DER SCHARFRICHTER.[1]--THE ARTIST'S SECOND STORY.
A respectable ancestor of mine, far back in the middle ages, went to
study at a German university. I cannot call to mind the name of it, but
that is of no consequence. I think he studied medicine, but I will not
be sure even of that. I know that he belonged to a "chor," or company of
students who pride themselves on their liberty, who have their own laws
and customs, who fight duels with rival chors, and who settle disputes
among themselves by outvying each other in the drinking of beer, who
revel in street brawls and other such respectable amusements, playing
practical jokes upon the peaceful citizens; in fact, making night
hideous.
I know not whether my ancestor was any better or any worse than his
fellow students, but he seems to have entered with pleasure into all
their amusements, and never to have held himself aloof when any mischief
was going on. He was consequently looked up to rather than otherwise by
his companions.
It was the custom then, and still is among Germans, especially among
German students, to travel long distances on foot, going together often
in large numbers and putting up at night, if they could, at some inn; if
not, in some cottage, stables, or loft, with nothing but straw to sleep
upon.
But German students are not pampered mortals, and can put up with very
homely accommodation. If after a fatiguing day's march a student can
find at his quarters sufficient beer, black bread, sausage, raw ham, or
a little strong cheese, he is perfectly satisfied. Should he be so
fortunate as to light upon a dish of "sauer kraut," he would fancy
himself in the seventh heaven.
The German is hardy, yet studious, highly sensitive, and keenly
susceptible to the beauties of nature. Though somewhat penurious, he is
fond of good fellowship, and is a staunch friend.
The foot tour in Germany is a thing common to all classes, from the
nobility down to the "handwerksbursch," or journeying mechanic, which
latter class is often unmercifully persecuted by the university student.
From time immemorial there seems to have been a feeling of animosity
between the two classes, as nearer home we find existing between the
"town and gown."
The German student of the middle ages, as in our times, was fond of
swagger, delighted in wearing high boots, enormous spurs, an exaggerated
sword, a preposterous hat, was provoked to a duel on the slightest
occasion, boasted of the number of "schoppen" or "seidel" of beer that
he could stow away beneath his doublet, and ran up long bills without a
thought of how they were to be paid.
In those days every student had his guitar or other musical instrument
wherewith to serenade his "Liebchen" or lady-love, for that latter
article was indispensable to the life of a student, and though much
grossness and barbarity has been attributed to him, he is, nevertheless,
at times capable of being elevated by a pure and refined passion, for he
has much poetry in his nature, and is both sentimental and romantic in
the extreme.
In all ages students have meddled much in politics, and princes have
been known to tremble before their audacity and resolution.
But enough of this digression, gentlemen. My present tale demands only
that you should call up in your minds the German student on his foot
tour in the long vacation, with his keen relish of the beautiful, his
lusty and well-trained frame that laughs at fatigue, his love of
good-fellowship, his tender thoughts of home with the image of his
lady-love.
"Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen,
Entering with every step it took through many a scene."
--BYRON.[2]
I must now return to my ancestor, who at the time this story commences
was on one of these pedestrian rambles, accompanied by some twenty of
his fellow students, all stout, hearty youths who could eat, drink, and
fight with any in the university, and flirt, too, I've no doubt, when
occasion tempted them.
These attributes, you will say, are not strictly necessary to the
student preparing for honours, yet, nevertheless, somehow German
students manage to find time for other amusements besides dry study.
They _can_ play, but when they _do_ study, they study hard.
My ancestor at the time I speak of was a young man of about twenty, and
had already been two years at the university. We may presume, therefore,
that he spoke German tolerably well, if not well.
I believe it was in the Harz mountains, the Thueringer Wald, and about
those parts that he was travelling on foot with his friends.
They rose at daybreak and walked hard, with their knapsacks on their
backs, singing or conversing as they went, reposing at noon in some
shady spot to avoid the heat of the day. When the sun began to abate a
little they would resume their journey till night overshadowed them,
when they would encamp, as hungry as hunters, in some rude quarters,
where they would make merry together over a simple but plentiful supper,
and talk over the fatigues of the day.
They had been following this sort of life for some time, when one
evening as they were hastening towards their quarters in groups of twos,
threes, and fours, my ancestor asked of his friend, "What is the name
of the township where we are to sleep to-night, Hans?"
"----dorf," answered his friend; "but we shall have to hasten in order
to reach it before nightfall. Look, how the mist is rising!"
"Ah! so it is," replied my relative, whose name was Frederick, but who
was never called otherwise than "Fritz" by his companions.
Our Fritz had remained behind to enjoy the last dying glow of a gorgeous
sunset, and was wrapt in meditation, while his friend Hans hurried on.
"Now then, Fritz!" cried one, Max, "don't lag behind so; or are your
English legs not strong enough for our German mountains?"
Our Englishman was stung at this taunt, implying, as it did a
disparagement of himself and countrymen, however undeserved it was, for
the Germans knew that he could outwalk the best of them when he chose.
Yet it had the effect of making him hasten his steps a little.
The dusky hue of night fast overshadowed our students, and the mist now
rose at their feet in thick clouds, so that it was with the utmost
difficulty that they could find their way.
My ancestor was still a long distance behind the rest, but he was
gaining fast on them, when in the darkness, he stumbled over a clump of
rock and sprained his ankle. All hope of catching up his companions was
now gone. The most he could do was to hobble on slowly with the help of
his staff, now losing his way, now finding it, whenever the moon peeped
out to light up his path, then losing it again when the moon hid itself
behind a cloud, till he began to despair of ever finding anything in the
shape of a roof to shelter him from the night air during sleep, and he
more than half made up his mind to encamp on the spot, but just then he
felt a large drop of rain on his face, then another, and another.
It had been a broiling hot day, and the air was still sultry. Presently
a flash of vivid forked lightning danced before his eyes, followed by a
clap of thunder so terrific that it bid fair to burst the drum of his
ear.
The storm was now overhead; the flashes grew more frequent and more
vivid, and the thunder growled more fiercely than ever. In a few minutes
the rain poured down in torrents, and the English student was drenched
to the skin.
"Here is a nice situation for a man on a pleasure trip!" muttered my
ancestor to himself. "Lost, in the dead of night, in the midst of a
thunderstorm, in an open plain without shelter, drenched like a drowned
rat, as hungry as a wolf, and hardly able to crawl, from a sprained
ankle!"
His reflections were anything but of a pleasing sort, as you may
imagine, yet he hobbled on as best he could, endeavouring to comfort
himself with the vague hope of finding some sort of shelter for the
night as soon as the storm should pass off.
