienced men?"
"No, good lord," replied the jester, "it is rather to find that so
many experienced men have not wit to take the means at hand for
catching one truant girl."
"What would you?" cried the Count. "What means have I left untried?"
"There was once an old woman who lost a piece of money," said the
jester, "and she looked all day for it in every part of her house,
except her own pocket. Now the Lord of Ehrenstein is just like the old
woman, for he looks for the lady in every part of the country except
his own castle, which is just as good a place for hiding a rich thing
as the old woman's pocket."
"By my honour! he says true," exclaimed Count Frederick; "all these
three missing ones may even now be within a few yards of us, as far as
I have seen any search made."
"I have had all the rooms above stairs well examined," replied the
Count of Ehrenstein, thoughtfully; "except, indeed, your own, my noble
friend; and there I did not dream that any one could be concealed. The
mystery is, how these doors have been opened, the fugitives brought
forth, and all made fast again. That there is treachery somewhere, no
one can doubt; and those who released them from confinement would
doubtless assist them in flight."
"That might not be so easy," replied Count Frederick; "but at all
events let us search. There seem chambers and passages enough, here
below, to hide a baron's train. It is quite possible they might find
their way forth from the chambers where they were confined, and yet
not be able to escape from the castle."
"That is a tempting door," said the jester, pointing to that which
appeared at the end of the hall near the chair of state. "The youth
Ferdinand, when we were sitting here together watching the cold pies,
lest the mice should make houses of them, talked familiarly of that
door, and of the place beyond."
"Ha!" cried the Count of Ehrenstein, "said he that he had ever been
there?"
"Nay, not so," replied the jester, "but he told me that it led to
vaults, and to the serfs' burial-place,--very awful vaults, indeed, my
noble lord, where nobody would venture; and he hinted how terrible
deeds had been done there, which had begotten many ghosts. I am not
sure he did not speak of devils too; but he was marvellous conversant
with all that the place contained; and his was a bold heart, just fit
to trust himself with spirits, good or bad."
"Come," cried the Count hastily, "we will search;" but he led the way
from the door which had been the theme of the jester's conversation,
and, followed by several attendants, examined carefully every part of
the building which had not been searched before, till he came to the
door of the great hall again; but there he paused, and seemed
unwilling to go farther.
"Let us on, Ehrenstein," said Count Frederick, "and make the work
complete by looking through these vaults."
"They are not there," answered the Count, in a hesitating tone; "I
feel sure they would not venture."
"What, not Ferdinand of Altenburg!" exclaimed Count Frederick; "I
would gage a county against a flask of Ingelheim, that he would
venture into an open grave sooner than any man should say he was
afraid. I am some judge of men's courage; and few things would daunt
that lad. If he knew that other men feared to tread those vaults, 'tis
the very reason he would seek refuge there."
The Count of Ehrenstein mused for a moment. There was truth in what
his friend said; and he remembered, too, how little dread his daughter
had seemed to feel in trusting herself where others were afraid to
stay for even a few minutes. There, too, in that very hall, she had
been alone for some hours with Ferdinand of Altenburg; and the hope of
finding them together in the gloomy asylum beyond, and punishing one
at least upon the spot, filled him with a fierce kind of pleasure; but
yet he hesitated. "I know not," he said, "but I doubt much, my noble
friend, that we shall find anyone to aid the search. All men here
dread that place. Even this hall they hold in terror, from their
superstitious fancies. Did you not see how, when the messenger came to
tell me the answer of these daring monks, he flurried away like
lightning as soon as his errand was told?"
"Nay, what matters it how many there be?" asked his guest. "Here are
you and I, and our friend Herr von Narren, who, I will answer for it,
fears as little as we do."
"Oh, I am quite ready, uncle," cried the jester, "though I fear
horribly; but fools are privileged against ghosts; and as your band
has no lack of fools, I think I can get three or four others to bear
us company, though, doubtless, we shall have rare trembling and
shaking as we walk along. There's Henry of Geisen, and his inseparable
Fritz Munter; they will go. Here, lads, here! we want men who love
knocking their heads against stone walls. Here is an enterprise worthy
of you."