After dragging on his limbs with exemplary patience for another
half-mile, it being then about midnight, he perceived a light from a
cottage window not very far distant. His courage began to revive, and
with halting gait he made for the door of the cottage.
He knocked loudly, but no one answered. Thinking that he had not been
heard for the rumbling of the thunder, he knocked again and again. Still
no one came to the door.
"I mean to lodge here for the night," said the Englishman to himself,
"if I have to break the door open to effect an entrance." And he kept up
a furious knocking for about three-quarters-of-an-hour. At length he
heard a harsh, grating voice within break out in a string of choice
Teutonic oaths, and the word "schweinhund" (pig-dog) pronounced once or
twice.
Footsteps were then heard descending the stairs, and the next moment a
quaint-looking personage appeared at the door in dressing-gown and
slippers, with night-cap on head and candle in hand, and demanded in a
surly tone what the "teufel" he wanted at that hour of night.
My ancestor apologised with much courtesy for having roused up so worthy
an individual at such an unearthly hour, but pleaded that he was a poor
benighted traveller, hungry and soaked to the skin.
"Then you should have moved further on," was the curt reply.
"But whither?" asked my relative.
"To the township. This house is not a 'wirtshaus.'"
"How far distant is it?"
"A mile."
By this he meant a German mile--equal to four English miles.
"A mile!" exclaimed the Englishman. "I could not walk a mile to save my
life. I've sprained my ankle and can't move a step further. I'm sorry to
put you to such inconvenience, my good fellow, but I really must put up
here."
"But there is no accommodation," growled the inmate.
"No matter. I dare say you have a little straw; if not, the bare ground
will do."
The inmate sulkily suffered the traveller to enter, and showing him into
a parlour on the ground-floor, was about to leave him to himself.
"Stop a bit, my good host," said the student. "I must beg to remind you
that I am as hungry as a wolf, and as cold as an icicle. If you could
find me something in your larder to keep soul and body together, and
light me a nice little fire to dry my clothes, you will make me your
friend for life."
"Food! Fire! at this time of night!" exclaimed the host, with a look
that seemed to say, "Is the man mad?"
"My dear friend," said the Englishman, putting his hand in his pocket
and passing a Reichsgulden into the hand of his host, "I do not want
you to do anything for me gratis. Make me as comfortable as you can for
that--on my departure I'll give you more."
"Oh, mein Herr!" said our host, softening at the touch of the bright
metal, "that alters the case entirely. You shall have everything you
want. I am sorry I haven't another bed, but you can have some straw, and
a fire to dry your clothes. I'll go and see directly what there is in
the house by way of refreshment, for you must be hungry indeed!"
Our host left the apartment, and returned shortly with some firewood and
a heap of straw.
To light a fire and arrange the straw for the traveller in a corner of
the room was the work of a moment. He then hurried off to get supper
ready, and returned soon afterwards with a dish of sausage, some black
bread, some strong cheese and a bottle of "schnaps."
"Our fare is homely, you see, sir," said the host, apologetically; "but
it is all we have in the house. We are poor people, and not accustomed
to entertain travellers."
"Never mind that, mine host," said the student, "as long as there is
plenty of it, we'll excuse the quality."
So saying, he began to strip himself and to hang his clothes before the
fire. Then taking from his knapsack a clean shirt and another pair of
hose, he donned his slippers and drew his chair close to the table.
The host, after trimming a lamp and lighting it, placed it in the centre
of the table, and was just about to return to his bed, when the student
called out with his mouth full of sausage, "What! mine host, will you
not honour me with your company whilst I discuss my supper? Company
helps digestion, you know, and I'm sure you wouldn't like to have my
undigested supper on your conscience."
The host returned with a grunt, saying that he couldn't stop long, as he
had to rise early on the morrow.
"Oh, so have I, good mine host," said my ancestor, "so we are equal.
Come, sit down here, and let me see you toss off a glass or two of this
most excellent schnaps. It will keep out the cold and give you pleasant
dreams, besides adding a still richer tint to that glorious nose of
yours."
"Humph!" replied the host, little pleased at this personal allusion; but
he drew a chair to the table and made an effort at being sociable.
My ancestor until now had hardly had time to give more than a cursory
glance at the features of his host, but finding himself now at table
opposite him, he took a minute survey of his countenance in all its
details.
The exterior of our host was striking, to say the least. He was a man of
about five-and-forty, of middle height, broad rather than tall. His neck
and chest might have served as a model for the Farnese Hercules. His
hair and beard, which were matted and unkempt, were of a flaming red,
and he was just beginning to turn bald. His brow was low, knotted, and
streaked with red. His eyebrows, which were of the same tint as his
hair, were enormous, and overhung a pair of small, deep-set brown eyes
that moved furtively from right to left with the rapidity of lightning,
giving to his countenance a remarkably sinister expression.
His complexion was florid, and the nose, which was large and
bottle-shaped, was of so bright a red that it made the eyes water to
look upon it, and spoke little for its owner's temperance. His ears,
large and red, stood out at the sides of his head like those of an
animal, and their orifices were carefully protected by fierce tufts of
red hair. The back part of his head was excessively developed, and the
jaw was large and massive. His arms were very muscular, and hairy as an
ape's, with strongly-defined purple veins, and his hands, the fingers of
which were short and stunted, were the colour of raw meat. The legs were
somewhat short for the body, and slightly bowed.
My ancestor, as he scanned the grim features of his host, could not help
imagining himself a prince in a fairy-tale who had been lured by the
evil genius of the storm into the castle of some ogre, who would sooner
or later devour him unless rescued by the good fairies. The ogre was not
a communicative person. He had not opened his mouth once since he had
taken his seat at the table, save to toss down a glass of schnaps.
At length the Englishman, curious to know something of the life and
habits of this mysterious individual, was the first to break silence.
"You live in a very isolated spot, mine host," said he.
"Ja," was the laconic reply.
"Have you no nearer neighbours than those of the township?" demanded his
guest.
"Nein," grunted the ogre.
"And do you enjoy this solitary existence?" pursued the traveller.
"Ja!" was the inevitable monosyllabic response.
"I shall not get much out of him," said my ancestor to himself, and
again there was silence for the space of five minutes.
As if searching for some topic wherewith to renew the conversation, the
student cast his eyes round the apartment, taking in at a glance the
minutest article of furniture or other commodity that the room
contained.
It was a homely, undecorated apartment, built after the fashion of the
period, and differed little from most other apartments of the sort. If
it was remarkable for anything, it was for its extreme simplicity, not
to say nakedness, but there was one object hanging on the wall that at
once attracted the traveller's eye. It was a two-handed sword of
peculiar shape, and appeared bright and sharp as if ready for use.
"Aha!" exclaimed the Englishman, fixing his eye on the object, "you have
been a soldier, I see."
"Not I," said the host.
"No? Ah! I see that your sword is not of the same form as those used in
battle. It is probably antique--an heirloom, perhaps."
The man answered with a nod of the head.
"I thought so," said the stranger; "and yet it seems bright and well
cared for. It has evidently been sharpened lately. Do you always keep it
well sharpened?"
"On great occasions, yes," was the reply, and our host gave a peculiar
wink, accompanying it with a significant gesture with both hands, in
imitation of wielding the two-handed instrument over his head, then
slapping his own neck he uttered a low whistle and a sort of chuckle
thus: "Wh--ew!--click!" being his mode of expressing the action of
cutting off a head.
"Ho! ho!" exclaimed the Englishman, "is that in your line?"
The ogre answered by a savage laugh.
At this moment the crying of a child was heard overhead, together with
the harsher tones of its mother scolding it.
"Then you do not live perfectly solitary, as I thought," said the
student; "you have also wife and children?"
"One boy only," replied the man.
"Ah! An only son--a great pet, I'll warrant," said his guest, finishing
his last morsel of supper. "What age may he be?"
"Ten years old--fine boy--just like me--bringing him up like his
father," said the strange individual.
"If he turns out like his father, he'll be a beauty," thought my
ancestor. Then he asked aloud of his host:
"And what profession may that be that you wish to apprentice him to?"
"Like his father," was the curt reply; but it was followed by the same
sort of expressive gesture that I have just described.
"What!" exclaimed the student, "to cut off people's heads?"
"Yes," replied the ruffian; "I am a Scharfrichter."
"A what?" inquired my ancestor, who though he could make himself
generally understood in German, had never yet come across the word
"Scharfrichter" in his vocabulary.
"A Scharfrichter," repeated the man, raising his voice. "Don't you know
what that means? Why, one who cuts off heads."
"An executioner!" muttered the foreigner, half-aloud. "Have I been
constrained to crave the hospitality of an executioner?"
These words were inaudible to his host, but the ruffian evidently
observed a change in his guest's countenance when he informed him of the
nature of his profession, for he hastened to reply.
"One sees at once that you are a foreigner, and unused to the customs of
this country. You shudder at meeting an executioner, and sicken at the
thought of cutting off a head. No matter, it is always so at first. In
fact, the pleasure derived from seeing executions is an acquired taste;
but I'll show you some sport to-morrow. There is to be some rare fun
down at the township at daybreak," and the wretch gave another wink and
a chuckle. "I'll show you how to cut off a head. One blow--click!--cuts
like cheese."
"Horrible being!" muttered my ancestor to himself in his native tongue.
"Is it possible that anything human can actually revel in such
brutality?" and he shuddered in spite of himself. Then he said aloud to
his host--
"What was it that first gave you a taste for so horrible a profession?"
"Hm! I hardly know. I had a natural genius for it, I suppose. My father
was a butcher, and I was brought up from infancy to see cattle
slaughtered. At a very early age I took to slaughtering the animals
myself. I seemed to take a liking to it from the very beginning. I
happened to have an uncle at that time who was a Scharfrichter, and my
greatest delight was to see him cut off the heads of the criminals. I
began to long to do the same.
"I was a very young man when this uncle died, and as he had no male
issue to take his place, and no one else seemed to come forward, I
thought I would offer my services, and they were accepted. I have been
headsman of the town these thirty years, and when I die my son will step
into my shoes."
"But if he doesn't take to it?"
"He _must_ take to it--he'll _have_ to take to it."
"Why, are there not many other noble professions just as inviting as
that of chopping off the heads of one's fellow-mortals?"
"Not for the son of a headsman. I see you are ignorant of the laws of
this country. Here in Germany the son of a headsman is bound by law to
adopt the profession of his father, and should the executioner have a
daughter instead of a son, in that case, the man who marries his
daughter is bound to be headsman. Then the Scharfrichter is obliged to
build his house a mile away from other men, for he is a being hated and
shunned by everyone."
"This then is the reason of your solitude?"
"It is; and so far is this superstitious fear of contamination carried
in this country, that your citizen considers himself defiled if by
chance he has eaten out of the same plate that a headsman has once used.
Accordingly all vendors of crockery have orders to knock a chip out of
every earthen vessel that they sell to the headsman."
"Dear me!" exclaimed my ancestor, "what a peculiar custom! I never heard
that before. I certainly did remark that your crockery was in a most
dilapidated state, but I didn't consider the remark worth making,
although more than once in the course of the evening I felt inclined to
ask you how on earth you contrived to knock out chips of such a peculiar
shape by mere accident."
"Ah!" sighed the headsman, "what between the crockery-seller and----"
Here he put his finger to his lip and looked round the room
suspiciously.
"What is the matter?" asked the student.
"Hush!" said the headsman, "it isn't always safe to talk of mischievous
people--they are apt to appear. You know the saying, 'Talk of the
devil.'"
"Well," said my ancestor, "but what has that to do with your broken
crockery?"
"Hush!" answered his host, looking round him half-timidly; then
whispered, "I have a certain mischievous lodger that does my crockery
more harm than either the crockery-seller or my boy upstairs when he's
fractious."
"Ah!" exclaimed the traveller in surprise, "you have a lodger in your
house?"
"Ay!--a lodger who never pays his rent, and who drives me to my wit's
end by shying my crockery at my head. Look here, what a cut he gave my
wrist once in one of his pranks. I shall bear this mark to my grave." So
saying, he bared his wrist and displayed a deep, livid wound, long since
healed, but which left behind a scar which nothing could efface.
"An ugly cut, to be sure," remarked the Englishman. "But why on earth do
you not get rid of so playful a lodger?"
"Get rid of him! I only wish the devil I could. He comes here uninvited
and---- But let us not talk of him, or he may pay us another of his
pleasant visits, when you will be able to make his acquaintance. He
never stands upon ceremony, but comes just whenever he likes. He may be
in the room now, for what I know. I shall be off to bed."
My ancestor gazed round the room, vainly endeavouring to discover in
some hidden nook the object of his host's terror, when, marvellous to
relate! a dish on the top shelf was pitched, as if by some invisible
hand, from its post, and shattered into pieces against the opposite
wall, nearly hitting him on the head as it passed.