Henry of Geisen was ready to go wherever his lord went, and Fritz
Munter would go wherever Henry of Geisen turned his steps. Two or
three more were collected, who, though it cannot be said they showed
no fear--for every one looked somewhat dull when the vaults were
mentioned--did not hang back; and torches being procured, the Count of
Ehrenstein, with a heavy brow and teeth hard set, approached the
little door on the left of the dais. It was fixed as firm, however, as
a piece of the wall, and did not seem to have been opened for years.
"Stay," said the Count, who, having made his mind up to the
examination, would not now be disappointed; "I will bring the keys."
When he returned, Count Frederick, who had been looking steadfastly at
the pile of dust which time had accumulated before the door, pointed
to the ground, saying, "There is a footmark."
"That is mine," cried the jester, setting his broad square cut shoe
upon it. "I defy you to match that for a neat, tiny, little foot, in
all the castle."
But the very fact of a footmark being so near the door confirmed the
Count in his resolution of going on; and after some trouble, for the
key was rusty with neglect, the door was opened, and a torch held up
to light the way. On the whole party went, along the stone passage,
down the well stairs, and then into the vault; but here it seemed as
if all the noxious beasts of the place had leagued together to oppose
their passage. Hundreds of bats flapped through the air, and, dazzled
by the torches, swept close past the faces of the intruders; enormous
toads, bloated and slow, crept across the ground; two or three large
snakes darted away, hissing and showing their forked tongues; long
earth-worms, and hideous orange slugs, wriggled or crawled along the
path; and a large mole cricket dashed itself in the eyes of one of the
men, making him start back in terror.
Not a word passed the lips of the Count of Ehrenstein; but, instead of
going straight forward, he led the way to the left, and made, by a
circuitous course, for the side of the crypt under the chapel. Through
it, too, he passed rapidly, till he reached the door leading out upon
the hill, which he tried, and found fast locked and bolted.
"Now," he cried, "if they are here, we have them safe;" and he then
applied himself to make his companions spread out and sweep the whole
width of the vaults on the way back, so that the torches might light
every part of the space--he himself keeping on the extreme right. But
this he found difficult to accomplish: the men loved not to be
separated; and only Count Frederick and the jester would take the
places assigned to them,--the others keeping close together, and
following one or other of the three. The torch-light, too, lost itself
in the old darkness of the place, as soon as, having quitted the
crypt, where the windows afforded some light, however dim, they
entered the wider vaults where the serfs were buried; and often one
person stopped, or another, as they went along, examining the various
objects that met their eyes. The Count of Ehrenstein himself paused at
a door on his right, and looked to ascertain that it was fastened; but
he soon resumed his advance again, and had nearly reached the other
side, when a voice, loud and commanding, suddenly cried, "Stand!"
Every one started, and there was a dead silence for an instant.
"Who spoke there?" demanded the Count of Ehrenstein. "Leiningen, was
it you?"
"Not I," exclaimed Count Frederick. "It seemed to come from your
side."
"I heard it on both sides," said the jester; "but that is natural,
having two ears."
"Who spoke?" again asked the Count of Ehrenstein, raising his voice;
but no one answered, and Count Frederick took a step forward. The next
moment he exclaimed, "What, in Heaven's name, is this? Ehrenstein,
Ehrenstein, come hither! What is this?"
The men crowded up to the spot where the nobleman stood. The Count of
Ehrenstein came more slowly; but when he did come, he found his friend
gazing at the skeleton chained to the stone column. That, however, was
not the only object that met his eyes; for in the bony hand was a long
strip of vellum, falling almost to the ground, and upon it in large
characters, written apparently in blood, was the word "Vengeance!"
The Count paused, and gazed with his eyes straining from their
sockets, his mouth half open, and his nostrils expanded; while beside
him stood Count Frederick, and behind, the jester, with his eyes bent
upon his lord's entertainer, his lip quivering, and his brow knit into
a dark and ominous frown. All kept silent for some time, and no one
moved, unless indeed it was the jester, whose hand opened and shut
more than once upon the hilt of his dagger. At length Count Frederick
broke the terrible silence, and inquired, "What is this, Ehrenstein?"
The Count made no reply; and in an instant after he fell back,
senseless, one of the soldiers catching him just as his head was about
to strike the ground.
"Take him up, and carry him to his chamber," cried Count Frederick;
"we have had enough of this;" and two of the men, raising the body of
the Count, who sighed heavily, bore him on, while his friend followed,
conversing in a low tone with the jester.