The traveller stared first at the shelf, then at his host, and turned
pale.
"Good Heavens!" he cried. "What was that?"
"What was it? Ay! You may well ask what it is," answered his host,
peevishly. "What in the devil's name should it be but that pest of a
'Poltergeist' again. I told you you would make his acquaintance ere
long."
"A what?--a '_Poltergeist_'?"
"Ay, Poltergeist--a malignant spirit, whose chief delight seems to be to
strike terror into the house of a poor honest headsman, and smash all
his crockery that he has to pay for out of his hard-earned wages."
"Holy Virgin!" ejaculated my ancestor, crossing himself (for he was a
good Catholic). "A malignant spirit! Saints protect us!"
But the words were hardly out of his mouth when crash! went another
plate upon the floor, just grazing his host's auburn head as it passed.
"Oh! come now, my fine fellow," said our host, in a tone of mild
remonstrance; "a little of that goes a long way."
Then turning to his guest, he remarked:
"I wonder why he honours me especially with his visits, and not other
people. I shouldn't wonder if he is someone that I have had the honour
of decapitating, and he comes to pay me an occasional visit in order to
impress upon me that he hasn't forgotten the little service I did him."
A large pointed knife that lay peacefully on the table was then suddenly
and powerfully thrown from the traveller's side, and remained with the
point sticking in the panel of the door opposite.
"Ho! ho!" cried the headsman; "this is getting warm work. Now, my
good friend, do let me entreat you to be more moderate in your
manifestations, and if you are quiet, to-morrow I will send you a
companion."
This promise, so far from quieting our spiritual guest, seemed to
infuriate him more than ever, for the bottle of schnaps, more than half
full, was now raised in the air and dashed to pieces on the table, the
candle being overturned at the same time, and falling flame downwards on
to the spirit spilt on the table, it ignited, and in a moment everything
was in a blaze.
"Fire! Fire!" cried the headsman, in a voice that roused up his wife and
child, who came tumbling downstairs in no time, to learn what was the
matter.
There is no knowing what mischief might not have taken place had not my
ancestor, with great presence of mind, snatched up his damp clothes from
before the fire, and succeeded in extinguishing the flame.
"What _is_ the matter, Franz?" exclaimed our host's better half,
appearing at the door just as matters were being set to rights again.
"Oh, nothing," said her fond spouse, "only that d----d Poltergeist
again, who seems bent upon burning us all in our beds before he has done
with us."
"Hush!" said his wife, "don't swear, or he may do as you say in real
earnest. Come to bed now, or to-morrow you won't be able to get up in
time. Remember----"
"Ah, true; I must have my night's rest, as it would not do for my hand
to tremble to-morrow when I mount the scaffold. _Gute nacht, mein
Herr._"
And our worthy host followed his partner out of the room, leaving my
ancestor to his reflections.
"Well," soliloquised my relative, "of all the strange adventures that
ever occurred to me, this beats all. Oh! there is not the slightest
doubt that what I have just witnessed is the work of the infernal
powers--some diabolical agency.
"When I see a knife jump up from the table by itself without anyone near
and deliberately fix itself in the panel of the door before my very
eyes; when I see a bottle of spirit overturned and broken in pieces, and
then a candle after that knocked over as if on purpose to ignite the
spirit, and withal no way of accounting for such a phenomenon; moreover,
when I see plates and dishes hurled from one end of the room to the
other, and apparently aimed at people's heads, and yet the perpetrator
of such pranks has the power of making himself invisible to the naked
eye, then, I say, this is not through human agency, but something
superhuman, and as it is not exactly an angelic mode of proceeding, it
must be the reverse."
My ancestor shuddered, and crossed himself. The manifestations, however,
had ceased for the night, and in five minutes our weary traveller was
fast asleep.
His dreams that night were not of the pleasantest. He imagined that he
mounted the scaffold with a crowd of eager eyes gazing at him, amongst
whom were his friends and travelling companions. His host, the
Scharfrichter, stood brandishing his terrible two-handed sword, and in
another moment his head would have been off, but at the critical time
the dream changed, and he was being pelted with crockery in the midst of
a cemetery at night by innumerable sheeted "poltergeister."
These and such-like visions were flitting before his brain, when a loud
thump at the door brought him back to earth again. There was the
Scharfrichter before him, not in dressing gown and slippers, as on the
previous evening, but attired in doublet and hose of a blood red, a
black _barello_ with scarlet cock's feather.
"Now then, mein Herr," said the headsman, taking down his fearful
instrument from the wall, "time's up."
My ancestor, only just awake, rubbed his eyes and imagined that he was
really and truly called away to execution, and that his last hour had
come.
The executioner, seeing that he hesitated, added: "If you want to
witness the cunning of my hand, now's your time."
My relation gave a sigh of relief when he began to recollect that his
own head was quite safe, and that he was only called to witness the
execution of another man.
"But I can't go; I have sprained my ankle," pleaded the Englishman.
"Oh, I don't intend to walk myself," replied the executioner. "I have my
horse and cart ready, and can give you a lift."
"Oh, if that's the case," said the student, "I shall be glad to go, as I
wish to meet my friends in the township."
"Come on, then," and the headsman assisted the Englishman into the cart.
As they were about starting, a little red-haired ruffian of about ten,
stout and well-built, and bearing a striking likeness to our host,
appeared on the threshold.
"Papa, you'll bring me home a football, won't you?" said the youth.
"Ay, my boy, that will I, a good sized one," answered his father.
"That's your son?" asked the student of his host. "Ah, a fine little
fellow. Here, my little man," said he to the child, and slipping a small
coin into his little fat fist, he patted him on the cheek and stepped
into the cart.
"Ah, he's a fine boy," said our host with a paternal pride, as he
whipped on his horse. "There is nothing of the milksop about him. _He's_
not afraid of the devil himself."
"You do well to be proud of him. I'll warrant you buy him many a pretty
toy," observed the Englishman.
"Buy him toys!" exclaimed the headsman, laughing. "As long as I bring
him home a football now and then, he is quite content." And he laughed
again.
"Well, that is a toy, isn't it?" said the student, not as yet
comprehending the headsman's meaning.
"Yes, a toy that costs me nothing, and gives him no end of amusement.
You should see how he kicks the heads about that I bring him home. It's
quite a pleasure to see the youngster enjoy himself in his innocent
way."
"You do not mean to say," said the Englishman, in horror, "that the
football you promised him is to be _a human head_!"
"Aye, to be sure," replied the Scharfrichter. "What else should it be?
What kicks he'll give it to be sure! Ha! ha! ha! that's the way to bring
up boys; makes them hardy. _He's_ not afraid of a little blood. Talk of
his not taking a liking to my business! Why he's always saying to me,
'Papa, when I am big enough to wield your sword, you'll let me cut off
heads, won't you?'
"'Yes, my boy, that you shall,' say I, for I like to give him
encouragement. That's what I call bringing up boys well. I wouldn't
give a fig for one of your milksops that scream or faint at the sight of
blood, not I."
"Humph," muttered my ancestor, and he remained silent for some minutes,
absorbed in meditation.
The headsman whipped on his horse in silence; at length he said to his
guest: "Here we are at last. Look at yon crowd waiting to receive us."
My relative lifted his head, and sure enough there was the mound of
earth erected for the criminal already surrounded by soldiers, close to
which thronged the crowd. All the inhabitants of ----dorf were astir,
and in the crowd our Englishman now recognised his fellow students. A
cry of "_Der Henker! der Henker!_"[3] arose on all sides. Room was at
once made for the headsman and his companion, and Fritz's fellow
students, seeing their friend arrive in a Henker's cart, pushed their
way through the crowd to ask him all sorts of questions.
Fritz descended with difficulty after paying his host for his board and
lodging, and joined his companions. In a few minutes more the criminal's
cart arrived with the "_armer Suender_," or poor sinner, accompanied by
two priests. Loud execrations broke from the mob, amidst which the
wretched being descended from the cart and mounted the scaffold. A dead
silence reigned around. One of the priests whispered something
earnestly in the ear of the condemned, who was as pale as death, and he
took his seat on the chair prepared for him, while an expression of
savage delight appeared on the countenance of the headsman.
He felt all eyes were upon him. The terrible two-handed weapon was
raised aloft, and brandished over the Henker's head. One blow and the
head of the unhappy wretch was severed from his body. Loud cheering rent
the air as the Scharfrichter, holding the head of the criminal by the
hair, presented it to the public gaze. But at this moment a most
unexpected and revolting scene ensued.
Several persons from among the crowd rushed forward toward the scaffold
with mugs, which they filled at the fresh fountain of blood spurting up
from the severed neck of the criminal and drank off at a draught.
My ancestor sickened at so disgusting a spectacle, and demanded the
reason of some bystander. He was informed that those persons believed
human blood fresh from the neck of a beheaded criminal to be an
infallible remedy for epileptic fits. The superstition exists to this
day. Violent exercise after the draught, he was informed, was considered
necessary, in order to effect a cure.
The crowd began to disperse, and my ancestor, leaning on the arm of a
friend, also retired from the scene, disgusted with himself at having
been present at such a spectacle. Before leaving the spot he had time to
notice his host of the previous night start off in his cart towards home
with the promised football.
Our English student was laid up for some little time with his sprained
ankle, and some of his companions remained behind to keep him company,
while others moved onward.
The ankle being cured, my relative continued his foot tour with his
friends, and afterwards returned to the university, where he studied
hard till the time came round for an examination, which he passed, and
shortly afterwards returned to England.
We hear nothing more of my ancestor until ten or twelve years
afterwards, when we again find him in Germany, whither he had been
suddenly called to visit some relative, then in a dying state.
He arrived just in time to close his relative's eyes, after which he saw
him quietly interred in his last home.
This sad office over, he was thinking of returning to England, when, in
turning over the articles of his travelling trunk, he suddenly came
across a German book belonging to a college friend of his, one Ludwig
Engstein, that had been lent him when at the university, and which he
had forgotten to return before leaving college. His friend used to live,
he remembered, in Weimar, and not being far distant, he resolved to
visit that town and to find out his friend's house.
Many changes take place in twelve years, and my ancestor only half
expected to meet his fellow-student again. He might have changed his
residence--he might be dead. Who could tell what might not have happened
to him after so long a lapse of time?
Nevertheless, the Englishman, finding himself on German soil once more,
resolved to enquire after the friend of his youth, and should he succeed
in discovering him, to put him in possession of his book again, and chat
with him over their student days.
Accordingly, he set off for the town of Weimar, and having arrived
there, proceeded with the said book under his arm to the house of his
friend. He had been once on a visit of a fortnight at his friend's house
when a student, and had known his mother and sisters intimately,
therefore he had no difficulty in finding the house again.
The town of Weimar had changed but little during these ten or twelve
years, and once more he found himself on the old familiar doorstep.
"_Ist der Herr Advocat Engstein zu Hause?_" he demanded of an old woman
who answered the door.
"_Ja, mein Herr_," replied the crone. "What name shall I give?"
"Oh, never mind announcing me," said the Englishman; "I'll announce
myself."
So saying, he pushed past the old woman, and knocked at his friend's
study.
"_Herein!_" called out a voice from within, which my ancestor had no
difficulty in recognising as his friend's, and the Englishman entered.
Ludwig Engstein was seated at a table strewed with papers and documents,
and was busily writing. He was still young looking, but his friend Fritz
noticed that his face had assumed a more thoughtful expression than
when at the university. He was now a lawyer in good practice, and the
moment his friend entered he was so busy that he did not even raise his
head.
"I am sorry to disturb you, Herr Advocat," said Fritz, suddenly, "but
I've come to return a book you lent me some time back."
And placing the book on the table, he marched straight out of the room,
shutting the door after him. He then peeped through the key-hole and
listened awhile to note the effect of his abrupt departure on his
friend.
The young lawyer's ear caught his friend's English accent, and at once
lifted his head, though not in time to catch a glimpse of his retreating
figure.
I have said that Engstein recognised Fritz's accent as English, but
little did he suspect that it was his old college friend who had called
upon him and left so suddenly.
He looked surprised, took up the book upon the table to look at the
title, and muttered to himself, "Who can it have been? I do not
recollect now who it was I lent it to, but it must have been a long
while ago."
He was about to ring the bell, and rose for that purpose when he noticed
a face peeping at him through the opening of the door, which was now
ajar.
"Who's that? Come in!" cried the lawyer.
"You are busy, Herr Advocat--another time. _Ich empfaehle mich Ihnen_,"
said my relative, closing the door slowly after him.
But this time Ludwig had a better view of the Englishman's face.
"_Potztausend!_" exclaimed the lawyer; "I shall know that face. _Ach!
lieber freund Fritz._ Can it be really you? _Nein was fuer ein angenehme
Ueberaschung!_" he cried, rushing forward and throwing the door wide
open while he kissed his friend forcibly on both cheeks.
"Sit down here and tell me to what for a fortuitous and
never-to-be-expected train of circumstances I am indebted for this
friendly and to me most agreeable and blissful-past-days-recalling
visit."
Fritz then went on to relate the circumstances of his relative's death,
and how he had been called from home to attend him in his last moments.
"I am sorry for the death of your relation," said Ludwig, "but I cannot
sufficiently express my extreme joy at seeing my old friend Fritz again
after so many years! Ha! ha! ha!" he laughed, partly from delight at
meeting his friend, and partly at his friend's mode of introducing
himself.
"What for an eccentric and of you and your strange
countryman-characteristic way of saluting your old friend after so
long!"
And the German again laughed again heartily.
"And what for a busy and for-ever-with-documents-and-papers-occupied
German business man, not even to notice his swiftly entering, and
though long departed from German soil, speedily-vanishing and
almost-forgotten English friend!" retorted Fritz, mimicking the
high-flown, wordy phraseology of the German.
"No, on my honour, Fritz," replied his friend; "not forgotten, I assure
you. Do you know that I had a dream of you only last night. It never
struck me till now. It is strange that I should have dreamed of you just
the night before your unexpected and to me most grateful arrival. How
strange it is that our dreams often prognosticate coming events! It is
as if the mind, partly freed from its material covering during sleep,
received the power of peering with greater accuracy into that
to-us-in-our-waking-state-obscure and unfathomable future which----"
"Precisely; I understand you," answered my relative, cutting short his
friend's philosophic remark; "but let us talk a little over old times;
that is if you are at leisure."
"Yes, to be sure," answered the lawyer; "what I am doing now has no need
of hurry. Oh, by the way, Fritz, talking of old times, do you remember
the night you spent at the house of old Franz Wenzel the Scharfrichter?"
"If I remember? Shall I ever forget it? ask, rather," answered my
ancestor. "It seems to me only yesterday that I witnessed that
execution; and then that Poltergeist--it seems as if I had witnessed his
pranks only last night. I can remember the minutest incident that
happened on that unhallowed evening."
"Well," resumed the lawyer, "poor old Franz is no more."
"What--dead, eh?"
"Ay, murdered. Horrible to relate, his body was discovered minus the
head, which has been carried off or hidden somewhere, for it hasn't been
found yet, but his son recognised the body by the clothes, besides Franz
has never returned home since, so it must be he. There appears to be a
mystery about it, however. The murderer has not as yet been discovered,
neither can people guess at what prompted the murderer to take the life
of a man who was never over-burdened with money. Then the head being cut
off without care being taken to bury the body, and all, too, within a
few steps of the Henker's own house. What could have been the murderer's
object in carrying off the head?"
"A mere act of spite, I suppose," replied the Englishman.
"Well, it may be so," replied his friend, "for it seems that his life
had been often threatened by the friends or relations of those he had
beheaded. It may be as you say, out of spite. The murderer may, by way
of wreaking his vengeance have cut off the head of the man who had put
some friend or relation to death as a trophy, but why just at this
moment? Why not before, as there has been no execution in the town
lately? I believe there has been none since that execution we two
witnessed together. If the avenger had made up his mind to avenge his
friend, why did he not do so at once, instead of waiting these twelve
years?"
"It may be some other private quarrel," replied Fritz. "Are you mixed up
in it?"
"Yes, I shall be at the trial."
"It happened recently it would seem."
"Only two days ago."
"Then the body is still fresh--of course it has been exposed and
examined?"
"Yes, but it was recognised at once by the family. I dare say it is
buried by this time. I am going there to-morrow. If you have time, my
friend, I should be most glad of your company."
"Well, I don't mind giving you a day or so, as I am taking a holiday."
"Agreed, then; we start to-morrow."
The two friends then discoursed until dinner-time, when Ludwig invited
Fritz to share his meal.
The Englishman accepted the offer, and they chatted and laughed the time
away till the evening.
Ludwig lived quite alone. His sisters had married, his mother was dead.
Ludwig was still a bachelor, and so was my ancestor at this time.
"You have not yet put your neck under the yoke it appears," said my
relative to his friend, in allusion to the conjugal tie.
"Not I," replied his friend. "At least, not yet."
"I understand," said Fritz; "not married, but '_verlobt_'."
"No, nor that either."
"No? _Verliebt_, then, perhaps."
"No, neither '_verlobt_' nor '_verliebt_'."
"What!" exclaimed the Englishman, "not even that! Nevertheless, if I
remember rightly, the student Ludwig Engstein was not once averse to the
fair sex."
"Oh, recall not the follies of the past, my friend, or I may retaliate,"
answered the German.
"True, true," said the Englishman. "We all have our weaknesses, and
youth is the season in which they mostly flourish, but now we have both
grown into sober-minded _Philister_,[4] and are more wary."
"Yes, yes," rejoined his friend; "we are not to be caught now by a pair
of blue eyes, flaxen tresses, and a jimp waist, however well these
charms may be set off with the allurements of dress. When men get to our
advanced age, they want 'geist,' and look out for a good housewife who
can cook them a dish of 'sauer kraut' or a 'pfankuchen' when '_das
moos_'[5] is wanting, which is another very useful accessory we desire
to have thrown in."
Here he made a significant gesture with his finger and thumb, intended
to express the counting of money.
"I hope, my friend, you have not become so worldly as to look upon
marriage in the light of bettering yourself," said my relative.
"_Ach! lieber freund_," replied Ludwig. "It is all very well for you
rich milords who have '_loewen_'[6] to talk in that style, but we '_armer
teufeln_' are bound to take even that into consideration."
"This is what the world makes of noble fellows when it has once got them
in its grasp!" sighed my ancestor to himself, and he hastened to change
the conversation.
They then discoursed on various other topics, sitting up to a late hour
of night, until wearied with incessant talking, each retired to rest.
Early the next morning both were dressed and ready to start on their
journey. They reached ----dorf towards evening, and having fixed their
quarters at the very same inn they had put up at on their memorable
tour, they beguiled the time until the morrow by discoursing with the
townspeople about the mysterious murder.
The body, it seems, was not yet underground, but was to be buried the
next day. They accordingly both resolved to examine it.
"The head has not been found yet?" asked Ludwig after supper of the
landlord of the inn, who had come in for a gossip.
"No, sir, not yet," replied their host. "Ah, there are some strange
rumours in the town about that same murder."
"Indeed!" cried Fritz; "what do the people say?"
"Some say one thing, and some another, but all seem to agree that there
is something supernatural about the murder of the Henker."
"Something supernatural! Why--what reason have they to jump at that
conclusion?"
"Well, sir, I don't know if you have ever heard of the Henker's
Poltergeist, but it is a fact well known to all in the township."
"Yes, yes--even we know it. In fact----but never mind, proceed."
"Well, gentlemen, this Poltergeist--this evil spirit--that no doubt was
permitted to haunt the headsman for his sins--for a headsman must of
necessity be a cruel, hard-hearted, unnatural villain to choose such a
profession."
"Well, well--this evil spirit."
"Well then the Scharfrichter, at least, so people say, had sold his soul
to this demon, and when the time came round for him to give up his soul
according to the bargain, he refused, and the demon wrested it from him
by force by cutting off his head and carrying it away with him."
"Oh, but why this strange supposition? Why put down a thing to
supernatural agency before sufficient time has elapsed to investigate
the matter properly? A person is murdered, and the body discovered
without the head, and because the head cannot be found at once, you say
that the devil has run off with it. My dear sir, the thing's absurd."
"Well, we must wait and see what evidence will turn up," said the host.
"Yes, but if everybody merely _waits_ for evidence to turn up instead of
actively searching for it, the matter will come to a standstill," said
the Englishman. "I myself am interested in the murder, as I knew the
Scharfrichter twelve years ago, when I was a student."
"Ah, in that case, sir--of course you would. By-the-by, there is another
murder now talked about besides the Henker's. They seem to be getting in
fashion."
"What! another body?"
"Well, sir, the body isn't exactly found yet, but there is a certain
Count, well-known to be rich, who was taking a foot tour through the
country alone. His family expected him home on a certain day, and as he
hasn't turned up yet, they suspect that he has been robbed and
murdered."
"That may be merely a suspicion. How long has he been missing?"
"Three days, they say."
"Three days! Why, a man doesn't bind himself to a day or two when out on
a foot tour. He may remain another three days, or a week longer, and
then return unhurt."
"Well, sir, it may be as you say, but as the Count was known by his
relations to be a very punctual man, and never to fail in his
appointments, you see, it is natural they should feel uneasy."
"True, especially as three days ago was about the time of the other
murder, and they may get it into their heads that the two murders
occurred in the same night. Was he a married man?"
"No, sir; quite young, they say."
"Humph! When did you say the body of the Henker would be
buried--to-morrow?"
"About ten, I think, sir."
"Ah! then I must be there early, as I want to examine the corpse
myself."
"Oh, decidedly, sir. I will bring you to the place to-morrow in good
time."
Our friends now felt inclined for their night's rest, so their host
showed them into a room with two beds, and wishing them a good night,
left them to undress, and before many minutes had passed both were sound
asleep.
The following morning early our two friends, in the company of their
host, started from the inn to visit the corpse of the murdered
executioner. As they entered the hall where the body lay exposed, Fritz
instantly recognised the clothes; if not the identical vestments worn by
the defunct twelve years ago, at least, of the same colour and material,
being, as I have said before, a doublet and hose of crimson, a colour
that he seems to have been partial to.
"Yes," said Fritz; "these are the Henker's clothes, I've no doubt."
Then, after examining the form laid out before him, he was observed to
start slightly, and he added in a whisper to his friend: "Ludwig, this
is not the body of Franz Wenzel--I'll take my oath of that."
"How! Not Franz Wenzel! Who else should it be, then?"
"That I am not prepared to say, but it is not the body of the Henker;
that is certain. Remember that I passed a night at Wenzel's house;
during that time I took note of the features and figure of the
Scharfrichter, and though twelve years have passed since I saw him, I
can swear----"
"But how! His own family have recognised him. What further proof would
you have?"
Then addressing the landlord, Ludwig said: "Is it true, landlord, that
his own family have recognised the body?"
"Yes, sir; at least, the son did. I don't know whether his wife did or
not, as she has been laid up for ever so long with paralysis, poor soul.
It may be she has never been informed of the murder. One does not like
to frighten invalids, you know."
"Well, well--enough if the corpse has been recognised by the son."
"Yes, sir, he recognised it. It is true, he was a little the worse for
liquor when they brought him before the corpse of his father; but when
is he otherwise, for the matter of that? As sad a young dog as ever
lived that same--inherits all the vices of his father. Nevertheless, who
is there in the township that does not recognise the Henker's red legs?"
"You see, therefore, my friend," said Ludwig, turning to his companion,
"that you are mistaken. Everybody recognises him."
"I see nothing of the sort," replied the Englishman, doggedly; "and I am
still prepared to swear that the corpse before us is not that of Franz
Wenzel."
"My dear Fritz," said Engstein, "you are obstinate. What reason can you
possibly have for saying so?"
"Observe the hands of the corpse," said Fritz, in a low tone. "Do they
look like the hands of an executioner? They are long and delicate. Those
of Franz Wenzel were hard, rough, and hairy, with square stunted
fingers; besides, the headsman wore no ring. This hand, though no ring
is visible, has a depression on the forefinger, as if the owner were in
the constant habit of wearing one."
"Ha! say you so?" exclaimed his friend, and a strange expression came
over his face.
"Then," pursued Fritz, "observe the clothes. Do they look as if they
were made for the body? Franz Wenzel had enormously developed calves,
and his hose fitted tightly. Do these hose fit tightly? Look at these
limbs, that, compared with the Henker's, are but those of a boy."
"Humph! I believe you are right, Fritz, after all," said Engstein; "but
it never would have struck me if you had not pointed it out, as it is so
long ago since I set eyes upon him, and then only for a moment. You took
a more complete survey of him, and your evidence may prove useful. We
will look into the matter together. It is strange, however, that no one
should have been struck in the same manner as yourself."
"Well, I don't know," responded Fritz. "The people in these small
villages are not always of the brightest. Then the headsman's house
being so far away from the town, few people have the opportunity of
taking a minute survey of him. The people here content themselves with
recognising the clothes. Franz's wife is laid up with paralysis, and has
not seen the body, while his son only recognised it when in a drunken
state. Do you call that sufficient evidence to prove that the corpse
before us is that of the executioner? Would you like another proof that
this is no more Franz Wenzel than I am?"
"Well," said Ludwig.
"I remember a scar upon the right wrist that he showed me the night I
put up at his house," said the Englishman; "and which he told me had
been inflicted on him by a piece of broken plate hurled at him by his
Poltergeist. I remember that he said he should carry that mark with him
to the grave. If this is the corpse of Franz Wenzel we shall not fail to
discover the mark."
So saying, he bared the right arm of the corpse and examined it
carefully. No such mark was to be found. The arm was free from scar or
brand, and was delicate in form, almost like that of a maiden's.
Moreover, there was a scanty covering of dark hair upon it, while the
hair on the arms of the executioner, if you remember rightly, was red
and profuse. Even Engstein remarked this, and was now convinced beyond a
doubt that the murdered man was not Franz Wenzel.
"Is any search being made now for the head of the corpse?" demanded
Engstein of his host, who had withdrawn some paces from the two friends,
and consequently had not heard the doubt that had been suddenly cast
upon the public opinion.
"No active search, I believe, sir," was the reply.
"We will make the search ourselves, my friend," whispered Engstein to
Fritz; then added to his host, "My friend and I will take a stroll
together. It is uncertain when we shall return to the inn, but get
something savoury for us against we come back," and he waved his hand
towards his host, who doffed his cap and walked towards his inn, while
our two friends set off together in the direction of the Henker's house,
which they reached in about an hour.
"Yes," said Fritz, "this is the place. I remember it well. What did our
host tell us? That the murder took place only a few paces from the
headsman's door. Let us look well round the spot. How solitary it is!
Just the place where a murder would be committed. What do you say to yon
hollow flanked with brushwood, Ludwig? Is it not a likely place for a
murderer to await his victim?"
"You are right, Fritz, let us make a strict search, but if the head has
been carried far distant----"
"Let us, nevertheless, search well here first," said my ancestor, and
the two friends set to work at once, lifting up every bush and bramble,
following every track, until finally they came upon some blood stains.
An old dried well they discovered not far from this spot. Common sense
would have suggested this as a likely place for the concealment of the
missing head, and there is no doubt that the same idea struck the
inhabitants of ----dorf, for there was evident traces of a great number
of feet in the sand round about it; besides which there was a chip
recently made in the brickwork, which appeared caused by the letting
down of a rope or chain.
This seemed evidence enough for our two friends that the well had
already been searched, and without effect. Further search in that
direction appeared to them to be useless, especially as no bloodstains
were to be found near.
They then proceeded to examine more closely than ever the bushes around,
stamping on the ground to ascertain if a hole had recently been made,
but the ground was firm, and there was nothing to attract suspicion save
a few bloodstains, which, instead of leading up to the well as one would
have imagined, led up to the foot of an old chestnut-tree, and there
seemed to end.
On examining the bark of the tree attentively they observed blood also
on the trunk, but this might have been occasioned by the splashing of
the blood from the neck after the decapitation of the head. There was no
hollow visible in the tree where suspicion would lead one to suppose
that the head could be concealed; nevertheless, when men make up their
minds to make a rigid search, they often pry into the most unlikely and
impossible places, so our friends determined to ascend the tree to
ascertain if by any chance the head could have lodged between its leafy
branches.
Previous to mounting, Ludwig, who, together with his friend, had
provided himself with a long branch wherewith to beat down the bushes,
struck the chestnut-tree a blow on the trunk with the branch he carried,
when a hollow sound proceeded from the tree, and instantly a large owl
fluttered out from the foliage before their faces with its beak and
plumage stained with blood. Blinded with the sunlight, it hovered
distractedly hither and thither for a time, and then vanished with a
screech.
"Did you notice the beak and feathers of the bird, Ludwig?" asked Fritz.
"I did," said Ludwig, "and what is more, I am convinced that the whole
of this seemingly robust chestnut-tree is hollow, and I have not a doubt
that the murderer, aware of the fact, has hidden the head of his victim
at the bottom, and that this fell bird has been gorging itself and its
young upon it ever since."
"That is just my opinion," said Fritz. "Let us climb the tree and look
within."
My ancestor was the first to mount, and having arrived at the point
where the trunk divides itself into branches, he discovered a large hole
thickly covered over with leaves. Sitting upon the edge, with his legs
dangling within the hollow trunk, he proceeded to strike a light, and
having ignited a taper, he commenced carefully to descend into the
hollow of the tree. In his descent, however, his foot slipped, his taper
extinguished itself, and he came down rather suddenly upon his feet. He
soon became aware from a feeble smothered shriek that he was treading
upon a nest of young owlets.
He began to dread lest he might encounter some venemous reptile in this
unexplored region, but taking courage he struck another light and
searched about. He had not looked long when he discovered what appeared
to be a human scalp. He grasped it firmly by the hair, and by the light
of his taper soon knew it to be in reality the head of a man, one half
of which had been already eaten away to the bone.
"Eureka!" exclaimed Fritz, "I have it."
His friend uttered an exclamation of delight, while my relative
clambered up again, and the two friends examined the disgusting treasure
under the fair light of day.
"You see the hair is black," said Fritz. "I hope you are satisfied now
that this is not the head of the Scharfrichter."
"There is no doubt about that now, I think," said Ludwig. "And do you
know, Fritz, now that I scan these features, they seem familiar to me as
my own in the looking-glass. Himmel! Can it be possible!"
"What?" demanded my ancestor, anxiously.
"Why, I'll swear that this is no other than my old friend and
fellow-student, the Count of Waffenburg!" exclaimed Engstein.
"What! Graf von Waffenburg! Is it really so? I knew him well. Let me
examine the features," said Fritz.
"Yes, it is he beyond a doubt," said Ludwig. "We had a quarrel once, and
I wounded him in the cheek. Here is the wound I myself inflicted; but
afterwards we became staunch friends."
"True," said Fritz. "I remember the duel well, being present myself on
the occasion. What a curious coincidence! It is certainly he, and no
other. The more I look at the features the more satisfied I am. Let us
hasten with this proof of the identity of the murdered man to the
township and spread abroad the news of the murder of the count. His
relations will then come to claim his body."
The two friends then made a covering of chestnut leaves for the head,
and tying it up in a handkerchief, retraced their steps towards the
township, discoursing on the cunning of the murderer, who appeared to
them to be no other than the Scharfrichter himself.
"For when a body is found minus the head," argued Ludwig, "and dressed
in the clothes of another man, and that other man is nowhere to be
found, it follows as a matter of course that the man missing must be the
murderer."
"Yes," said the Englishman, "unless the murdered man had previously
stolen the clothes of another, and then afterwards been murdered by some
unknown assassin."